"griefly" poems
"Fear nothing but fear itself",
Oh why then this storm within myself?
Is it simply the Great Unknown?
Or my destiny written out in stone?
Had I but a glimpse into tomorrow
Would that perpetuate my griefly sorrow?
Yet I'm losing the present joy
In my "what iffs"mantra -I seem to enjoy
Living within the present moment
Gives you the strength and atonement
Making ones worries fade throug the wind
Finding the courage deep from within
"Fear nothing but fear itself"
Oh how I have laiden my heart to delf!
And ever so gently
Lost sight of blessings a-pleanty
And I find myself without hope-
And I find it difficult to cope,
For I' find whithin myself
( I )
Fear more-than only Fear itself!!
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 12:59 PM UTC
In the same rhythm,
Sea moves,
Divides the shore.
Though, he loved the sky.
Every night he would be here
And he would make love with stars,
On the slay.
They loved him.
Sky took him away.
One of them then he was.
But I haven't seen his shine for a long time.
It was same as the one in his eyes when he left,
Griefly pale.
In the same rhythm,
Sea moves,
Divides the shore.
Lucius D. Luuk
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 4:33 PM UTC
a fragile mountain of tiny clothes,
piled griefly on the floor,
unused and
of no more use to this oncebrief family anymore.
we should set fire to it. no,
we should expire within it. no,
we should pick up knives and in our denial of it know
finality of pain.
yet something stays the hand—
something and:
that no matter how intense the hurt,
you were, however faintly, too upon this Earth.
with us of us in us
you must remain.
God, let us pray never to forget that day.
remembering it most when
we move through this hideous volume of silence,
in a house;
of broken geometry,
moving forward everything recedes,
waiting for something to happen. anything but the pale
sameness.
yet something stays the hand—
your face then
your eyes opening again
breathe in
this hope,
worth all the ******* pain in the world,
my dear little girl
in Heaven.
Oct 15, 2022
Oct 15, 2022 at 12:29 AM UTC