"humblest" poems
OPPOSITE my chamber window,
On the sunny roof, at play,
High above the city's tumult,
Flocks of doves sit day by day.
Shining necks and snowy bosoms,
Little rosy, tripping feet,
Twinkling eyes and fluttering wings,
Cooing voices, low and sweet,-
Graceful games and friendly meetings,
Do I daily watch and see.
For these happy little neighbors
Always seem at peace to be.
On my window-ledge, to lure them,
Crumbs of bread I often strew,
And, behind the curtain hiding,
Watch them flutter to and fro.
Soon they cease to fear the giver,
Quick are they to feel my love,
And my alms are freely taken
By the shyest little dove.
In soft flight, they circle downward,
Peep in through the window-pane;
Stretch their gleaming necks to greet me,
Peck and coo, and come again.
Faithful little friends and neighbors,
For no wintry wind or rain,
Household cares or airy pastimes,
Can my loving birds restrain.
Other friends forget, or linger,
But each day I surely know
That my doves will come and leave here
Little footprints in the snow.
So, they teach me the sweet lesson,
That the humblest may give
Help and hope, and in so doing,
Learn the truth by which we live;
For the heart that freely scatters
Simple charities and loves,
Lures home content, and joy, and peace,
Like a soft-winged flock of doves.
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From the humblest of beginnings
Began a tough innings
A family deprived
His dad had died
So to work he went
To help pay the rent
From a teen to a man
In a short time span
He had many a job
Hard earned each “bob”
He was a keeper of bees
He picked beans and peas
With marbles and shanghai
He had a keen eye
So rabbits he’d stalk
Their pelts he sought
A butcher and baker
And fence post maker
A fisherman and fruiterer
And even spud picker
A shearer of great ability
Those shears he clicked with agility
From morn to night
He worked hard alright
Met a girl and made her his wife
Ten children now blessed his life
He provided as best he could
Forever working for their good
A large family and so little money
Life, of course, was not always sunny
Simply he lived, simple his dwelling
The trials he faced so very compelling
A ****** awful thing was done
A terrible tragedy stole his son
With grief immeasurable and untold
He held together; staying controlled
Children struggled to forgive their mother
As she left him and found another
Yet for her he would always stand
Always hoping to win back her hand
Another tragedy claimed a limb
We thought it would be the death of him
His work, his wife, his health now gone
Yet silently, painfully he continued on
We knew his heart was terribly broken
Yet always forgiveness he had spoken
We knew he lived with daily pain
But silent and strong he would remain
His strength and courage was beyond belief
But for him there would be no relief
His children were now all grown
He died, one night … alone
Jan 6, 2011
Jan 6, 2011 at 12:49 PM UTC
Old fellow old fellow
where for art thou old fellow
I'm in t'shed wi whippet and tin bath
his filthy from his walk on t'crags
you should ha seen him what a laugh
chasing through t'mud a plastic bag
Oh Fred you said it were too wet
to go a walking on t' pit top
your boots are caked in mud I'll bet
oh I bet thy breath sticks high of pop
Quiet woman can you not see
I'm as sober as a judge
so get yer back to makin t'tea
as I wash off me boots of sludge
She is the moan this northern lass
that makes me old heart flutter
but just one more word of disrespect
and I'll head in there and nut her
He is the pain makes me old heart ache
and the one that brings me t'laughter
but I'll **** him soon as look at him
if he don't respect that I'm a grafter
Teas on t'table drippings hot
there's fresh bread in the oven
by heck lass that there's real class
I love yer, yers a good un
So no Romeo nor Juliet
just honest homely folk
whom now the worth of mother earth
and the value of a joke
Let's leave em be in kitchen warm
wi the humblest of fayre
for Yorkshire folk are t'salt of earth
and I know coz I live there.
Nov 19, 2012
Nov 19, 2012 at 6:20 AM UTC
we should stop
to notice ordinary
everyday flowers
even the humblest
wildflower has
a delicate beauty
that makes it quite
out of the ordinary
simple, yet very
pretty flowers
each are different
soul openers
which represents the
beauty of nature
where flowers bloom so does hope
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 9:06 PM UTC
618
At leisure is the Soul
That gets a Staggering Blow—
The Width of Life—before it spreads
Without a thing to do—
It begs you give it Work—
But just the placing Pins—
Or humblest Patchwork—Children do—
To Help its Vacant Hands—
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once there was a White Knight
who stole away my fears
rode a mare called Dignity
out of thin air he appeared
once there was a White Knight
equal in loyalty as in compassion
he slayed the dragons inside my heart
in the humblest of known fashion
once there was a White Knight
with a past as black as night
who had become the best all on his own
and now claimed every fight
once there was a White Knight
who sang lullabies in my ear
countless hours in fields of poppies
when he held me, called me Dear
once there was a White Knight
always coming to my aid
taught me about love and its function
never asking to be paid
once there was a White Knight
who never really said goodbye
a court of fools he called friends
stood by like ramparts where he could hide
once there was a White Knight
who still professed to care
said he still respected my person
and that if I must call, he would be there
once there was a White Knight
but now he exists no more
potions, mirrors, black screens
lie scattered across the floor
once there was a White Knight
but now I bid him take his leave
because I've discovered the only Knight I need
is the Knight that's inside of me
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 2:02 AM UTC
by
rgpage
you live in a world which you don’t know
sheltered by your host’s resolve,
to keep a place of love’s warm glow
where all ‘round you revolves.
like a pedestal queen you’re held on high
in a world all of my own.
a world of warmth for you and i
and love you have never known.
this is the way this world must be,
a world of love’s perfect touch;
for reality holds another for me
whom i love and care for as much.
a woman who gave of her body and soul
and youth in good times and sad.
the one that i love yet cannot protect
when human frailties turn bad.
(yes) safe in this place of soft flowing grace
from realities out stretched hands,
never to want from life’s hectic pace
nor cry from hope’s ill-fated plans.
to my wife i give of my life
all that i humanly can.
now age and life’s strain have claimed their
fare share, leaving little with which to plan.
yet returning to you in most private of time
free from life’s flesh grinding grip.
naked and young we caress and arouse
and share in young love’s perfect trip.
my hope is you’ll read this humblest of script
for there is no more i can do;
to tell you aloud would dash our whole world
and more over mean losing you.
Dec 4, 2011
Dec 4, 2011 at 9:07 AM UTC
Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes
To pace the ground, if path be there or none,
While a fair region round the traveller lies
Which he forbears again to look upon;
Pleased rather with some soft ideal scene,
The work of Fancy, or some happy tone
Of meditation, slipping in between
The beauty coming and the beauty gone.
If Thought and Love desert us, from that day
Let us break off all commerce with the Muse:
With Thought and Love companions of our way,
Whate’er the senses take or may refuse,
The Mind’s internal heaven shall shed her dews
Of inspiration on the humblest lay.
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“It is essential in order to protect societyfrom the ambition, greed, and malpractice or caprice of rulers to ensure the inviolatibility of even the humblest home. The right and power of the private citizen to appear to impartial courts against rulings of the state and against ministerial decrees of the day. Freedom of speech in writing, freedom of the press, freedom of combination and agitation within the limits of long established laws. The right of regular opposition to government. The power to turn out a government and put another set of men in its place by lawful and constitutional means, and finally the sense of every individual’s association with the state and of some responsibility with the actions and conduct of the state.”
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 1:13 PM UTC
I give you my heart son
For today you gave me my bread
And I knew it was time to pass the baton
Shift the crown on your head.
Today you passed me my bread
A precious gift in love I earn
To softly place on your head
The crown as it’s your turn.
I felt so great and so good
You’ve taken over my son
With the humblest of attitude
From my hand the long held baton.
Today as you passed me my bread
In the crossroad where we now stand
Happily I unburdened my head
Passed lovingly the baton from my hand.
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 5:36 AM UTC
We set out to honor Mary
traveling the pilgrim's path from west to east
We walked, we rode the bus
entertained and enchanted by Cristina
applauding Ramon along the way.
Each day was one of prayer and song, sunshine and fellowship
rosaries and novena
we submitted petitions to Santiago
we laughed with San Serapio
From the grand and magnificent cathedrals
to the humblest village chapel
we grew in faith, hearing God's word in many languages.
We marveled at the dedication and stamina of the pilgrims
making their way on foot and bicycle
at the warmth, generosity, and hospitality
they receive along the way
We picknicked alongside mountain streams
enjoying good food, good wine,and good friendship
we walked down the hillsides in the hot sunshine
passing the pilgrims going the opposite way
we quenched our thirst in a quaint and rustic village tavern.
Ramon drove with skill up the mountains to Garabandal
a remote village suspended in time and beauty
there on the mountain top we sat among the pines
where Mary had appeared.
We sat in silence, in awe and reverence
the only sounds, the whisper of the breeze and the cowbells on the hillside
We prayed the rosary
It was, for most of us, a most special memory
From our bus we looked out at the mountains
the green and rolling farmland
at the rocky Atlantic coast
at the rios and the rias.
We walked in procession at Fatima and Lourdes
by candlelight and moonlight
and again in the brilliant sunshine
The voices and the church bells
carried across the plazas
enveloping us in joy and prayer and mysticism
It was at the grotto at Lourdes
with my hands pressed on the rocky cave wall
with the holy water on my hands
that I felt Mary's presence
Mary, my mother, my sister, my friend
AVE MARIA
September, 2008
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 8:52 PM UTC
Venus eye trap please
Accept my humblest apologies
for allowing these normally perfectly well behaved pupils
To rove carelessly across this shuddering carriage
And interlock with your own
For just a fraction
Of a moment
Too long.
From two rows ahead
On the 42 bus.
Through no fault of my own I was caught off guard by a sudden and unexpected spike in interest,
That caused my eyes, hypnotized
To run their boorish and misogynistic fingers over the gleaming contours of your beautiful
Ivory toothed smile.
Stolen goods. Simply intercepted.
Not delivered to this godforsaken countenance
But to the infinitely more charming
Disembodied voice at the end of the line
Invisible, omnipotent
He's just shared with you what must be the best joke ever told by man.
Yes! I greedily consumed the ill-gotten merchandise and shamefully enjoyed it.
Quivering with benign, desperate exhilaration like the man whose jaw is slowly locking around the cold and tasteless barrel of a gun.
Press no charge. It won't happen again.
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 5:40 AM UTC
As you wish!
On a short and sweet notice, in a sphere of dissent,
You pinned an Excalibur of youthful delight.
Like a bullet of laughter through most gloomy torrent,
You carved the initials of an enduring Nile,
Draining the cowardly anguish scent,
A torrent of sorrow that comes to an end,
Ending the story that failed to descend,
To the end of the Nile and further dissent.
You carved a dissimilar unusual scent, portrait of the Nile!
No grass, no forest, no human or beast,
No flowers, no crawling creatures or gods from the East,
No birds or ancestors, no suns and no mists,
No other cosmic body that firmly exists
Will ever grasp the humblest desire to smile,
You brought into essence in this ravaged cryptic empire.
…
It suddenly stopped! The comfort, the fog, the sand and the sea,
Have suddenly plunged and crumbled to form a new entity.
A matter of time or awakening call?
I fail to remember. Illusion or not,
I desperately cannot recall.
Be that a dream? A marvelous touch of phantasmic thrill?
That guides the spirit from real to ordeal?
that all was a myth, and legend will stay
until you get absorbed like a paralyzed prey?
I desire to risk, no incentives for me to obey!
And who can possibly name the unnamed sensation drafted to stay
that clutches to you, bewilders your mind and stretches the borders of time!
No wonder we die, a natural body can fit an unnatural smile
Just for a while…
And reaching the terminal stage of creation,
Contend once again without a swing:
-Irrational mind with chained understanding,
And a singular thought that is free-,
I surrender to life, to death I aspire.
But until then, I’ll be wearing the smile you gave me.
As I desire…
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 7:35 PM UTC
Stay, rivulet, nor haste to leave
The lovely vale that lies around thee.
Why wouldst thou be a sea at eve,
When but a fount the morning found thee?
Born when the skies began to glow,
Humblest of all the rock's cold daughters,
No blossom bowed its stalk to show
Where stole thy still and scanty waters.
Now on thy stream the noonbeams look,
Usurping, as thou downward driftest,
Its crystal from the clearest brook,
Its rushing current from the swiftest.
Ah! what wild haste!--and all to be
A river and expire in ocean.
Each fountain's tribute hurries thee
To that vast grave with quicker motion.
Far better 'twere to linger still
In this green vale, these flowers to cherish,
And die in peace, an aged rill,
Than thus, a youthful Danube, perish.
1.6k
Dear Heart,
I know that you are tired, because I am tired too.
I know that you are fragile and hurting,
-I can feel the hopelessness in your fading beats.
I tried my utmost best to take care of you in the little ways that I knew how
But still, you are slowly bleeding out
-I failed… I failed you.
One day in the future I will get the courage to ask you for that undeserved forgiveness,
The forgiveness that I cannot seem to even give to my body,
And I hope that on the day, I will be able to beg you for that same pardon with the humblest of hands.
I pray that when you see the scars on my swollen knuckles, you will not despise me,
Instead you will look at me with pity filled eyes
And tell me that my sickness, this awful sickness, was never my fault.
I know that you are scared, because I am scared too.
But mostly I am scared for you,
For I am not getting better am I?
Dear Heart,
I am so sorry for letting you down,
For treating you in the most indecent of manners,
For all the permanent bruises that I have given you
…And for the damage, and what unspeakable damage I have done unto you…
I am monster.
I know…I know that you are exhausted,
But I don’t know how to ask for the help that you need.
I have forgotten how to speak truthfully and honestly about how much it hurts
How do I tell them what I have done to you?
You deserve better.
But I am not the better that you deserve
I am the ****** luck that you got stick with
And for that I sincerely apologize.
You deserved much better.
Dear Heart,
I cannot promise to help you
Because deep inside of me I know that I don’t have the strength to.
I cannot save you,
And for that I am sorry.
The truth is that I have forgotten how to be free.
I don’t know how to any more.
I somehow un-learnt how to keep in what I take in
But no matter how many times I purge my sins and ask myself for redemption,
The little morcels of guilt always seem to remain in the very centre of my gut.
Dear Heart,
This punishment was never aimed at you,
But you deteriorated and withered from it none the less…
You should have been treated with more respect
With love and care…
Please grant me your resolve
And give me the serenity to accept all my imperfections
Please tell me that you forgive me.
We are a broken pair, both you and I
-You we were never meant to suffer
But you did
And you are still.
Never forget that you are precious to me,
It was never my intention to hurt you in the torturous ways that I did…
Your pain was an unfortunate side-effect of my selfish inability to be free
And for that I apologize,
I apologize for the unbearable inconveniences that you have been forced to face
Please find it within you to forgive the mess of host that I have become…
Yours sincerely,
By: Lulwama Kuto Mulalu
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 12:30 PM UTC
*Beethoven once said of the cantor of Leipzig
“Not a stream but an ocean.”*
Sebastian Bach wove sonic tapestries
and scoffed at notions of genius
“Anyone who pays the price can do it.”
Whether for Sunday’s choir or *****
or for a palace fete of state,
The fountains of his bounteous spring
embellished every age and station.
Yet he could crack a joke or two
in a cantata to coffee’s pleasures -
sipping from a sturdy cup
of nature's matchless brew.
Flutists, fiddlers, singers, organists,
children and masters alike,
have netted hearty sustenance
from the seas of his boundless vision.
But modesty forbade him boast
the importance of his station -
affixing to his noblest works,
a trio of humblest words,
“Soli Deo Gloria.”
December, 2007
Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 3:40 PM UTC
(Inspired by Kendrick Lamar – humble )
Whacked or weepiness?
Sing if you know this,
Well~ yuh, yuh.
Hey, I recall when every months with zero-balance-curse,
Therefore I lived my life with what I fit, but today I’m so ******
When everyone gets what their want; In fact, I never wish,
I choose drink mix while you choose Crème de cassis to rid live’s blemish,
"Son, the richest man never get outta debt hub,
Duh, compare to you with just one luckless credit card?"
So let’s be rich with heart and do something bigger than Tesla,
Do read on my blog, then write it down or by heart at least,
Zero-to-the-hero, hero-to-the-pro punk,
a person who used to be dumb, dumped in the **** junk,
now 6 figures in the bank, I'm still like yesterday’s punk,
If you got this in the bank, promise to be like an old punk,
my life’s better than my virile,
my future promise me how I rolled,
Hey Mount. E, wait for me to reach your highest spot,
but I’m just play cool to it, cuz you know
Beast’s humble,
Sweet lown,
Be hierodule,
throw your crown.
Who talk money over passion won't be richman,
The dream you ever sketched, belongs to trash can,
The dream you never twig, just a goodnight,
Just do for what you love for your loved wife,
Just what you said you do it to get a better job,
Say something to me you'll be iron man like louis cyr or,
Say something like you are immune from all snide remarks,
Everyday you and I should celebrate the 'go for broke day',
I'll 'Die trying till get there',
Pave the way for success stair,
everything's gonna be okay,
God not just hear from your prayer,
He bestow for what you care,
So stay calm and feel the air,
Dont called it work - called it play,
And say "Never say ne'er",
Hardwork means modest, stay low profile, and rich heart way,
Mamma said dream big, protect it from apart, stay,
Be like the strongest humblest person in the world, OK?
I'm the strongest orphan after all, boom! beast's humble, --
-- Sweet Lown,
Snob's crumble,
Don't drown.
Jan 22, 2018
Jan 22, 2018 at 9:58 AM UTC
I stood beside the grave of him who blazed
The comet of a season, and I saw
The humblest of all sepulchres, and gazed
With not the less of sorrow and of awe
On that neglected turf and quiet stone,
With name no clearer than the names unknown,
Which lay unread around it; and asked
The Gardener of that ground, why it might be
That for this plant strangers his memory tasked
Through the thick deaths of half a century;
And thus he answered—”Well, I do not know
Why frequent travellers turn to pilgrims so;
He died before my day of sextonship,
And I had not the digging of this grave.”
And is this all? I thought,—and do we rip
The veil of Immortality? and crave
I know not what of honour and of light
Through unborn ages, to endure this blight?
So soon, and so successless? As I said,
The Architect of all on which we tread,
For Earth is but a tombstone, did essay
To extricate remembrance from the clay,
Whose minglings might confuse a Newton’s thought,
Were it not that all life must end in one,
Of which we are but dreamers;—as he caught
As ’twere the twilight of a former Sun,
Thus spoke he,—”I believe the man of whom
You wot, who lies in this selected tomb,
Was a most famous writer in his day,
And therefore travellers step from out their way
To pay him honour,—and myself whate’er
Your honour pleases,”—then most pleased I shook
From out my pocket’s avaricious nook
Some certain coins of silver, which as ’twere
Perforce I gave this man, though I could spare
So much but inconveniently:—Ye smile,
I see ye, ye profane ones! all the while,
Because my homely phrase the truth would tell.
You are the fools, not I—for I did dwell
With a deep thought, and with a softened eye,
On that Old Sexton’s natural homily,
In which there was Obscurity and Fame,—
The Glory and the Nothing of a Name.
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As the blade passed from ****** to maniac.
The weapon steals a minute portion of their tortured souls.
The energy pulsating form its hilt,
Empowers its wielder with wit and agility.
The humblest of men succumb to its addictive call.
In the moment, not one ounce of guilt is felt, the dagger prevents it,
Replacing most emotions with the bloodthirsty need to ****
Seconds before the crime, no life is seen in the murderer’s eyes.
The only emotion visible as the knife is ****** into you, is bliss.
May 2, 2012
May 2, 2012 at 11:40 PM UTC
I'd like to begin
by pointing out the color of the walls;
the pink under the plaster,
and the tubes,
red and blue,
that keep my shower water warm.
This is my home,
that some call a temple,
with two brightly lit halves of an attic,
and no trouble keeping them full.
Its windows are always open,
except when the lights go out
and the shutters are pulled closed
and all that's left breathing is the fireplace
and the attic.
the fire place is a grand face
of grout and proud brick
cradling the humblest coals
under his black, stuffy nose
clogged with no longer solid logs.
His breath keeps the attic warm,
with the help of the coals,
who ask for no thanks.
I'd invite you in
if it wasn't for the moss on the threshhold.
That emerald green.
Those gems that seem,
with dew, to gleem
a blue and gold sheen
of umpteen citrines.
The sun's careen is seen by these
green finger leaves.
When I turn out the lights
and retreat to the attic,
I hear the moss sigh
like some sort of static.
Her breath reaches the crest
of my gentle home's breast.
The ceiling beam shudder
with a reeling like no other;
A sound that makes me cry,
while my cluttered attic comforts me,
and I speak no word but why.
The moss,
she makes me cry.
I'd like to end
by pointing out the color of the windowpanes,
and the gray of the drywall.
The tubes,
red and blue,
still keep my shower water warm.
This is my home,
that some call a temple,
with two brightly lit halves of an attic,
and no trouble keeping them full.
Its windows are rarely open,
except when the lights go out
and the shutters flutter open
and all that's left breathing is the fireplace
and the attic,
and the colors.
Jan 4, 2011
Jan 4, 2011 at 1:29 PM UTC
Hoppy demon, happy wizard
Turning men into mice.
Rendering even the humblest man
a hero in disguise.
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 3:11 PM UTC
I could have been The Falling Man.
No opinions. No intentions of disrespect.
Only a surreal psuedo-pessimist thought.
Always felt something inscrutable
in that drop.
**My reference don't tend a joke.
Please don't fuel any sorta controversy.**
But can't deny to wonder what
the thoughts would be,
during that fall.
Will the whole spent life flash
in front of our eyes?
Do we become the kindest, humblest of the few and the worthy human
ever lived in that moment?
Do we wish for some last miracle?
Do we still have ourselves cling to
the last scrap of hope of life again?
As I am writing this, my tears
no more stay tamed inside my eyes,
And my heart goes for the massacre lose.
Lose of lives. Loss of humanity.
Old news, yeah, but still hits the soul.
And the fall taunts my thoughts
as I too beg for a second chance
myself.
I shall revive. This is my life.
This thought shall universally exist
and be reasoned with.
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 1:19 AM UTC
I want to see, just you and me.
No price guaranteed, totally free.
A life full of love and serenity,
what i wished it would be.
I want to see the skies, in a desperate tide.
If you stay one more day, i can stop all the gray.
I am your guardian, from here and far,
despite all my scratches and scars.
I will not leave, or ever deceive.
I am the one who watches by, so clumsy and naively shy.
I am the one who dreams far and wide, larger then any riptide.
I am the one who never speaks, but never seems too bleak.
I am the stars that you left behind, the one so vast but never discovered.
I am the one who passes you by, not knowing why.
I am sitting in the clouds, waiting to be found.
Seeking for a steeper mound, one vivacious and round.
I am the angel who never sleeps, but soft and deep.
I am the one who never seeks, a world without you and me.
I am breathless.
Looking at you.
I will cross every sea, just to see you desperately.
I will go far and wide, just to be by your side.
I will always watch you in my darkest dreams, it's never as bad as it seems.
I will be the one you seek, even at the highest peak.
I will sacrifice my humblest life, even if it ends at a cut of a knife.
I will be the closet star, now matter how far you are.
I am breathless.
Looking at you.
I could dive into a world of stars, vast and millions across the cards, looking for the farthest ones, but never missing you.
I could live a hundred times, but it would be nothing without you alive, that's what makes me run and thrive.
I could be the richest star, but nothing could make me happier to how beautiful you are.
I could buy the whole world, but all i want is you.
I could buy a million gifts, but you are the only one i need.
I will be your closet heart, even if were far apart.
I am the only one, who could beyond the sun looking for you.
I would walk a million miles, looking for you.
I stand here seeking reality, but your the only wonderful thing i see.
I snap out of my dreams, to be looking at you.
I am so thankful, to be looking at you.
I am breathless.
Without you...
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 9:40 PM UTC
My mind wanders continuously
To and from the hear and now
Seemingly
I don’t pay attention to what you say
Not true
I do, in a way
But thank you for talking at me
When you thought I couldn’t hear
Because the rhythm of your psychoses wears upon my soul
Weathering me
Not like the sapphire waves beating on a jagged coastline wearing a mighty cliff into the humblest grain of sand
Or anything quite that dramatic
More like the way subtle occurrences can effect ones perception so powerfully
And while I’m floating along
From one island of idea to another
I’m tethered to reality
By the ironic lifeline of your madness.
Oct 9, 2010
Oct 9, 2010 at 1:51 AM UTC
O’verse of my heart, O’ note of my soul
Convey my message in your humblest words
Say, your lover’s eyes are singing alike
The morning birds
O’ my sacred pen, O’ my blessed scrawl
Pronounce what you feel but hide the truth
Say, your lover lay despaired at
His marvellous youth
O’ couplet of my feelings, O’ tongue of my call
Assert what you deem but conceal the reality
Say, your lover lay tarnished and
Is beyond normality
O’ echo of my state, O’ voice of my world
Declare what you believe but reveal your sincerity
Say, your lover is dying in sweet pain and I am
Here to endorse its authenticity
✒ ℐamil Hussain
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 6:14 AM UTC