"feebleness" poems
We two boys together clinging,
One the other never leaving,
Up and down the roads going—North and South excursions making,
Power enjoying—elbows stretching—fingers clutching,
Arm’d and fearless—eating, drinking, sleeping, loving,
No law less than ourselves owning—sailing, soldiering, thieving, threatening,
Misers, menials, priests alarming—air breathing, water drinking, on the turf or the sea-beach dancing,
Cities wrenching, ease scorning, statutes mocking, feebleness chasing,
Fulfilling our foray.
4k
She stands as pale as Parian statues stand;
Like Cleopatra when she turned at bay,
And felt her strength above the Roman sway,
And felt the aspic writhing in her hand.
Her face is steadfast toward the shadowy land,
For dim beyond it looms the light of day;
Her feet are steadfast; all the arduous way
That foot-track hath not wavered on the sand.
She stands there like a beacon thro' the night,
A pale clear beacon where the storm-drift is;
She stands alone, a wonder deathly white;
She stands there patient, nerved with inner might,
Indomitable in her feebleness,
Her face and will athirst against the light.
2.8k
Up went the roar of the crowd,
Ascending, volumes above, beyond
The everyday murmur of pestering silence.
A futile struggle to withstand its force,
Like a vast wave, rogue and raging,
Slamming nature, a slap in the face of feebleness,
This crowd roars…
Not anger, not anguish, or grief,
But a prideful scream of declaration;
The masses make it known, and known again,
Fists raised, pulverizing the air to a beat
Of human design, of togetherness, of solidarity
In the fight for those like us, a howl,
This crowd roars…
Stampeding feet berate the beaten earth,
Invigorated legs supporting pounding hearts,
To a beat, rolling with the flow,
Energy infusing the soul, encased in flesh, bone, and blood;
Marching onward, forward, processional strides
Declaring and making it known with battle cries,
This crowd roars…
Shouts of proclamation echo the strident resistance
With thunder, earth-quaking, walls crumbling, chains shattering
With thunder, dancing against the discordant system;
Proud warriors raising flags of protest
Amidst the roar, roister, and riots, rising reactionaries
Refusing submission, declining resignation,
This crowd roars…
Bounded together, by blood, by common cause,
Mingling masses of forgotten arise with a vocal
Outcry, intense, pulsing from the core (of us)
Like an infestation, infuriated, a torrent swarm (of us)
Flowing upwards, eroding all obstructions.
Declare, proclaim, announce, request, demand,
This crowd roars…
Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 12:31 AM UTC
When you wake in your crib,
You, an inch of experience--
Vaulted about
With the wonder of darkness;
Wailing and striving
To reach from your feebleness
Something you feel
Will be good to and cherish you,
Something you know
And can rest upon blindly:
O, then a hand
(Your mother's, your mother's!)
By the fall of its fingers
All knowledge, all power to you,
Out of the dreary,
Discouraging strangenesses
Comes to and masters you,
Takes you, and lovingly
Woos you and soothes you
Back, as you cling to it,
Back to some comforting
Corner of sleep.
So you wake in your bed,
Having lived, having loved;
But the shadows are there,
And the world and its kingdoms
Incredibly faded;
And you group through the Terror
Above you and under
For the light, for the warmth,
The assurance of life;
But the blasts are ice-born,
And your heart is nigh burst
With the weight of the gloom
And the stress of your strangled
And desperate endeavour:
Sudden a hand--
Mother, O Mother!--
God at His best to you,
Out of the roaring,
Impossible silences,
Falls on and urges you,
Mightily, tenderly,
Forth, as you clutch at it,
Forth to the infinite
Peace of the Grave.
2.4k
The twentieth year is well nigh past,
Since first our sky was overcast;
Ah, would that this might be the last!
My Mary!
Thy spirits have a fainter flow,
I see thee daily weaker grow--
'Twas my distress that brought thee low,
My Mary!
Thy needles, once a shining store,
For my sake restless heretofore,
Now rust disus'd, and shine no more,
My Mary!
For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil
The same kind office for me still,
Thy sight now seconds not thy will,
My Mary!
But well thou play'dst the housewife's part,
And all thy threads with magic art
Have wound themselves about this heart,
My Mary!
Thy indistinct expressions seem
Like language utter'd in a dream;
Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme,
My Mary!
Thy silver locks, once auburn bright,
Are still more lovely in my sight
Than golden beams of orient light,
My Mary!
For, could I view nor them nor thee,
What sight worth seeing could I see?
The sun would rise in vain for me,
My Mary!
Partakers of thy sad decline,
Thy hands their little force resign;
Yet gently press'd, press gently mine,
My Mary!
Such feebleness of limbs thou prov'st,
That now at ev'ry step thou mov'st
Upheld by two; yet still thou lov'st,
My Mary!
And still to love, though press'd with ill,
In wintry age to feel no chill,
My Mary!
But ah! by constant heed I know,
How oft the sadness that I show
Transforms thy smiles to looks of woe,
My Mary!
And should my future lot be cast
With much resemblance of the past,
Thy worn-out heart will break at last,
My Mary!
2k
reverse engineering:
tomorrow
i will know still your voice,
how your silence splits words
into pieces, as you break me
with your collared sweaters and polka dot
socks: tell me i am floating,
question my Gods, forbid me
from touching your church elders; your parents’
Lord.
today
i will know your laughter, a tad frail:
the voice of an unsteady
deity - your fingers - never stilling a pen,
nor sketching a hand - whittling
my own: your chin trembling as you chide me
for their largeness; i show you their erasures:
your lack of wayward lines; your work
of an artist.
yesterday
i tell you to sing, you tell me not to -
you arm yourself and lock away in your room,
say your poetry terrible,
wrong, un-joyful, cross-averted; they cracks
in all the wrong places like your flimsy
hands, like your hopes massive-disintegrating
like the feebleness in your dust-allergic bodies; your lack
of lungs: brittled long by heavy-handed
words and thin brushes: you with death -
the un-wayward stroke: You
who are sickly, whose quiet breaths reach
where we cannot find
and find the places where
our gods long to be touchable.
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 11:55 AM UTC
Your hand fits in mine like it's made just for me,
But bear this in mind, it is meant to be
Since you've dreamed a vision of us together
And I'll love us, you and I, always and forever.
Cause when I'm with you, my world is so different from any hell I'm living
And when you're around me, your eyes light up like the stars have been spilled out along with all the suns of heaven into your eyes
You're the one who seems to love this wildflower so she feels as lovely as the sweetest camelias, and strong enough to push the planets out of orbit
As for you, I only know what you've said to me;
That my kisses are oxygen when you can't breath, and that
You feel such an intense desire to protect me from any potential harm
That you plan to marry and live with me for years to come.
But I know with less certainty than you that we'll be together forever to come
All I know is you love me and you make me feel so loved
More loved than the moon is loved by the sun, chased endlessly and almost futilely for a mere glimpse of her silver face
And I know this is a scientifically proven-to-be-incorrect metaphor, but I still love you
And will love you, until the sun falls into the sea of milk, the knees of those arthritic elephants shake and kneel with feebleness, and the great sea turtle turns belly-up, drowning the world in the Milky Way
And even past then
Past the time where men and spirits fade into ghostly memories, forgotten because there's no one to remember them
Past the time that the sun is finally swallowed and held in the sea, past King Arthur's return, and when the giant serpent finally kills Ra
Past the time when the gods grow tired of their human games, and fall asleep at their chessboards, one hand dipped in the Adriatic and a finger spinning the galaxies ever slower as dust and cobwebs of invisible spiders come to blanket the universe
And even past then, past all these mythological improbabilities, past Death's abandonment of his duties and his scythe while sand no longer runs in glasses and he reaps himself
Past then will I love you and think of the spilled out flaming stars in your eyes and the velvety sparks in your fingertips and lips.
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 10:12 PM UTC
Have you felt like your life was incomplete like a fraction.
Because from the human eye you see nothing but dissatisfaction.
What's was your initial reaction?
Did you take action or act in an orderly fashion.
Just because you feel a mess doesnt mean you should walk in feebleness.
Dont be stressed, Its only but a test
To see where lies your faithfulness.
From the moment you Opened your heart to The father and Confessed
And commited your self, Surrendering to his will by simply saying Yes.
He Said, "My daughter Rise, shine, and with the armor of God get dressed.
For I have taken your brokenness to exchange it for your wholeness.
Now Take the straight and narrow path of Righteousness.
On this journey you will going through many things that you will have to examine and assess
but I poured upon you my strong spirit of Tenaciousness.
On the days you might feel the sensation of loneliness,
just seek me and you shall find me and you shall be blessed.
As you take this voyage The world will seem so dark and cold.
That even Depression, doubt, and fear will try to put you in A stronghold."
So Now I say to you, "My sister Don't you dare fold!
you have to proclaim the word of God courageously bold.
Let Jesus take the wheel and have complete control."
Just as Peter said to Eneas I speak this message to your inner man called the soul,
"Arise For Jesus Christ maketh thee Whole."
God is using you as a vessel
Because To him you very special
The kind of special a Woman feels when wearing her wedding gown.
You are the elegant jewels that shine intensely upon The Kings Golden Crown.
You are not inclusive.
But Rather Exclusive
just as a guitar that's acoustic
The sound of its music can be very therapeutic.
like a seed that has been planted in the soil deeply rooted.
Dont let devil in your life to pollute it.
Just like Jesus We have to be prosecuted
Because we took on the his spirit for ours substituted.
Remember we are spiritual beings in the the body of fleshy men.
As long as you Let Jesus be your LPN
you will be complete in him
Says the book of Colossians chapter 2 verse ten.
You got to have faith believer and walk the talk.
Just as Jesus said to a lame man I say yoi to you too, "Get up! Pick up your mat and walk.
In reference to The book of John chapter 5 verse 6.
You are never too broken To be fix as along as you Got God in the mix!
Make It A goal for The most High to purify your heart mind body and soul
So that in him you will be a brand new creature made whole.
Oct 29, 2016
Oct 29, 2016 at 1:10 PM UTC
Gently touch her, gently care,
For the day may come — swiftly when
That endless cruel knocking
on doors bolted from the inside
Dies down and turns into
gray silence.
She, irksome as it is,
goes round and round in circles
Looking for the missing pair
She wears the other one, anyway,
And sits down in grief.
She says, “I want to go home.
Let me go home.”
“Mama, you are home,” you answer.
Vexation rears its ugly head
And you force each horn,
one at a time, to recede:
To vanish from sight.
Then gaining composure you say:
“Mama, let’s pray.”
God hears, and you are healed. Set free.
Instantly.
Of the agony of bearing about
in your own body
The weight of selfishness
And sin
And sheer ignorance of
what it feels like
To have Time ****** away Memory
From you and those you love.
The stark feebleness of this
bent, white creature
With veined hands and bony feet
Reminds you of your own
Utter helplessness.
Mortality.
Nov 1, 2016
Nov 1, 2016 at 10:50 AM UTC
There isn't much sky
in this pallid, stale cocoon
no greens nor greys, no electric branches
searing fragile, barren walls.
But the heady, sagging scent of moisture
suggests a storm--
yes, there was once me:
a turbid bloom, an opportunist
exhausting avidity in one overarching spill.
As I rolled through your gutters,
flippant and bleeding into everything,
you rose with the dryness of the day
and spoke of your immurement,
the feebleness of my mold and mildew.
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 7:09 PM UTC
Bitterness
"What an appropriate name," she thought
"for this foul feeling that tastes so akin to bile."
She ran her tongue along the ridges of her hard palate,
hoping that her saliva might creep into every crevice
and cleanse her being of this sharp vindictiveness -
Sour anger that left a trail of puncture-wound footprints across her shrinking heart
Equally corrosive and repulsive as it flowed through her bloodstream
She clenched her fists in an attempt to catch the feeling before it traveled another inch
As physical as it it felt - running through her, running over her -
she eventually came to understand that her ailment was far from physical
When she could no longer stand it, she fell to her knees
And prayed to a God in whom she'd never believed
The intellectual in her pushed Him away with embarrassment
The seven-year-old in her embraced Him like a dearly missed imaginary friend
An internal tug-of-war ensued, but was short lived
The vivacious strength of her young heart
Quickly lost to the tired feebleness of her old mind
She set aside her pride, calling out the suppressed longings of her soul
Much to her surprise, she felt an immediate loosening of ties
Weights lifted; beliefs shifted - everything seemed to fall into place
She let out the deep, deep breath she'd unknowingly held
And recognized a feeling of ease and serenity that had evaded her for months
She realized with a smile that she was grateful for the bile
For without its damage, she never would have met her healer
Dec 27, 2011
Dec 27, 2011 at 12:06 AM UTC
I watch you every time you enter my door,
I pretend not hear you, yes i choose to ignore.
Your perfume lingering in the air,
and your laughter swift by like wind in fall,
i would be lost in your presence, as you enter my door.
I do not capture you much in my mind,
my heart is well when you out of sight,
but...
every time you enter my door,
i forget of all i forgot about you before,
then you steal a piece of me and it
floats with your smile, and
my hearts beats like a pendulum,
as if to live by your oxygen.
I think of long nights of tee-a-tete,
under the moonlight sky,
then you walk home,
locking our hands as we part.
O' what joy!
when you look at me...
i see the depths of the ocean,
clear and serene, engulfing me in your tranquility.
Such feebleness i cannot comprehend,
To hope that i can hold your hand and
yet not. To hope...
Every time you enter my door,
Void of my love for you,
I wonder , if my hopes will ever come true.
Aug 11, 2012
Aug 11, 2012 at 9:29 AM UTC
Stomach Churning Mankind, Dizzy spells over the Human Race.
I question and turn, "the top of the food chain."
Creators of technology, bringers of pain.
Yet I see small weakening cracks all over their face.
Attention seekers, stalkers and unwanted love,
psychologically misguided, socially excluded.
small secrets and whispers, where one always intruded;
gossip carried into the skies, like feathers light, above.
Ripping at one's defined thought, ruining it with paranoia,
Pushing one's life aside, focusing on obsession,
Wishing nothing but a pair of eyes, some sort of detection;
a heart leading nowhere, lips quivering with question.
Women are 'weak' men are 'pathetic'
children barely bear name aside ignorance.
teenagers with morality that is of absence.
And the old are useless, eyes bearing something synthetic.
I sit here and give myself every insult; I belong to the Genus.
I feel feebleness grip my heart, that is when purpose diminishes.
I question if old power was real; Caesar, and Dominus!
And I realize, "Every story can be made," And that is where thought finishes.
- N.C
Aug 6, 2010
Aug 6, 2010 at 7:09 AM UTC
If any one should wish to get “The Divine Kingdom” for “self”
And to effect this by what “self” does for the expected “wreath”-
***** will not succeed at both.
The “Divine Kingdom” is a “Spirit like Thing” or path
And can’t be got by “active doing” in sooth!
***** who would so win it-destroys it;
***** who would hold it in his/her grasp-loses it
Who knows his “manhood’s strength”
Yet still his “female feebleness” maintains;
As to one “channel” flow the “many drains”
All come to him/her-yeah! All beneath the sky
Yet still many continue to ask of “The Void”-Why?
Thus the constant excellence retains
The simple “Indigo Child” again-free from all “stains”
Behold…..
The course & nature of things is such that-
What was “in front” is now “behind”
What was warmed anon-we freezing find,
Strength is of weakness on the toil;
The store in ruins mocks our toil
The soft overcomes the hard-
The weak surmounts the strong
And the “magnificent castles” are revealed from the “morning fog”….
Muhumuza Kenneth Ezra
May 25, 2010
May 25, 2010 at 3:51 AM UTC
The Partners…
Dynamic duo smitten with one another ever since the premier
nurturing one’s feebleness thru candor and trust with no fear
to honor and respect individuality tempered in unselfish deed
with the rewards embodied by unwavering and dedicated feed
to feel endearing moments shared with a soulfully kindred spirit
shouting the blessing for the affiliation so the world can hear it
The Crime…
Living the scenes in a life captured with highs and lows
like the waves in a pond swayed by someone’s toes
not to be confused with the acts of those who are sinister
but instead the special time spent with one who ministers
the mind, body, heart and soul with true nourishment
of something far more tangible than some talisman
Partners in crime, two move inside the moments of time
Partners in crime, time has new flavor as an aging wine.
Aug 10, 2016
Aug 10, 2016 at 6:34 PM UTC
She crawls to me in
A nauseating manner.
Her fingernails dig themselves,
Inches deep into the carpet.
She smiles,
Awkwardly, prolonged,
By dynamic foam,
She giggles.
Her tongue leaps out,
Spelling my name in mid air.
Panting as a dog would,
She draws nearer.
And I worry about what may be going on,
In that deceitful, undead mind.
Horrid thoughts invite themselves in,
And make a home in my brain.
I say take a vacation,
They say, “We just got here”.
The veins on her forehead,
Protrude and glow.
She mocks me and screams,
With terrifying vibrato,
“Get away from me youuu,
You foul, freaky, fiend!”
So close now I can nearly,
Taste the vinegar on her breath.
So close I can hear her,
Scraggly hair detach from atop her head.
My heart continues to race the ticking,
The tick-tocking of my mothers clock.
My blood continues to boil,
So incredibly warm that I may *****
That I may spew all that pumps my blood,
Onto this creatures path.
She picks up the pace,
And widens her moon-like eyes.
Murmuring under her,
Coldness and feebleness.
Her tongue continues,
To haunt my mind.
And she is so near now,
That I can taste the clamminess,
Of her skin,
Or what is left of it.
My heart stops.
She stops.
I take a deep breath,
She takes my hand.
I try to break away,
She breaks my fingers.
I scream.
She screams.
“Who are you?”
I simply ask.
“I am the outside world,”
She claims.
“And you have,
Every reason to fear me.”
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Crazy people roam this earth, but I suppose it’s not their fault. It’s not their fault they do what they do without explanation. But you’ve got to wonder; What makes these people do such crazy *** things? I guess it takes a crazy person to understand crazy actions..
Dec 10, 2011
Dec 10, 2011 at 9:05 PM UTC
here i stand, in this bleak and forsaken place
the crackle of fire resounding ceaselessly in my ears
a hot desert sun beats down on my head
making the valley burn like a furnace
the slow burn of my anger
it consumed me like a ravenous beast
i fed it more and more
the memories that rankled and burned like acid
my tongue, it cleaves to the roof of my mouth
and my eyes have ceased to tear from the grit of dust
the harsh cries of crows are mocking me
raca! raca! their never ending mantra
i called you an immense fool
my gross assessment of your character
kept me blind and deaf
unaware of the fate that awaited me in the valley
my body, desperately crying out for some relief
in this vale that mourns the blood of innocent children
nearly falls to the ground in its feebleness
who can wash me clean from my sin?
i had the chance to be clean
but i kept my pet, my utter resentment
cuddled up to my chest
where it gorged itself on my soul, piece by piece
i beg mercy of Him now in my despair
my heart leaden in my chest
it’s then that i feel the first drop of rain
as the doors of heavens open on me
a holy and purifying deluge sweeps in
it washes away the guilt and shame
and there in the midst of it all
i find myself in the hollow of His hand.
Jul 12, 2013
Jul 12, 2013 at 4:21 PM UTC
Dear girl on the groyne,
Forgive the forgeries upon my memory.
Forgive the feebleness of my firsthand.
Forgive the feeding of my frenzy.
Forgive the freneticism of my prose.
Take truth from the diction of my lens.
I trust you will grant me a fair hearing,
And offer me the clemency of purpose—
To once more capture or conquer
The presence of Iris herself in your greens.
Grant me a jury of judicious witness,
The pounding of the gavel as grace
For the crime of picturing the presence.
I bid the remainder of my fruitless fall.
Dear girl on the groyne,
Has your blacksmith forgotten you?
Left to entice waves at shutter speed,
Forged in flame,
Chiselled and tamed on Vulcan high.
Through his neglect has the time arrived
To render and share for all or none—
As Pandora, of beauty, of curiosity,
Doomed to open the box
For me and my eye.
Dear the man on the beach,
Do you have any sense of shame?
As if the still frame holds the truest face
The gods of our minds do not claim to fame,
But cower and quiver with a shout of shrill.
I beam bounty in the rays of the sun,
Watching the groyne creak and stutter
As the waves breach and mutter—
A voice of too great dread to utter.
I sense your presence, your song,
The siren’s call to prayer.
The screech of the zoom and focus,
Lulling and drawing a sailor of despair.
But it cannot be enough
To return the green to my grey.
It is but a mirror of Death,
For the true beauty lies beneath the skin.
As the waves crash,
And the wind howls,
And the flash—
Our moment in time, you and I—
A fleeting visit in a luminal light,
Between silence and soul,
Of a tune forgotten in the sands of us.
Yet for the sea, a distant whisper
Of a moment—
The opening of a story.
Was it a moment of theft?
A moment of true witness?
Good enough to frame?
Was I truly seen?
Or just a clutch for transcendence?
And still,
The tide remakes the shore.
The groyne groans.
The flash fades.
You carry the image.
I carry the knowing.
We both were framed.
We both were fire.
Apr 6, 2025
Apr 6, 2025 at 6:12 AM UTC
Hello
Hi
I know
It’s me again
Sans the smoke and mirrors
Away from spaces in my head
And again and head don’t rhyme
But I didn’t need to say that
My self analyzing ways
Were in a haze
But made their way back
And I’d be impressed with myself
If there was some sense of pride in me
For each time
I grab said prize
It forces insides outside of me
And rhyming me with me?
Come on, man, that was simply lazy
Hazy
Crazy
Amazing
Maybe
No, you’ve got it, baby
Use it to the maximum
Forget minimally
But what if
Amidst these rhyming riffs
They see the real me
Do they see the real me?
There’s not a chance
It’s blasphemy
Because my armor, then would be
A holy one... almost gaping
People often ask me what my poetry’s about
They point like
“Oh?”
And I’m like
“No”
And they just question
As words pour out
And they move and they burn
And they twist
And I’ve learned
Not matter which way they’re turned
They’re about things that don’t last
They’re about loves torn asunder
About fires, rain, and thunder
Like that song
By Stevie Wonder
They’re the “Joy Inside My Tears”
And they lower and boost my fears
With all of their rusted gears
So I feel movement
A shift I hear
And yet I find it just still
Here
Hello
Hi
I know
It’s me again
This same ******* rut
That undercuts
These roots from sinking in
And the smoke and mirrors
The music
The light show they all go dim
I throw them to the floor
And the mirrors
Show me him
And he is me
But who am I
And...
...I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to shout
The truth is I’m not sure who my poems are about
They always hold some part of me
Hoping, despairing, living, dying
Some are etched
In stone-thrown rage
And some just leave me crying
Potential wins and consistent loss
They’re what fill my pen
Some acknowledgement to
A God who is always good
But a world that’s not my friend
And the struggle of my color
And the ripping of my heart
And the feebleness
Of my intellect
As I play this brief part
As I suffer
As I benefit
As I laugh
As I bleed
As I say hi
Hello
It’s me again
Just me
Feb 1, 2019
Feb 1, 2019 at 6:06 PM UTC
Sing the song of sorrow, you peasants of popularity
Everybody hanging on your words
Dripping with yeses and pleads for your attention
They do not know the contents of your heart,
Your wish
Seeking those who say no and stand up to you
You begrudge those who dare not fight your words, those who sulk when you snap
Snap their feebleness, those lousy **** ups
Where are the real people, the true
Why must you be followed by groupies who refuse your invitation to fight, to bicker
To disagree
Do they not know your sorrows, your delights of ****** and throw
Your voice has become as a funeral drudge as you slowly die of boredom,
your soul withers as you wallow in pity,
your popularity as a magnet of fiends of friendship
Jan 25, 2012
Jan 25, 2012 at 9:15 AM UTC
I have grown
accustomed to a certain
way of existing.
because
you have somehow sprouted
around my weary heart like lush ivy.
twisting,
turning,
intertwining,
knotting yourself up into
even the most solitary of shadows.
and gripping on so tightly,
that sometimes I remember it's the reason
why it gets so hard to breathe
when I think of you.
and
you no longer are separate from
myself.
you have grown onto me
in a way no one ever has before. you hold
such a powerful grip
over the feebleness
that has aged on the edges
of my soul.
and
it doesn't matter if you
want me or not,
for I have grown an unlikely habit
of holding you in my heart.
and I am not accustomed to
letting you go
Because separating even an inch
of you away from me could cause a
mental breakdown.
I am not accustomed to
loving anyone else.
you have become my whole reason to live,
and I am
irrevocably in love with you,
Only you
you are a habit
I just can't let go of
Jun 15, 2018
Jun 15, 2018 at 5:39 PM UTC
As if walking down a dark staircase,
every step forward gives way to uncertainty.
Downward, tripping upon my thoughts
feeling less, and less likely to feel the sunshine again.
It’s the smell of decay, rotted souls, & tortured hearts
smothered dreams, forgotten hopes, among all the lies.
Broken hearts left in its wake, like the skulls upon Golgotha,
condemned for their crimes.
That darkened staircase has become damped by tears,
fear as taken over, with its siren-like call into the unknown.
Crashing like waves, an undertow of raw emotions,
my demise now bellows from the locker below.
I’ve created this fable, where the plot twist is all to real
only to assume its identity in ghostly winds.
Loneliness, my old friend
my true undoing.
Sun rises and falls, day after day, It does not change
so will it ever get better with the dawn?
Do the monsters I've brought to be, ever vanish into the darkness, forever?
For I know I’m not alone, no matter how I feel.
HE walks along side me lovingly, waiting for my less than faithful cries.
Unconditional, Unconventional, Unrelenting Love
No matter my feebleness, my flaws, my imperfect human form,
Forever will HE make good on his promises to me.
Jun 12, 2018
Jun 12, 2018 at 2:33 PM UTC
Where is God,
In the deep abysses of the soul
Or in the glowing
Enlightenment of the mind?
Is He found, in the emotional
smile of the heart?
Where is God?
Is He in the morning breeze
that blows as if
to chill the soul?
Or can He be found
in the rays of the sun
so fierce and bold
like the sword
of a fearless warrior
through a succulent rock?
Where is God?
Is He in the morning song
that comes in resonance
with the drumbeat of the heart?
Can He be found
in the feebleness of a sick bed?
Or in the silent face
of the dead?
Bold as cast iron,
only stained with a grin.
Where is God?
Is he in the frantic---
Frenzy face of a village priest?
Breathing fire and brimstone
Like the furnaces of hell?
Where is God?
Is He in the fatlings
of a rich table?
And a treasure chest
Filled with blood?
Where is God?
Can He be found
in the simple-docile-smile
of the child next door?
The epitome
of a wretched world.
Where is God?
Is He found
in our guilty conscience
that died
spoiling His world?
Why can’t I see Him?
Why can’t I find Him?
How much do I have
To stretch and scratch
Just to know
Maybe, for once;
That I’ve done the right thing,
and not failed?
Where is God?
Mar 22, 2018
Mar 22, 2018 at 10:13 AM UTC
yesterday i wandered away from myself
i found myself looking back at what i thought was me
but the someone looking through the mirror didnt see
the someone not seen didnt know i was looking and felt left out
the left-out one looked around and seen all that had been looked in on and stepped out of the mirror to go back from then on
then on went the symphony of the seeing and the seen all that is there to be seen is there right in front of what i thought was me
on with all the looking and seeing back at me
yesterday i wandered away from me to see the other mees that visit every once in a while and i find i like all the mees i see even if they cant see me
i broke the me seeing mirror i was getting bored with it i started to see the me that i didnt want to see the twisted feeble dying old me
that scares me the feebleness the frailty of it all
i put the pieces of my me seeing mirror in a dresser drawer
so i could put them back together again when i am that feeble old me so that hopefully ill see the me i want to see again.
i know that me is still there and that me sees me now looking at it wondering the same thing as i is that the me i used to see when i saw the feeble me old dying me that me scares me.
so the me i see broke the me seeing mirror cause he was scared of me...
Oct 11, 2010
Oct 11, 2010 at 7:18 PM UTC
Winter morning wakes me light upon the frost,
lost now is my Summer,
here, I ache from slumber in the numbering of days and count the rays that slant at me,
this feebleness becomes my sanctuary.
Somewhere,
where the snow has covered up the shadows and the length of my existence shudders at the drifting in of afternoon,and the moonlight laughs at me,at this silvered magic that I used to be,
I see that I will soon be free, to rise and watch again with freshly opened eyes,the wonder and the majesty and eloquence of immortality.
I do not fear though am afraid ,
and I who have laid with dragons,try to drag this moment from the moment,away from the flames where names no longer mean to me an end to my mortality,but it cannot be and the night falls deep,
I sleep.
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 2:14 AM UTC