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Ann Rachel Oct 2013
Foretastes of lonesome days awake,
Her tears turned to stone.
Her eyes that once shone
Now forlorn.

The fires that once burned inside
Now have all died
The demise of love
The end of good from above.

Her heart once worn
Now even more torn
Her hands, once unscathed
But now, in blood; bathed.

Her premise, once moral
Now debauched.
Her spirit, once untainted
Now defiled.
mark john junor May 2015
how do you feel
lost and alone at the end of your dime
someplace on the road between the here and the now
out of smokes and outa luck
barefaced to the carnival of night
the day passes slowly into the vastness of the past
hungry eyes puddled with traces of regret
for all the places you've been and think you belong
for all the treasures of the past yet to be plundered
and all the sweetness to which your heart has succumb
convinced of the need to find a home
a place to breath easy
you take a few tentative steps to the road
in hopes of finding its easier than it seems
to kickstart your old bones
and write a new tale for you to sing
how do you feel down here at the end of your last dime
finger-licking good or foretastes of gloom
waiting here for the prize you know aint comin'
waiting here for the explanation you aint buyin'
thin and looking a little like a ghost
see you on the other side
md-writer Nov 2019
No need unmet
I rest in peace and plenty;
for I am shepherded by God Himself.

He beckons along a path
that leads me to the river,
where I am strengthened and
restored -
and the spark before me is the name
of my Lord,
and the path (straight and narrow),
paved with
love and mercy;
So I follow, stumbling
in the footsteps of a greater far than I,
yet I follow still
for His name and seal upon me
will admit no last defeat.

Even the whispered shadow of death
cannot shake me,
for fear hath no place
where my Lord is -
that Riverside peace, the rest in plenty
He has given, remain
unshaken,
brought back to memory by
the correcting rod and supporting staff
to stay my path in comfort
straight and true.

The battle spreads before me,
enemies snarl, and the
fiery darts whine.
I stand in armor, but a feast is
laid out there,
a repast fit for heroes,
to remind me that the battle
is
already won.
The victor is anointed,
the warrior too - a paradox,
already and not yet, I live
on both sides of the battle,
and His cup of joy and strengthening
wells over,
like a stricken rock in desert wastes,
it flows out in a river
by my side.
I may wade into the gore
of battle,
I may stand at death's
own door,
but this everlasting goodness
and the mercy of His face
will not depart -
will not depart from me.

For on the far side of this
valley,
on the flip side of this fight,
the house of my God is,
and in it's halls is my
eternal home.
There in that place are the pastures,
the rivers,
the feasts of the soul...

...the fullness of foretastes He's
given before.
Expanded personal paraphrase

— The End —