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Jack Jenkins Jun 2016
"Hey, how are you you doing?"

"I'm doing okay..."

I'm okay because I cannot describe all the different ways I'm feeling apathetic.
And I give you that smile that hides all the hairline fractures in my heart.

Every wonderful longing is swallowed alive,
I'm transcending my emotional capacity to live and love.
All my cheer is shallow and without substance,
Naught more than a cooked marshmallow:
Sweet and crisp without any nourishment.

My wretched self allows me to suffer thus.
Isolated when never alone,
Alone when in true love,
Irreversibly broken,
Choking on my frozen dust.
//On anxiety//
v V v Jul 2012
If I were only me I would drive to San Francisco
and jump off the big orange bridge.

I might do it if I knew it
wouldn’t hurt them,
but I can't because it would
so I keep fighting all
this **** that haunts me.

I have eleven reasons not to do it,
eleven people I will not name,
eleven reasons

not to hit the water at 86 mph,
eleven reasons to avoid massive internal bleeding,
to avoid broken ribs and punctured lungs,
to avoid …telescoping fractures……
asphyxiation by blood and……
….telescoping fractures……..
Eleven reasons to avoid 4 seconds
of second guessing.....and telescoping fractures…..
 
Eleven reasons…… …....................OK twelve.
 
Eleven people in my life I couldn’t do it to.
Twelve including me because I know I won’t like
the sound of what it might sound like,
the difference in my mind between the sound
of fractures and the sound of telescoping fractures,
a terrifying sound, enough to keep me away from
San Francisco, not to mention the big orange bridge.

I lie awake at night with numbers racing around inside
my head, 60 seconds in a minute, 60 minutes in an hour,
4 seconds from rail to water, 220 feet to fall,
24 hours in a day, 86 miles per hour at impact.

I keep counting and sleeping fitful frightening sleep,
endure nightmares of falling, flying off the big orange bridge,
reaching upward, the bridge getting smaller and smaller,

and every morning I wake before impact still a martyr

for all of us.
DivineDao Aug 2016
The origin of life

Water

Translucent silky body coat

Waterfalls cadence beating

Head jump dive in blow out

Sparkling bubbles so fine

Fountains humming

Refreshing tiny drops

Kissed by sunrays playfulness

Fractured into candy rainbows

Delicious movings in chill out

Fiery blazings

Blinding summertime days

Drying up all colours

Bikinis and bathing suits

Shimmerin time fractures

Captured wonderfully through

Soaking wet eyelashes
ethan gaskill Jul 2018
to the girl
still picking up
pieces of her heart
like books dropped
in a hallway

"hi, my name is ethan
i'd like to love you
if that's okay with you"

your heart can be kintsukuroi
we'll fill in the fractures
left by some past fool
with gold

because what better material
to rebuild a broken heart?
than the material from which
knock on wood
our rings will be made?
Michael Briefs Nov 2017
It seemed so much had been lost.  

So much had slipped through
A grasping hand,
A yearning heart,
A desperate mind
As mine.

The dull march of days present
Was shadowed by the
Gloom of regrets and
Shrieked by a shrill wind at lonely,
Bitter hours.  
What was mine? What was ours?
Gone for good and all?

My love, it seemed, was only
Ever a dark dream.
In my swelling and stinging agony,
Love was
As a locked door
And my heart was a bloodied fist
Beating against it.  
A wraith-like specter of doubt clung to me
With oppressive raiment,
Scrapping over exposed skin
Like course, mortifying fabric.  

Then, from out of a pristine past,
A voice  
Called out to me.  
The herald of an angel
Rung clear and glad as winter bells,
Celebrant!  
The dark narcissus of mortality was
Driven off!
The burial cloak was split;
The stone was rolled back!  

A hope newly found
Surrounds and soars above me,
As a deep, azure ribbon of
Stretching, unending sky!

I am imbued with cheering thoughts
Of our days gone by!
Glories recalled in a moment relived;
Revelries and song lifted with voices
And hearts, stout and full!

Together,
With my beautiful Eurydician queen;
Returned, she was,
From an underworld of time.
We coax and stir
The memories of first passions,
Innocent, powerful and pure.
We are now bending
The arc of our history,
Rending the precious pearl of affection
From the murky domain of
A love denied.  
Renewed and viewed through  
Prismic fractures of sadness
And through the sharp focus
Of blue eyes, in rapt recognition,
Surprised!  

Today is reborn,
Lived again and again,
With each pulse of the clock,
Each beat of my heart.  
The blood within
Is purged of that familiar poison.  

All is potent and refreshed:
You, your face, your voice, your touch, your scent,
Your vibration pours to and through me, once again!
Oh, true friend,
Tender lover,
Gently knocking at my door.
You return from distant lands
Remote and misty,
Bringing light and love
To my lonely shore.
I approach from my realm,
Far removed.  
Age and ages have chiseled
The shape of my soul.
In part, it is smoothed;
Refined with wisdom, empathy, and clarity.
Also, though,
It is,
In part,
Broken, jagged, and cracked,
As the forgotten sculptures
Of ancient empires,
Renowned
And doomed.

Yet I realize, all at once,
That I am not forgotten.  
I am not doomed
To shadow.
I breathe,
I seek,
I still have hope and
Words to tell!
And I still have my love for you!
My life is now freed from that
Sad spell.  

This breath,
This stony soul
(Sculpted by the Artist of Pain)
And this trammeled heart
Trembles in desire of
Your beauty,
Your touch and
Your presence --
Your calming presence,
Bringing levity,
Reassurance
And familiar stories of
Hopeful remembrance.  
From love recalled,
Comes your unexpected
Embrace and
Sweet sign of friendship.

That time of distress has come and
Gone and we turn to discover that
Our tender connection remains,
True and undefeated!
It rises with the earliest song
Of still sleepy birds,
Lilting on the cool air of the morn.  

This uplifting emotion
Again flows within me,
As an angel granting absolution,
Touching me in a place
As deep as first love.  

Welcome!
Zoe Sue May 2014
If my words could bring you back
I'd tell the mirror that you've gone away to battle
My noble prince will return
(Though your best weapons were always cold words and cold shoulders)

I'd inscribe my name into the bindings of all your favorite books
As though some part me could find some part of you in them

I'd yell at every pillow
That couldn't manage to muffle my cries

Every song that sounded just too much like us

Every fairy tale that seemed mocked us in it's polarity
(Dear, I wish I could've spun us in gold)

Every picture we took
That now look too much like broken promises

I'd sweet talk the fridge
Into making me feel worthy of more comfort food
I guess
you always said you like them "thick"
After you told me I'd gotten rounder

I'd scribble ***** sick sorrys into the floorboards
Serenading the floors you walked
(I think they turned to water on your final gracing of them
Because now I'm falling through)

I'd tell the fractures in these walls that you were the best filler
The fractures in my chest the same

I'd speak of you in the highest regard
My bourgeoisie balance act
Always calling for a coup d'état

And maybe that's why when I see you
I'm so choked up
I gargle these words in my mouth
But they fall into a silent drone
And If my words could bring you back
I still don't know that I could say a thing
The uniVerse May 2016
To dream is all I ask....
to escape is all I need....
to bask in the golden glow whilst time fades silently into the past
oh yonder morn please wait for me
for I exist between this world and next
neither here nor there but in the fractures of space between
a silent stone cast upon a sea of dreams
the ripples awake me now and I am no more.
This was written so long ago but is still my reality.
https://www.instagram.com/p/Bz3zl0Fngwx
Empire May 28
Why do I cry?
What's ever been done to me
Worth a drop from my eye?
I want something tangible
The obvious mark
Of a broken soul
But, alas, mine isn't broken
Over time, it has grown cracks
Slivers and forks in a delicate glass
Now and again, it'*****
By something so powerful
The weakness is revealed
And everything comes rushing out
Through all the fractures
That I thought I could ignore
And it's overwhelming
I can't take it
Mind racing, body paralyzed
Tears streaming, heart pounding
Breath heaving, muscles tensing
And I don't know
Maybe I've had one too many
I've changed inside
Maybe I'm stronger, maybe I'm weak
But I'm certain
I don't envy the days
When everything revolved
Around the fractures
Tom Spencer Jul 2015
In the evenings
the deer would emerge
from the edge of the woods
stepping over the tumbledown stones
of walls left untended-
they'd leave tracks through the snow
in a wandering line that led to the last apple tree
in the field by Orchard Street.

I remember that now,
staring at this antler I've found
in the clearing between the cactus
and sun bleached stones.
The lines of the antler
flow into the fractures of my palm-
two thousand miles from snow,
and two thousand miles from
the blue evening glow
of a shivering world
glazed over by twilight…

And the deer-
magnificent, pawing the snow
searching for apples that had fallen below-
emboldened by the frozen sweetness of autumn.
They were graceful even in flight-
when cars with chains
jingling and crunching the ice
rounded the corner
down Orchard Street.

Today I've tracked over two thousand miles
in my own wandering line-
the lines of the antler
flow through the tangles and hollows of time.

Sometimes I stand in a clearing,
sometimes hidden by trees,
sometimes I scratch below the surface,
and I run- but, less gracefully...

There are walls I've left untended
and some I've crafted too well-
it is through forgotten tumbledown walls
that memories come-
I thank grace
it was into this clearing they fell.


Tom Spencer © 2017
Jonathan Moya Sep 28
Our marriage is old enough to vote now
and on this our porcelain anniversary
I vote “Yes, I do,”  over and over again.

A score of fine filigree plates I will gift us,
two broken to match the fragile times,
the eighteen days past the towers fall
when we married amidst grief and joy.

Our Noritake sacraments survives the bombings
of a blasted world, the cracking, fractures,
the buffing of our mistakes to a translucent
perfection, all frozen details rimmed with gold.

Cancer is etched on the lip, but so
is cure, joy, longevity, beauty, respect,
and the watermark underneath, our keepsake
forever, irreplaceable love.
Kristen is my second wife. We got married  eighteen days after 9-11, when the twin towers of the World Trade Center fell in a terrorist attack on September 11,  2001. Thus if you do the math of the second stanza you get one score. (20) minus two = 18. Eighteen days past 9/11 makes the date September 29, 2001.

  It is also our eighteenth anniversary.  The irony of that number in our lives today was too good to leave out of the  Poem.  

The typical gift for an 18th wedding anniversary is porcelain.  Thus China and Noritake reference.  

For those aware of history the Noritake factory was bombed and destroyed by Allied planes in WOrld War Two.  Only the China it produced survived the bombing. © 9 hours ago,
Ken Pepiton Oct 2018
Alone,
Mapless, clueless,

Now a year.5 later,
I am, not yet, more than I imagine.
What I do Is all that must be done,

no less, but only
my part, my talent which I have not,
if the parable is taken literal,
those talents in the tale,
those were money,

not charisma.

Deify, make a god
de-ify, make a truth. Yep. That, de-ifing,
I do that,
think of the oil in an engine,
slippery, slick, smooth fluid
resisting nothing,
rolling with the explosive ****** of life.

I breathe, being metaphorically,
Solomonically wise,
I feared God and kept his commandments,

and thought sure I saw a wink, but
that coulda been a gleam, a reflection taken
by my eye
to my hindbrain, a single quanta
of leavenish light from what the seer saw,

a gleam glistens, I think I see what Mercury,
the message, the medium, flowing twixt yen and yank,
reflects,
flexing,
shaking,
Vibrant un abrading wave bearing grains
of matter smattering to the shore,
immaterial to the wave,
where the power's
drawn, pulled,
not pushed,
listing not lusting,

air-ish heirily, heir of the wind, I go...

winds list whither they will, always
the path of least resistance,
no lie.
Any thing that refuses to fall,
whether it bends or not,
it stands,
under the push of the pull,
the dam
destructive
imbalance of heat, twixt air and sea and land,
the circuits of the wind, ventilator of life,
****** into hated vacuums
over physics forced channels,
down canyons
dammed by mountain titans eruptioned,
fractures in the firmament, formed
back in Peleg's day,
as the turmoil settled,
aftershocks, still, winding
currents formed chaotic energy cells,
swirls to hold
lower pressure pushed by high,
the life force of a planet, broken and frozen
and fried crisp,
if it weren't for air.
And water.

It works,
the biosphere,
but surely, as my friend Ben said,
"we live on the wreck of a world."

Life adapts to living, medium message.

Desert dry silicon
dust rides winds pushing its owned way
into places where...

There's the rub.
That's my part, at the moment,
Here, right here,
is how I know.

This moment is real. You dear reader
make it so.

Imagining there is no hell,
that's personal,
but on earth, as in heaven,
as a man thinks...
you know, I think that part never broke.

Don't lie, don't fret. Wait and see.
or watch and see, if you are the proactive type,
either way, don't lie about the seen and done.
And don't believe lies, about things you've seen and done.
Listening to Jordan B. Peterson, Maps of Meaning, and comparing my tracks. And I voted, that was hard to believe it could make a difference, but it did. We the people do have power, to each his own.
PrttyBrd Dec 2018


shackled to a notion
rubbing through wrists
in rusted remains
of beautifully easy

it's a slow bleed
through insults slung
in fear the unmaliciois
only noticed in hindsight

calling the innocent a *****
doesn't breed hate from love
the duke-yeilding cowardly lion
flings back like a monkey


##

breaststroking a marathon in tears
wading through pain I never caused
pelted with double-barrelled denial
THIS IS NOT WEAKNESS

there is no waver on my solid ground
torn flesh and compound fractures
cannot break harder than history

still, gavel strikes
in sucker punched cracked ribs
that look like a past that ain't mine

###

keep hacking off pieces
maybe I'll fit into those pretty boxes
your liars left as gifts
nasty reminders that trust has sharp teeth

maybe that's just you
biting back any hand that gets too close
pandering in placating platitudes
ain't my bag

flattery fails to flounce from unfettered friends


####

can't be beat into submission
with unspoken broken rules
can't run from a truth in plain view

this is what it looks like
to believe what you know over
what you've lived

I'm not running
I'm not biting back
I'm not going anywhere

then again, why would I
I'm not the one afraid to love you




https://soundcloud.com/user-166761247/a-fourth-in-time-to-cracked-selections-of-music
122518
205w
ManicHammock Oct 2018
I've decided to give up the stars.

I will surrender my wonder.
I will close my eyes
and breath, and rest, and sleep.
I will let each inhale expand my lungs in all directions, rippling outward on the breeze on prarie grass at midnight.
I will sink into the fresh earth with each exhale.
I will not dream,
but settle into the Delta here.  
I will be healed here.

I will give up my stars to be enveloped by the dark sky and the deep, warm, soil...
Alive with a hundred thousand universes.
Millions of eager microbes treating wounds too small to detect but make my tired mind ache still.
Like stress fractures in ocular musculature,
Worn out from all this time searching for beauty as diligently as for danger.

To show my stars there is awe in existing, less being looked upon.
lila Apr 29
it started off innocent enough
i heard the jokes
stage whispered into eager ears
and the muffled laughter
that inevitably follows
i felt every syllable
claw their way down my throat
i’ve been trying to reach them ever since

i admit this to you
in a body that buries bones
the dull corners not enough
to trigger your concern
no one looks at me and sees empty

seventh grade, twelve years old
i began skipping lunch
because i didn’t need it anyway
4 years later and
i guess i still don’t
this was my first venture
into restriction fueled by insecurity
because with a body like this
no one could ever love me

it’s so easy to say
i already ate
if i word it just right
no one asks questions when i disguise
my madness as magic
step right up! come and see
this body, the greatest freak show on earth
and i’ve mastered every trick in the book
so easy it is now
to conceal the dark magic
while i showcase the light

watch!
i’ll swallow blades and fire
and nothing else
i’ll regurgitate miles of handkerchiefs
in front of your very eyes
so you don’t notice what comes up after

the slight of hand
was the hardest to master
but now i perform it with ease
i can make this food disappear
before you even notice it was there
palm it in my hand
hide it in my napkin
bury it in the trash
where you'll never see it again
aren't you mystified by the unknown?

nothing can beat my greatest trick of all
a necromantic resurrection
of a dead thing
a zombie now walks
among the living
the parasite finally killed the body
it possessed

it latched onto my brain
thrived on my detriment
took and took and took
until there was nothing left of me
i was consumed by something
that was consuming me
this thing
that i've grasped onto for control
has grasped onto me
i've been reduced to nothing more
than my efforts to reduce myself
the parasite becomes the host

i heard the comments
and took them as compliments
gasoline poured onto an open flame
that i can't seem to put out
i thought this fire would extinguish
as the comments morphed to concerns
but that only made it burn brighter
and i'm not sure
how much longer
i can take this heat
shattered porcelain is still beautiful right?

piece me back together
but i'll never be the same
spiderweb fractures across
fragile skin may never fade
but maybe weeds
can still sprout through
i can paint daisy chains across my scars
and roses in the hollows of my collarbones
wildflowers grow
from the inside out
through the cracks in my flesh
and in the valleys between each rib
slow and steady
up my throat until i choke
but that's okay because
at least it wasn't food
i'll swallow bouquets
to keep my starvation in full bloom

the rumble in my stomach
became my favorite song
a national anthem
for a living hell
that brings life to these monsters
if you are what you eat
maybe i can be nothing

i dance around the word "anorexia"
like it's cursed
because i can't seem to admit
that this disease
has devoured my mind
and made every one of my thoughts its own
so i dress my words
in pretty metaphors
and tie beautiful syllables
around my sickness like a bow

but there's nothing beautiful about
hair that falls out when it's touched
and a body racked with chills
in a warm room
there's nothing beautiful about
losing everything
that matters most to you
friends, family
even the ability to have children
there's nothing beautiful
about ***** on your hair
and on your clothes
blood dripping from your nose
or that ache that lies
deep in your brittle bones

this disease is not beautiful
broken isn't beautiful
but darling
you are
4/22/2019
You found me
stuck staring
at rearview mirror reflections
of wintry, dusk intersections
of everything leaving me
all at once.
A forced exhale
of asphyxia caged
in collapsing lungs;
my mouth,
a fountain spring,
that coughed out
pools of blood.

I wish I saw myself
the way you saw me;
not a red traffic light
wounding speeding cars
on winding streets,
but an antique heirloom
priceless enough
you'd only wish
you could keep
in a heart-shaped box
you saw in dreams.

But, I'd cut my tongue,
paint my lips cherry shades
to blend with cells that'd stain
handkerchiefs you'd offer.
Make you believe
this isn't going to foster
because you are indecision,
unfinished watercolor landscapes
of summer forest fire skies,
a sun-kissed Pacific wanderer.
And I am true crime
untouched evidence of break-ins,
remains of faulty locks and lights.
I am mosaics misaligned;
static, seabed cracks
from forgotten fault lines.
Gaping fissures of sand,
and salt that won't let me stitch
frayed skin-deep fibres
barely holding me in.

Oceans would have to empty themselves
into whirring cyclones and high tides
for our selfish sense of touch to collide.
Ice caps would have to sink
deep enough to even bruise my skin.
And I wouldn't want to watch
more Shakespeare end
before it begins.

See, I am the one
with sharp edges,
but why
did you have to be the one
to clip my wings?


There is only an abyss
without a trampoline,
a safety net,
a bed of waterlilies,
I could fall in.
And I am so tired
of paradoxes
and ironies;
of always being wanted
by someone who doesn't even
want to be kept,
of always being mended
and then left
with more dislocations,
and fractures,
one after another
each taking longer to fix.

Now, in shapeless parcels,
without return addresses
sent out into the void
these words will echo
of love
I never intended to borrow,
and shadows
of false hope
you never thought yourself
capable of
giving away.
AliceAlex Jan 10
You dance across linoleum floors,
Marble glittering beneath your glow,
With a twirl, you burn the rime away,
And suddenly the reality I know

fractures in your auriferous light,
And gives way to something pretty,
You turn around (your smile is sparkle-bright),
Your lips wake a sleeping city.

There is a ballroom shrouded by,
the grime of life around us,
You shine and the veil melts away,
And as my eyes work to adjust

I feel you faintly squeeze my hand,
And look across in wonder,
I think - If my hand wasn’t so tightly in yours,
I, too, would have been torn asunder

Sometimes, you think you're broken
Because there are splinters through your heart.
You fail to see how you sealed every crack with gold
And made yourself a work of art.
I see you, and I see everything that’s precious. You were blessed by Artemis, your eyes swarm with fireflies.
Butch Decatoria Oct 2018
Church Lady Dearest

Says she’s grown old

“Silver’s not so foxy”

Says she is quite practical

Serious with her moonlight moxy

Now no use

For Face-off make-up or

Delusions of grand magic

Says she

Don’t worry—with age comes

Pragmatism, Sister Agnus Wisdom

Sure bound to

Have fractures / cracks

With such antique

Foundation…

Old lady Golden Goose

Giant wisdom, beanstalk limbs

Sullen dreary sunken

Lost princess whims

Thoughts like her hair frosted,

Thinning…

Says she has nothing to whisper,

Sweetly cannot hide

A great old oak’s age rings

Inside

There’s no use for abusive rouge

Mirage of glossy lips kissy

Thing in headlights

Make up with oneself, forgive, and confide

Besides

because

Your hands tell your aches & true age

Church Lady just smiles…
Mallory Jan 30
Now
I’ve known this place before. Hair line fractures on happiness are pathways to purgatory, and when I say I’ve stumbled across love and watched it leave before, it’s not to say that this is any easier. I just came more prepared. More content sitting down in the night with the dark things, and asking about the places they’ve been. I’ve lost myself again, the way my mother keeps losing words. She misplaces them in my chest and I rip my heart out in attempt to give her my memories. Our memories.

Some days you are a reflection of all the things we’ve witnessed once before. I wonder if you ever think about her anymore, or how history has an atrocious way of repeating itself (up close). You keep trying to string things together to make sense of the unraveling world around you, but your hands don’t know the way around a needle and thread anymore. I wear thimbles like armor, and stitch together the things you say you remember, but don’t. Arrows drawn on the remote; symbols and language you weren’t prepared to have stolen from you. We hold our breath not in hope, but in anticipation, waiting for a shimmer, a glimpse, counting every glow of you left. We catch them in laughter, but we know this only grows exponentially the older we get. I know there was a time when you were more than this, but it’s so human of us to forget. Every time you rearrange words, and names, and moments, I pick them apart trying to find you there, but you are somewhere stuck between the ellipsis. You are caught on the semi colon. How do I hold you up and look you in the eyes as you ghost into everything I can not grasp?

Life is sifting your mind until there is
nothing
left
but dust.
Maybe more of a journal entry than a poem?
sparklysnowflake Jul 2018
nothing works
nothing moves
            and everything does

time lurches and jolts
            sprints across desert
                        kicking up the dust of today
and it wades in old rubber boots
            through the sticky muddy swamp of tomorrow

grey and lonely
            tissue paper mornings
crumple
and then let pressure
            compress
them into smooth river rocks
            skip across the lake
            until the water's weight
                        drags them down
                                    fractures –
                                    breaks the glassy mirrored plane
            deep
                        they don't
resist the grasp
or try to open their eyes
in the murky water

as they sink below
the realm
where time

reigns

cool night air doesn't soothe
            it stings
stars twinkle but they
            burn

and clouds are
trillions of pounds

heavy
I

My words do not matter to Him
Just faith, love, and devotion
My words do not matter to me
Just eternal peace without condition

So why do I still write
And for whom to not listen
Constantly fearing inferiority
While aspiring total self-forgetfulness

II

I want to reap what is sown
Plant the seeds here,
But let it bloom yonder
Let me be content
To drink the bitter silence here
And taste the sweetness hereafter

I want to bask in the present sun
See the prospect of glory
But let it not shine for me here
Let me be content
To praise the wisdom of suffering, before
As an ordinary sunflower
And receive the everlasting warmth, beyond
Ever closer to the sun

III

I want the world to love all
As I want to be loved by Him
I want the world to accept itself
As I could never accept myself
With its scars, and flaws, and suffering
With more forgiveness for sinners
Than momentary praises for perfection

I look at the world as a mirror
Fading and scraped bare
By constant cleansing-
A looking glass stained by tears
And broken by hairline fractures
Will not distort the beauty of the
Seeker of obscured truth

But, a non-existent flawless mirror
Where the onlooker refuse to look
Will show nothing of merit
Truth, lies, or otherwise

IV


O world, be not like me
The bard afraid of words
If you keep them to yourselves
Then Hear the silence reign

O world, be not like me
A sinner afraid of imperfections
If you pluck all petals with flaws
Then See a world full of stalks

O world, be not like me
The glutton with thin skin
If you don’t build up your calluses
How unbearably will it twinge

V

Now heed my plea

The lambs might have autonomy
But what wonder might lie beyond
The glen
What happens,
When in perfect harmony
The uncut wool smothers the sheep
And doom looms
When green turns to earth
Grazed
Till it waned.

VI

Soon, if I were to be chased
By the clouds of self or man
I will put my faith in the sun
I will lay bare my soul in the sun

For its Warmth,
    Calms the chilling winds of change
    All shadows conquered at dawn
    And at dusk
It yet guides,
    Lending light to the crescent moon
    Even at its bleakest a soothing sight
    And at its brightest
A mother’s love in the summer days
A father’s forgiveness in the winter nights

VII

Fear not the petty scorn and envy of men
Cried I, the pettiest, most scornful, and envious
Of them all
Shame me not, for we are all lost
Let us find together,
The road timelessly traveled
Built for the mass, found by the few
Righteous, yet perilous
Rugged and overgrown
Darkened by the Sun
To give to it to reach the summit
Flesh and soul
Strength and breath
One day aching joyously
Having reached the height
To see the hidden valley of delight
Where we will finally
Ache
Nevermore
Taste the Bitter then Sweet
By: Yidhna Yue Xing ****
Written September 17, 2019, from 17:24-19:07

Still reading Shelley, clearly still heavily inspired by my slow sips of his poetry, among others.
#love #fear #envy #forgiveness #mercy
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