"firsthand" poems
Who believes what we’ve heard and seen?
Who would have thought God’s saving power would look like this?
The servant grew up before God—a scrawny seedling,
a scrubby plant in a parched field.
There was nothing attractive about him,
nothing to cause us to take a second look.
He was looked down on and passed over,
a man who suffered, who knew pain firsthand.
One look at him and people turned away.
We looked down on him, thought he was ****
But the fact is, it was our pains he carried—
our disfigurements, all the things wrong with us.
We thought he brought it on himself,
that God was punishing him for his own failures.
But it was our sins that did that to him,
that ripped and tore and crushed him—our sins!
He took the punishment, and that made us whole.
Through his bruises we get healed.
We’re all like sheep who’ve wandered off and gotten lost.
We’ve all done our own thing, gone our own way.
And God has piled all our sins, everything we’ve done wrong,
on him, on him.
He was beaten, he was tortured,
but he didn’t say a word.
Like a lamb taken to be slaughtered
and like a sheep being sheared,
he took it all in silence.
Justice miscarried, and he was led off—
and did anyone really know what was happening?
He died without a thought for his own welfare,
beaten ****** for the sins of my people.
They buried him with the wicked,
threw him in a grave with a rich man,
Even though he’d never hurt a soul
or said one word that wasn’t true.
Still, it’s what God had in mind all along,
to crush him with pain.
The plan was that he give himself as an offering for sin
so that he’d see life come from it—life, life, and more life.
And God’s plan will deeply prosper through him.
Out of that terrible travail of soul,
he’ll see that it’s worth it and be glad he did it.
Through what he experienced, my righteous one, my servant,
will make many “righteous ones,”
as he himself carries the burden of their sins.
Therefore I’ll reward him extravagantly—
the best of everything, the highest honors—
Because he looked death in the face and didn’t flinch,
because he embraced the company of the lowest.
He took on his own shoulders the sin of the many,
he took up the cause of all the black sheep.
~ Eugene Peterson
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 12:31 PM UTC
In the darkness of constricting depression
I begged the Lord to give me joy even if it killed me,
and He promised me it most assuredly would,
for this is joy’s mantra:
“Death to self!”
It is simply not possible to know the deepest kind of joy
until we have experienced the anguish of death to self
with a cruel stake of affliction though our hearts.
For it is there on the altar of sacrifice
when we have finally surrendered what is most dear to us,
when we have willingly brought our costliest gifts
to lay humbly at the feet of the King,
that we are raised up to know firsthand His resurrection joy
through the fellowship of sharing in His sufferings.
No one who has ever truly learned that
“to live is Christ and to die is gain”
has ever escaped this path.
Find me even one.
There is nothing quite like rejection to teach us about God’s love,
nothing quite like loss to teach us of His joy,
nothing like storms to teach peace,
nothing like ruined plans to teach patience,
nothing like loneliness to teach kindness,
nothing like failure to teach us of His goodness,
nothing like betrayal to teach faithfulness,
nothing like being completely misunderstood to teach gentleness
and nothing like humiliation to teach us self-control.
Why is this?
Because there is nothing like pain to chase us to Jesus
and to teach us to rely so helplessly on His Spirit’s filling.
And when we have His filling, we will know His fruit.
Aug 3, 2017
Aug 3, 2017 at 7:36 PM UTC
They will bombard you with love and tell you what you want to hear.
They will tell you that they are your soulmate and that you have nothing to fear.
They will do or say anything to get what they desire.
They become quite adept at being a smooth liar.
Keep in mind that if it sounds too good to be true,
Listen to your gut instinct – it’s trying to protect you.
They will torture you with triangulation and convince you that you are the crazy one.
Then they will devalue and discard you when they have used you up and they are done.
They count on the fact that you will keep giving them the benefit of the doubt.
They are actually reeling you in but you are so confused you haven’t quite figured it out.
They are pure evil - do not fall for their lies.
Sooner or later their mask will slip and you will see through their disguise.
They will make you miserable – you will tell yourself this is not how you behave when you love someone,
But you will never make them see it that way because to them it’s just a way of having fun.
You will start to realize when their true self begins to show,
But keep your guard up because you never know how far they will go.
They call it emotional **** and that is exactly how you will feel.
You will soon understand the love you thought you had wasn’t ever real.
Then they will move on to the next victim and leave you alone.
Don’t beat yourself up – just hope they stay gone.
They have no conscience, no remorse and you are just a pawn in their sick little game.
Once you have been the target of a psychopath, you will never be the same.
A psychopath’s bond is a hard thing to break,
But you have to be strong for your own sake.
Everyone has come into contact with a psychopath at some point in their life.
It could easily have been your mother, your father, your husband or your wife.
We have all probably been victims of a psychopath but some of us just never knew,
Until you start reading the information about them then you will know it’s true.
Being fooled and falling in love with a psychopath is very easy for me to see.
I know firsthand the horror of it all because, yes, it happened to me.
V. Cheek
9/04/2014
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 6:50 AM UTC
Don't believe, for one second,
They'll hear nice things from me.
Were you dying for some kind of originality?
Well, let me just say,
It's still death by stupidity.
I'm telling you now,
I have nothing to say.
No one will hear of your generosity
(though we all benefitted);
Or your loyalty (of which I know firsthand);
Your discretion (none ever accused you of less).
I can't find the words. I'm speechless.
I warned you.
Stop smoking (both)
Stop drinking (especially every morning, afternoon and evening)
Stop being idle (and your posture *****
Stop being a lap dog (stop licking boots)
Stop this slippery slope of a lifestyle (there's ground below)
Stop taking bad advice.
You didn't Stop.
Now you're stopped.
That's all I have to say. Not much. Is it?
Jun 28, 2022
Jun 28, 2022 at 7:31 AM UTC
Don't knock what you've never tried
Lock box with a heart inside
Six shots from a forty five
Punk rock makes you come alive
Black-hawks in the clear blue sky
It's ad hoc but you can just get by
On Poprocks and cyanide
Tick-tock time to decide
What made you think that you could take me down?
The method's flawed, but the strategies sound.
What made you try to hold me back?
I hope you're ready for the counter-attack.
Backhand and you feel the heat
Grandstand 'till you take a seat
Kickstand just to keep your feet
Firsthand watch you admit defeat
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 5:01 PM UTC
She was born unaware of what life was or what life held,
You see her father taught her a lot when she was younger,
He used to hold her hand and walk her to the bakery.
Sometimes when they’d go he’d make her wait outside,
Or sometimes he’d walk into the bakery with her following right behind him in his footsteps.
Only the bakery wasn’t a place that made bread,
It was a place that used baking soda as they’re well known recipe.
This special bakery that the customers came in to every day,
Itching for this special recipe ripping themselves apart slowly and surely to get it.
Following her father in and out of bakery’s,
Seeing firsthand what makes these bakery’s so special.
The recipes from these bakery’s were all the same,
But little did she known the recipe was crack *******
She got a little older when she started seeing her father on the weekends,
She was about five when her father stopped holding her hand to walk to these bakery’s.
But now her father was the baker and the house she stayed at was the bakery.
All the new people she met,
All coming and leaving with the same thing that they all craved.
Her cousin started staying over every once and awhile with her,
This started to get fun with all the excited people around.
Her father’s mother knew a lot about baking,
Because she was a loyal customer for years.
Customers started coming over more and more.
She wasn’t even six years old when the man approached her,
Moving slowly towards her untouched body.
She felt his fingers move in places nobody has touched before,
She tried to move him away and cover the revealing places his hands were at.
He wouldn’t stop no matter what she tried,
The one thing they never told you,
Was that the addicts daughter was molested that day,
At the unaware and now ashamed age of five.
Apr 10, 2017
Apr 10, 2017 at 12:41 AM UTC
The Isle of Print
What a place it can take you anyplace you can meet anyone I met Sandra Locke when she wrote about
Her relationship then her break up with Clint she told about as a child how she sold pop bottles at a
General store that was one that took me back but even more exciting was where she was at a place
Called Shelbyville Tennessee I know it firsthand one reason it is seventy miles from Nashville and is the
Tennessee walking horse capital and all so my wife was born and raised there until she was six we would
Take trips there quiet often until two trips we carried her parents to the family cemetery on horse
Mountain we have my wife’s brother fighting Leukemia he said thats where he wants to be buried but for
Now God’s mercy is preventing that I met a guy and I’m sure you have met him many times also his
Name is Samuel Clemens he got a little more famous name when he had one of his many jobs as a Mississippi
River boat captain they called him just like when they measured the rivers depth mark twain he was a
News paper editor in Calaveras County he brought a simple frog leaping contest national notoriety for
Ever after known as the Calaveras bull frog jumping contest I bought three acres for retirement
Unfortunately I made like a bull frog and jumped off the property I drove a truck several times into
Hannibal Missouri you got a quick leap in your heart and head as you thought about the great river
Running by and all of the characters Twain created two losses are recorded there of course twain met
A fiery personage that was even greater than him a space traveler with a glory all together wondrous went by
The name of Haley the other less known but my heart slows when I think of her eight years old blond
Blue eyed her father’s and mother’s pride and joy he was a pastor in northern Illinois she lays in her
Sacred rest in Hannibal until that great waking up day as time goes on I get less and less patient if it
Weren’t for so many precious ones in danger I would be tempted to pray come Lord Jesus. Well not done
By any means just going to stop for now plan on going and doing some hard thinking
Jan 9, 2012
Jan 9, 2012 at 6:27 PM UTC
I need rent, but how am I supposed to get it paid
with a grand total of eight people in town?
I need space to celebrate my first taste of a private place,
but even as I dance for quarters - dollar bills at best -
I hear Mr. Delaney's footsteps, feel his molester's breath
dancing like a hot hand with its fingers to piano keys
from my shoulders to where my skull sits
on my neck!
His hands on my neck -
I hate this hole, this holler, Cacophony
I'm seeing dreams smash, firsthand,
seeing me swinging hammer
His hands on my neck -
I hate this hole, this holler, Cacophony,
but not like the life I left behind!
what I left behind, what I left behind
grows colds, grows overhead,
grows on me, grows close,
so close to the light that I lose the light
and grow cold, no friends,
no room for remorse, just
four walls, hole of black creeping mold,
a fine home to settle in, to
hate what I left behind,
love I left behind, whole worlds away.
I'm home in this cacophony.
Sep 30, 2017
Sep 30, 2017 at 6:09 PM UTC
What I’m craving right now is a
Shot of July,
Fireworks flying high
Over this town that everybody wants to leave
But I will never get over,
Never get over his smile,
Friday night,
Pulling up in my drive,
His voice so full and alive,
Making me want to dive
Right in,
Right into the lake that’s too cold
But I’m too old
I guess, to laugh out loud,
Do something just for fun,
Be happy for no reason,
Be optimistic and cherish hope for a
Better season-
I’m supposed to be already
Battle-hardened, war-ready;
I haven’t reached twenty but I know
There’s evil in the world.
That doesn’t mean there still isn’t good.
I’m craving a shot of July when
I’m not old enough to take a shot,
But I’m old enough to take a stand,
Lend a hand,
Understand,
Witness injustice firsthand
And use my voice to try and mend.
So please.
No more gunshots in July,
No more mothers wondering whether
Her son is going to survive the night,
No more human skin grated against concrete,
No more hospital beds surrounded by weeping,
No more lives lost and priests kneeling
And children screaming for their fathers,
Both earthly and eternal.
What I’m craving right now is a
Shot of July,
Fireworks flying high,
The loudest screams out tonight
Are the children chasing each other with
Sparklers in the yard,
Not yet marred
By the ideas of the world.
So please.
No more gunshots in July.
Jun 18, 2020
Jun 18, 2020 at 4:23 PM UTC
The Circus gongs excite the Throngs in nighttime Never Land –
They swarm to see the destiny of Freaks at their command,
While Acrobats step pitapat above the shifting sands
And Lady Fat sits down to chat and oozes charm unplanned.
The Dwarfs in suits, so small and cute when marching with the Band,
Ask crimson Clowns with frozen frowns, to hold a mutant hand,
While Tamers’ whips with withered tips, throughout the winter land,
Lure Cats entranced through hoops enhanced with flames of fires fanned.
White Elephants in big-top tents boast black-tusk contraband
To regiments of Sycophants who overflow the stands,
But No One sees anomalies, and No One understands.
At night’s demise, the dither dies, the lonesome Crowd disbands,
Down dead-end streets the Horde retreats, their tattered rags in strands,
And Janes and Joes reweave their woes, for thoughts of change are banned.
To play a part in Three-Ring Art, I thought I’d try my hand –
I mastered skills, I felt the thrills, I breathed and seethed firsthand –
But destiny denied to me to taste a lifetime spanned
With tightrope walks and trapeze chalks ... excepting second-hand...
For alcohol provoked a fall, as if a reprimand,
And now, a heap, I sometimes keep the ticket office manned...
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 10:57 AM UTC
#
*Beloved..
I wrote mine without even knowing that you had posted.
Everything that I do is so that ones like you can finally
have a chance to feel the Beautiful dream
firsthand.. on the inside.
So, in truth.. you can truly say within your war-torn heart,
that every thing I do, is for you.
It was an honor to go to your wall after I posted
and see what your heart and spirit had revealed just
a few hours earlier.
Love is a funny thing. You are worth every moment
of the pain that has come from the years of trying.
Hope.. and a deep understanding;
and view of your own, tremendous Love-worthiness
is what it is all about.
It is for that reason, solely..
that Poetry ever came into being in the first place
..You are beginning to feel Everything.*
#
Oct 26, 2021
Oct 26, 2021 at 9:37 PM UTC
Truth or dare?
You said you didn’t care.
My eyes met yours,
and I witnessed firsthand, those dimples I adore.
Nobody’s perfect,
but I found no obvious defect.
There was something about you,
overwhelming, passionate, and all-consuming too.
I lost myself in that first glance,
my heart never stood a chance.
I was in love with this feeling you gave me,
begging everyone to not save me.
This tickling in my tummy,
that kick in my chest when you said my name felt funny.
There’s this childhood type bliss,
I feel to my toes, every time we kiss.
Truth or dare?
I said I didn’t care.
And that’s when you picked dare,
in your eyes I saw a newly sparked flare.
“I dare you to fall in love with me”
it was with my next breath I agreed to your heart stopping decree.
And would you look at that,
after our little chat,
I knew there was no turning back.
There was no running from this attack.
It was then I was able to clearly see,
this beautiful future between you and me.
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 5:35 PM UTC
I don't want a secondhand love,
a hand me down of yesterday's dreams.
I want a firsthand love,
one with whom I can make my dreams.
The love I search for is deep and long
an ocean deep and long as the sky.
The love I long for is more than just strong,
it's one that will last 'til the time that I die.
Hope has seen me through this time,
when I wished for heaven above,
for lack of a priceless love. But now I'm
shot through by your timeless love.
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 3:52 PM UTC
There was always at least five feet between us. It was actually a good thing in the preliminary stage. We could lock eyes without the urgent need to look away too soon. The intensity was containable in those five feet.
(speaks very fast) And then my stupid self went around and quickly covered four of those five feet. It is the laws of mitotic cell division god ****** You do not grow four feet in a day. You grow inch by inch, centimeter by centimeter. Ask him about that literature assignment. Shakespeare is responsible for excess glutton in today’s pick up lines. Wait for your friends to dare him to kiss you on a Truth and Dare. Wait for him to want to. Then, tell him, maybe, I like you.
That, in that one foot perimeter, I could see golden flakes in the circles of his eyes when clearly they are brown should have been the first sign that it was a bad idea. Five feet was our perimeter. Five feet was where we stopped. (points to own body) Five feet is where I stop.
For, I will never be anyone else but me. I will never experience, firsthand at least, what it is like to be a lanky six footer who hunches because she doesn't know what to do with her body. Or her exhilaration when she finds the basketball court. I will never experience being the Egyptian boy who has a chemistry counter in his kitchen, who asks his maid to buy him potassium nitrate. I won't know what it is like to be his maid who almost got arrested for asking to buy potassium nitrate (a component of explosives) in Egypt. I shall never experience courting like the characters in a Jane Austen novel. And how nice it must feel, feeling beautiful.
And I will never ever experience, what it is like to be his girlfriend.
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 9:03 AM UTC
~
these words from a friend
jar me from my glass-eyed read
"even if we are not aware,
we live in memories"
and in response i write,
"i often feel watched
by my loved ones passed on,
as though they are aware
of my every movement and deed,
peering over the portals
of a nearby dimension
as one from a portico"
watching what before them lies.
fellow members of a "club"
you didn't volunteer for,
didn't sign your name to,
you know firsthand
the longing, the aching,
the wishing and the wanting,
the praying and the begging,
the "take this cup" imploring,
remove it far from me,
the "i'm down on my knees
begging you please" plea.
grief...
a mournful response
a saudade for
what will, what can
never be again.
a shadowy wood,
where the seekers lie,
where lovers come
when lovers die;
where hope once lost
can still be found,
where signs and wonders
from beyond abound.
where man can touch
the face of God,
where the path to freedom,
with all it twist, its turns,
brings new meaning
and opens new doors.
within this forest
there lies a pool
from which to drink
and be renewed.
healing waters
in abundance here
to wash away
the bitter tears;
the lonely hours
here spent bring peace,
its lovely flowers
are rarest sweet;
the dancer learns
her steps again,
the singer finds
his inner voice;
here hearts unfold
and bare the creases,
here anxious thoughts
and anger ceases;
and psalmist's soul
here finds relief.
~
post script.
*thank you Bala, for stirring my morning contemplation time and helping me to reflect on what i have, as being a part of what i have lost.
"saudade"- though sharing no English equivalent is best understood here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saudade
as apples of gold are wise words... indeed! my fellow poets, you are a grace to me, a gift i did not heretofore know of; the door to a contemplative.forest i had not previously known. thank you, to each who stops in to make a kind, a generous comment and sometimes add a very thought-provoking word. i am grateful today!!*
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 2:44 PM UTC
Can you settle for more or less if today was your last day
And what would be your retort if you were denied another chance?
How life introduces sobriety and the impending inevitability
The interstice and it’s ingress that encloses before your eyes
The demanding pouring of importune time
That soothing allaying sighs that evoke incalculable alleviation
If someone were to impart as they closed their eyes
As they died with a commital of happenings with not enough time
As to burden you with the impression of only one chance
It would seem and with the impending inevitability
Of your death which would subito compromise the day
A bearding contrivance plight of obligations engagement and commital no alleviation
An abecedarian dossier concealed for a long time
All this time the inevitable coinciding incident only for your eyes
The emotional habituation was of quotidian rendition each day
Of how trivial things take us on a dance with only one life one chance
With your attention and awareness on the answer the inevitability
Of what you are becoming with each passing second for each
Thought which transpires and no alleviation
Is there an epoch a replicating limn a depiction of our linear time
As we perpetrate and pursue progressively for our alleviation
Engaged to staying the course the day
Stirring closing in on our deliberate objective determined chance
Which remained for a terse duration from the inevitability
In which at the atrium of this erstwhile portage of a duvet to belabor
To stifle firsthand with your eyes
The variant from this domicile from this residence on a day
Is the vagabond to perish in yonder with no alleviation
Once man was a brute dullard or a curmudgeon spinster at a time
Which offers a mute disconnection ragged miscreant the inevi
Naivety or absent mindedness to somnambulist and its silhouette
Notwithstanding change
The quagmire and it’s nightmare the ingrate delighted with coined
Shunned eyes
Reputation with a flagrant obscene defilement galvanizing
The alleviation
At the heart of this lies another chance
A precocious inevitability
A man who lies to die another day
The annihilation in desperate want for from those argent eyes
To the starving newfangled optimism which in its sheen
Shines sunshine dulling the ocular orbs of time
Forwithal in befuddlement remain here
The time if infringement to comprehend the volatile vertigo
And the inevitability
The harrowing of hell
Glance at the shinning suns in her eyes intention considers change
After you heal and left are the cicatrix
Will you plunge further for alleviation
Or on the intent of regression once again
From long ago to another distant day.
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 9:20 PM UTC
Listen...
If this goes down like the Christians are sayin'...
Ain't no one getting in and god knows it
That ash hole loves it
He's super into punishment
That and judgment
Those two seem to be his favorite
Bringing true enjoyment
So arrogant he wrote it down,
A confession in print
It's obvious no pastor is oblivious,
There's just a willingness,
A complete lack of acknowledgment
They preach benevolent
All I read is maleficent
All I see is a battlefront
A holy deficit
How he treats his creation,
Love and compassion destructively absent
It's an embarrassment
Secondhand, none from firsthand involvement
Unless you think abandonment is an accomplishment
Or fraudulent is some kind of complement
Yeah, I've read it
I wouldn't have taken it public
It's a narcissistic story of sin and atonement
Punished for the failure of a first experiment
Because one decided to be disobedient
Now ungodly pain will accompany pregnancy,
Fuuck the pregnant
Punishment doesn't fit the crime,
But don't question it
That's how it had to be,
But I don't understand that argument
Does the almighty have a limit?
They say no,
There's nothing he can't do
So,
This is exactly how he CHOSE to do it
And when it comes right down to it,
If this shiit I hear is legit,
Let's see if he can feel regret
Will we
Get any
Apology
For this kind of "heaven sent" treatment
Force it to admit to all of it
Even if it takes an eternity,
I'll have all of eternity to do it
©2024
Mar 16, 2024
Mar 16, 2024 at 6:36 PM UTC
I scoff in embarrassment
At myself
And shrug a cold shoulder
As emotions threaten to boil over
Jealous of a fictional character
When one hears from the other
That they'll be friends forever
Forever
Has never
Been a player
In my endeavor
©2024
Mar 18, 2024
Mar 18, 2024 at 7:16 PM UTC
every dusk
the Sun falls
willingly
and from its death
the moon will rise:
so we can
see its light
and give firsthand accounts
of the Sun's beauty
without going
blind
i'm no longer afraid
of the dark.
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 11:44 PM UTC
Probably a symptom of something
to ascribe internal suffering
to an external horror.
Creeping through my guts
my hair standing on end
the back of my neck prickling.
My God I am crazy
or I am haunted
but by what has no name.
I may be a liar and cold
and that did indeed
**** a barely born love.
It is good that we could not continue
as I was not forthcoming to you
about the state of my soul.
You would have had to endure
my nightmares and my fears
waking in a cold sweat.
I do believe in evil
having seen it firsthand
dined with it in darkened rooms.
And as sad as I am
in the midst of my insanity
there is not hope
but vindication.
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 8:48 PM UTC
We were born from ashes and dust, and now I don't know if the fireworks are mine or hers to clean up.
So let the dead stay dead. Let us stay what we are. Let us lie, and not rise.
Because we've all seen what becomes of innocence, and purity. We've experienced it firsthand.
Please, don't let us, be dragged to the wind.
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 12:53 AM UTC
What of the nights?
What of the time God spent in-between days of creating?
What of the eighth day?
When did God sense that the ethereal rush of completing a project
was wearing off? Does God get bored?
Does he, like everyone else, grow tired of the mundane and of the usual?
God, forever only projecting his image onto his creations was no longer exciting enough.
Too lonely was God and too curious he was to be left unattended-
with the power to elude the impossible.
Too lonely he was, too much he wanted to be around others like himself
too much time had he spent with his own thoughts
reverberating off the walls of his own making,
shouting back feelings already known to him.
Too curious he was to not see what would happen
if he could experience the company and love of others like himself
and too insightful he was to know all of these things existed in his mind
but not as a firsthand account.
Too self-aware he was to not understand that a genuine account of such feelings
was what he wanted.
He felt all the feelings we feel
Curiosity
Loneliness
Boredom
Companionship
and love.
He understood them so completely and totally in the world he created
that he grew tired
and then the only feelings God could sense were those of loneliness and of guilt;
a strong undying feeling of regret for feeling things that only he has ever felt.
With these thoughts encircling his heavy mind he also realized
that if he were to create another like him, he could not control it.
His identity would have to be shared with another complete equal.
Could he have this?
Too wise he was to not account for the repercussions of his artistic actions;
God was still.
For God like all of us, wishes to be special,
to be unique, and to have control; control, the original ***** of God.
God realized this after the night of the billionth fifth day;
he realized that now after looking at the last of all his great creations
the problems with the ones before
because after all this was not God’s first week
and in no measurable time he had created many
planets, worlds, kingdoms, and beings
none holding his attention long enough to not create the next.
So these, he muttered in his kingdom of unshared silence
these had to be different.
Not God enough to oppose him but human enough to feel him.
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 6:22 PM UTC
Upon the nightly news
the images of war
implant impressions
of an innocent generation
brought into this
by the tragedies of death
i raised my right hand
to defend this land.
from enemies,
both foreign and domestic
now i hold an M16
and breathe so shallow
this is what i choose
its taken me this far
rebuffing their transgressions
to protect the next generation
so they may find bliss
this is my final breath
i will take in the sand
from the horrors i've seen firsthand
by our enemies
both foreign and domestic
nothing i could've foreseen
and i feel so hallow
on the inside
but this is war
this is my job
i've chosen to do
to be the silent guardian
standing watch
when will Washington decide
this has gone to far
and we've been robbed
and peace is long-overdue
but we are the silent guardians
forever standing watch
we will fight the wars
and defend this nation
forever and always
but without war
were would be
the American soldier
Jan 21, 2010
Jan 21, 2010 at 7:27 PM UTC