"intercession" poems
“The executioner’s face is always well hidden”
a Bob Dylan lyric
<>
mine own “ex,” in chest encased, silent, with grimacing smile,
happy to be of sir-vice, sent home unhappy, cause his cut,
not quite deep enough
this time,
though nearly succeeded,
but his biz is an-all-or-none inclusive Swifty tour, disillusioned,
he don’t get paid unless he brings my punched ticket to a glorious
sadness conclusion
someone asked (axed in local accent) if I’m nearer my god
having survived despite my best efforts at self destruction,
to which I’m smiling when uttering a “heartfelt prayer” of
Hell No!
cause the channel always been open and either side can initiate when so desired, the gates of love always open,
so wasn’t surprised when playing with my matches,
he went silent, but knew fully well, Mr. G a risk taker,
put his roulette chips on a “basket bet,” (1)
needing a double 00, to collect,
because, shoot, the timing was good…
Me?
ain’t naive enough to hope that a prayerful request
would not be met with a “now you want some intercession?”
and a heavenly sneer, cause we always been perfectly clear,
with each other, ask and you won’t receive, and none of that
what have you done for me lately razzamatazz,
nah, the record impurities gray
and no pencil erasures allowed…
knowing that the executioner will be back’ round someday,
my wounded heart too tempting to pass up twice, and
that’s ok, this old man learned to live with
a not entirely pleasant uncertainty,
*”This old man, he played one,
He played knick-knack on my thumb;
With a knick-knack paddywhack,
Give the dog a bone,
This old man came rolling home.”*
but he didn’t play two, having no kazoo!
Sep 5, 2023
Sep 5, 2023 at 12:24 PM UTC
Freres humains qui apres nous vivez,
N'ayez les coeurs contre nous endurcis ...
Men, brother men, that after us yet live,
Let not your hearts too hard against us be;
For if some pity of us poor men ye give,
The sooner God shall take of you pity.
Here are we five or six strung up, you see,
And here the flesh that all too well we fed
Bit by bit eaten and rotten, rent and shred,
And we the bones grow dust and ash withal;
Let no man laugh at us discomforted,
But pray to God that he forgive us all.
If we call on you, brothers, to forgive,
Ye should not hold our prayer in scorn, though we
Were slain by law; ye know that all alive
Have not wit always to walk righteously;
Make therefore intercession heartily
With him that of a virgin's womb was bred,
That his grace be not as a dr-y well-head
For us, nor let hell's thunder on us fall;
We are dead, let no man harry or vex us dead,
But pray to God that he forgive us all.
The rain has washed and laundered us all five,
And the sun dried and blackened; yea, perdie,
Ravens and pies with beaks that rend and rive
Have dug our eyes out, and plucked off for fee
Our beards and eyebrows; never we are free,
Not once, to rest; but here and there still sped,
Driven at its wild will by the wind's change led,
More pecked of birds than fruits on garden-wall;
Men, for God's love, let no gibe here be said,
But pray to God that he forgive us all.
Prince Jesus, that of all art lord and head,
Keep us, that hell be not our bitter bed;
We have nought to do in such a master's hall.
Be not ye therefore of our fellowhead,
But pray to God that he forgive us all.
Algernon Charles Swinburne, trans.
3.1k
Every night is another session of inception
My mind distorts and alters my perception
What-if scenarios now a trained intercession
Is it me? Is it my views or my skin complexion?
Took a long time to reply, that's fine
It's all good, it's all good Mrs. Fine wine
Girl, I'm back for a few more rounds
No complications; this a "stress free" sound
Everything rides the windy coasters
While I try to cross life into a beautiful floater
I've thought about my golden childhood
"Why can't the world be like your childhood?"
No pain, no drama, no confrontations
Such a chilling sensation down my spine
Now all people wanna do is smoke and drink
I didn't think illusions would make us sink
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 12:56 PM UTC
It is ever the Holy Spirit’s work to turn our eyes away from self to Jesus; but Satan’s work is just the opposite of this, for he is constantly trying to make us regard ourselves instead of Christ. He insinuates, “Your sins are too great for pardon; you have no faith; you do not repent enough; you will never be able to continue to the end; you have not the joy of his children; you have such a wavering hold of Jesus.” All these are thoughts about self, and we shall never find comfort or assurance by looking within. But the Holy Spirit turns our eyes entirely away from self: he tells us that we are nothing, but that “Christ is all in all.” Remember, therefore, it is not thy hold of Christ that saves thee—it is Christ; it is not thy joy in Christ that saves thee—it is Christ; it is not even faith in Christ, though that be the instrument—it is Christ’s blood and merits; therefore, look not so much to thy hand with which thou art grasping Christ, as to Christ; look not to thy hope, but to Jesus, the source of thy hope; look not to thy faith, but to Jesus, the author and finisher of thy faith. We shall never find happiness by looking at our prayers, our doings, or our feelings; it is what Jesus is, not what we are, that gives rest to the soul. If we would at once overcome Satan and have peace with God, it must be by “looking unto Jesus.” Keep thine eye simply on him; let his death, his sufferings, his merits, his glories, his intercession, be fresh upon thy mind; when thou wakest in the morning look to him; when thou liest down at night look to him. Oh! let not thy hopes or fears come between thee and Jesus; follow hard after him, and he will never fail thee.
“My hope is built on nothing less
Than Jesus’ blood and righteousness:
I dare not trust the sweetest frame,
But wholly lean on Jesus’ name.”
Jun 29, 2016
Jun 29, 2016 at 11:23 AM UTC
for my friend, AJB, mother, artist
why
would anyone believe in invisible...
coordinator of billions of trillions
of interactions daily,
the microscopic
the telescopic
at what level
is there intercession
where is the
intervention,
rhymed reasoning of
impoverishing failing-me inadequate comprehension
so here I am
at 4:00 am
wailing and complaining
not so much at life's happenstance,
not even a foolish why me uttered,
talking to invisibility,
demanding culpability
at the very least
an apology
by that act
admitting the fact
that in conversation with parties
invited and drop-ins welcome,
in the silence sewn
in the residence permanent
of my mind's lobe of disquietude
logic forgone,
I am a believer,
no understanding
nor forgiving
at the illogic
of my tragedy
mine,
not so divine,
wailing and complaining
this my diatribe
knowing your silence
is a listening signature,
my complaining and wailing
my curse my blessing,
my transmitting frequency
of a multivariate equation
demanding a solution
too busy mastering the universe?
your data base
endless and unfathomable
file this under
audios of
YouTubes of
complaining and wailing,
hoping you cleanse yourself
with a good long listen
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 4:27 AM UTC
The one teardrop says to the other;
I am the tears of sorrow, fear, and anger.
I make every person that feels me
burn with anguish, because I take ego to rest.
I claim to make it better when my tear
is forced with all that fear.
But then I cross paths with laughter, joy, and love;
and wow...I get freaked out!
I love one thing;
I love to argue, be indifferent;
it makes my eyes water every time they see me.
There is no winning or losing with me;
you have to deal with my hard feelings;
oh yes, there is no feeling left after me.
I can even break hearts
because that is what I do.
But then I do not know why no one wants me;
but I keep doing what I see best;
it is like a no brainer with no brains.
I am a difficult teardrop to deal with,
because you do not know why
my eyes are so hurt.
These teardrops will flood the soul
to a deep infernal pain of anguish if you met me.
Then down the flooded river of those dark brown eyes;
I can see the laughter, joy, and love.
Those teardrops said nothing;
they could not argue with me;
they just kept moving,
But then I realized that no matter
where I go, those teardrops were going
down the same path.
Why are those beautiful teardrops following me?
This is not making no sense;
Two opposite tears for the same reason going
down the same projected path.
Why do you pick me?
Why do I deserve your love?
What did I do to deserve your love?
I love to fight, argue, and be unpredictable;
you love to be quiet, peaceful, and live the dream;
I have no dream to live.
What is there about me that you like?
And for some reason I cannot fight your tears;
you make me drain with pain;
you make me broken in my flood;
and you mix with my tears to make me beautiful.
The other teardrop stops;
it melts away the burning desire of pain.
Molds me into something I am not;
how the hell do you do that?
I am a teardrop of fear and anger!
How did you know to make me whole?
the second teardrop says,
"You were once me, and I felt you before,
but I chose to make myself whole, again."
Do you want my love?
Mix with me, let me feel you;
I will let you in my pool of
love, peace, and understanding.
You will find yourself at peace;
you will never want to leave me;
that is when I know I found the one.
You do not need to worry;
you do not need to fear love;
love is gentle; love is kind;
You do not have to fear me;
you know you want me,
because it is me that makes you shine.
Why worry about finding the one?
Why worry about the future?
Here I am; I've been here all along;
you just never accepted me.
Yes, I shed my tears in comfort that
You will find me;
You have found me;
No more hate, anger, or ego.
You have me; you need me;
You want me; I am the one.
Get over here, take me in;
your heart is manifesting into
my own desire;
opposites do attract;
I have been fighting this long;
I mind as well sleep in your tears.
I have a big surprise for you;
do you remember that third teardrop;
the teardrop of the predicament;
life choices, intercession, and destiny.
Well, that teardrop is what made us transparent;
and I want to be with you,
because like you never had my tears;
I never had your tears.
Do I want your tears?
No, but it is your tears with mine
that helps heal the others in this pool;
and together we can be a team;
a team for love and hate;
and how the two really make a balance.
You love hate; I love peace;
but together we can be in peace with our love.
Your flaws are my own;
There are only two tear drops in our soul.
Jan 15, 2019
Jan 15, 2019 at 10:18 PM UTC
Last night I witnessed the deterioration of our current generation. Talks of shots and girl's tight tops, which beats are sick, which beers have hops.
A dance floor full of bodies doing nothing more than rocking; simply swaying back and forth letting their bare skin do the talking.
Girls are laughing loudly, flirting dumbly without pride. Boys are softly grabbing, trying hard to get inside.
I'm not under the impression that a club is good for sessions of intensive conversation; but there's a line of crossed digression 'tween a dance or delicatessen and if these young kids don't lessen their completely bared obsession with finding a *** connection I fear loss of life, regression and required intercession so we may stop this great depression and procede with the progression of these young children's ascension to the spiritual dimension.
They owe it to themselves to see there's more to life than spells of boredom bleached by alcohol and music loud and dollar bills spent carelessly on swaying wills of little girls who get their thrills all fully spilled out of tight clothes and popping compact coloured pills.
And as I danced to pulsing beat, seeing all eyes know not discreet, feeling an overwhelming stream; an ocean trying to break free, behind the dammed up river beds all dried up in the drunken heads, I felt much higher, even hallowed, for while you're playing in the shallows, I know exactly where I'll be, diving into the open sea.
May 27, 2013
May 27, 2013 at 3:28 AM UTC
i.
The gloaming is soothing in her presence.
Forthwith, raptured by her glimpse;
I mayest be penurious by worldly
Standard, though with Yahweh
Next to me, and mine queen
Sent to me, I'm opulent
With none enemies
As tis mine soul is
Free.
ii.
None ill-will in me breed's, I've
Walked the path of native tree's;
Wherein the places I canst ramble,
Art not from men's thought's; thus where Lucifer
Gamble's, and soul's art cleaved.
iii.
Mine feet and toes, taketh me where I need
to go, as tis the holy ghost; that dwelleth in me.
The Trinity- "father, son, and holy spirit", whereinto
Jehovah's brilliance reflect's sky ceiling's. As mine Jane is
There in dark or bright-in wrong and right, when thunder strikes,
Or in the fog unknown, when mine heart's alone, and skin need's touch, mine Jane giveth me love, a love uncrushed. A love so much; God as her lead, she dances for me, with her angelic wing's
Inside mine sleep. Her pictures I keep alongside mine wall's, to remembereth the intercession, and the bestowal from God.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©earl Jane Nagley ( àgapi mou) dedication
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 10:56 PM UTC
Prayer for Peace
Most Sacred Heart of Jesus have mercy on us. Forgive and heal us, especially in the Holy Week leading up to Easter. We have fallen so far and turned away from you. There is so much death and suffering and sorrow. You know this pain intimately. We need you Lord more than we realize or care to admit. In your perfect love for us you gave us free choice and we need to accept the consequences for our choices good and bad. There are so many innocent and faithful who are suffering as a result. Take pity on them Lord and have mercy on us all. Lord let all be done according to your will not mine, but I would ask that through the intercession of your mother, Our Lady of the Blessed Sacrament, through your Most Sacred Heart, the heart of the father Joseph, God the Father and by the power of the Holy Spirit, you would show this world a sign of your love. I pray that as the sun rises on Easter morning in the fulfillment of the hope of the Resurrection and new life that we would have hope and peace. Send your Holy Spirit to fill our hearts and flood our lives and move us to act with compassion and understanding toward all of our brothers and sisters in Christ and every one we come in contact with. Be with us always Lord help us to love one another and you as you first loved us.
I ask this and all things with confidence to the Most Sacred Heart of Jesus and through the intercession of Mary our Lady of the Most Blessed Sacrament and Joseph her most chaste spouse.
In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. AMEN
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 1:45 AM UTC
Writing a poem is about locating self.
Every facet within what you’re about to create
blooms from your consciousness, your subconsciousness
your ego, your mind, your heart
But where are those elements planted?
Where are they rooted?
They are rooted within:
your ethnocentric illusions
your lived reality
your privilege, your pleasure, your pain
your abilities, your disabilities
your socioeconomic status: have and/or havenot
your fluency, your empathy, your sense of humour
your vices and your storytelling devices
Now we've got some roots, what are we going to grow?
Let’s begin by observing, using our senses
Maybe, let’s use our eyes
Consider, the reality of how we see and sense the world
Is different for each and every one of us
Everything is tempered by the lens we use
Which is informed through the roots of our synapses
Which empirically flow from the subjective ground
On which we stand
And what does this have to do with poetry?
What you describe in your poem,
Is an interpretation of what you see (and feel)
Interesting poetry comes when
there is exploring to do
It is a poet’s imperative to
Explore the edges
Out past the boundaries of the visual and audible spectrum
If we were fish poet’s
Would we write poetry about water?
I like to toy with my teenagers on occasion
So I asked my son the other day, what his worldview was?
And I have been enjoying the vacuous silence ever since
To be fair, I have been asking myself the same question for many years
And this might have been the inciting incident leading me to storytelling
As we began this journey together, it was stated that
Writing a poem is about locating self.
Can you describe your context?
Let me attempt to describe mine:
Here I am on the stage in this ocean of air
At the Owl Acoustic Lounge
On a Wednesday night in May
Popping air with rhythm, nuance, and a certain je ne ce quoi
Although this poem is not objectively true
Let me attempt to share that
this poem blooms from my developing cosmology
From the overtures of my Overself;
from the undercurrents of the Monomyth,
From my ***** and through my groans of intercession
This poem blooms from oblivion
Threading through philosophy, to worldview, and into a budding cosmology
For myself:
Worldview fell away when I found cosmology while reconnecting with the night sky
That night sky took me places while grounding me concurrently in inner spaces
Where locating self flows into meta-cognitive health,
Well ... that is something to write about
May 24, 2023
May 24, 2023 at 8:25 PM UTC
*Setting sun upon golden stage
Blessed enabler
Bury random thoughts in
milky twilight
Open the doorway to peace
this star-filled night
Songs of the forest ,
mourners of the canopy atop
moonlit chandeliers
Set the stage for a thousand years
Every nocturnal beast -
and nightfall songster
Sing to waning sunshine
To springtime constellations
Of hope before universal nations
Of the quest for dawn , rivers of pure light and salvation*...
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 9:54 PM UTC
What an amazing sight, it must be!
Seeing Christ seated on His throne,
as He offers a continual covering on behalf
of those that He considers His own.
Many have often wondered ‘why’,
as observed in the following question:
If Christ’s mission on Earth was fulfilled,
then ‘Why does He make for us daily intercession?’
Beside Jehovah, robed in holy righteousness,
Christ, our personal defender, pleads our case;
for Jesus is uniquely qualified; He provides the grace
that allows us to humbly come before God’s face.
These selfless actions of The Advocate
are simply part of His redemptive plan;
against the backdrop of the glassy sea,
He ‘stands in the gap’ as the lawyer of man.
Freely, we can go before Jehovah -
with the burdens of our broken hearts;
sacred utterances from the depths of our soul
comes from revelation knowledge He’s imparted.
Christ experienced the sting of Death
and felt the pain of Godly separation.
Can the impetus of His having been forsaken,
truly serve as His underlying motivation?
Author Notes:
Loosely based on: Hebrews 7:25, I John 2:1, Job 16;19-21, Rev 4:6, Mark 13:34
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2010, All rights reserved.
Feb 14, 2013
Feb 14, 2013 at 6:05 AM UTC
Of earthbound lovers in repose
darkness awakens dreams for those
who in their arrogance sleep so well
with their sinuous curves that writhe in hell
fleeting words leap to a tragic death
off the end of a sentence’ precipice
spoken by guardians of empty spaces
who's wings are clipped by periphrasis
writing ghazals that shadows recite
to ghosts whom gather to find respite
yet these mortal instruments of a souls confession
are sung to the Beloved for intercession
still enlightened fools, in darkness will part
with the keys to unlock another's heart
Spires of ice from obsidian skies
land and melt in the warmth of their eyes,
drowning their captains in waves of emotion,
so two continents drift and collide in the ocean
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 11:19 AM UTC
You go strains of mad when...
...Ambition becomes Eating Your Own Hunger Pains
With savaged pride you feel that all you need to achieve in life
Can be done faster with gold and good courtship
You croon apologies to your ideas and hope they stay.
They don't stay.
You go strains of mad when...
...Demonic intercession is hailed as miracle
You pay your division of a vast tithe into coffers you never see
and watch with shame and awe at a penetrative truth
working noisily behind curtains.
This polls well.
You go strains of mad when...
...Dust and diamonds are sold as combi-packs,
**** comes in boxes of strict six; for illustrative purposes, if you want four you've got to sell or discard two for your reputation.
There's no loyalty card or price-break on bulk.
I'm flat broke.
You go strains of mad when...
...A nobody sketches you with disarming accuracy
Their medium is a third hand snipe relayed with bitter remove
No more the taut nymphette lounged aground, on the rocks
The naked crystal uniform of your debtless regime, gone.
You're a shirt and name-tag girl now.
You go strains of mad when...
...Pockets burst outside the Church yard sale
The Ministry guilts you into buying all the furniture and music
moving it one piece at a time into your life until
suddenly you have a Church to burn
Just in time for winter.
Sep 7, 2016
Sep 7, 2016 at 8:30 AM UTC
Thankless. Difficult.
The most important thing
one person can do.
10W
Soul Survivor
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 3:49 PM UTC
I think she sings. I think that’s how she does it. We’ve never heard it, but there’s a feeling you can almost hear as the sun comes, a buzz maybe, a current. She might be singing, that might be her.
I think she knows him, I think they’ve had lunch a time or two, or she might stop by his place from time to time. Like Bridge friends, but maybe deeper, because he wasn’t there when it all went down, so it might be a guilt thing. Maybe if he had pushed ahead, been there to see, maybe they would’ve stopped. Because it would be a different story if it didn’t storm. I don’t know if they’d have done it on a sunny Friday afternoon.
I think that’s it, I think he owes her one. I think he has to shine because he didn’t once when it mattered, and maybe she asked, begged him, screamed, but maybe he couldn’t, because it is what it is. So maybe he owes her one, or a thousand ones, and I think he might feel terrible, because it’s been so long but there she stands.
I think she doesn’t sing, now that I think of it. I think she cries. I think the buzz is the tear he comes to dry.
Aug 19, 2012
Aug 19, 2012 at 9:10 PM UTC
There comes an eternal peace
Right there
Deep down d well of our soul
When we make some known utterances
up to d potters above
And the solace we find
When we become assured
that the spirit itself
makes intercession
For us all with groan utterances
.. this ve known
and the joy
I ve found...
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 5:21 PM UTC
She wore endurance as a cloak.
Tried ever so sorely and wrongly,
she committed all to the Vindicator.
In her resolute quietness, she spoke volumes.
For her ardent disparagers,
her payback was tireless hours of intercession.
As she stoically embraced undeserved tribulations,
she gained character, wisdom, and tranquility.
Who dares put out the brilliance of a star?
Her sublimity resonates evermore in the
darkest patch of the night.
Though seared with scars,
her stellar virtues are glaring,
illuminating hearts and inspiring minds.
She can’t feign ordinariness,
even if she hides behind her own shadow.
Detached from a frenzied world,
she derived her essence from heavenly fire.
Oh, had they known the fount from whence she drank,
they would not have, in malignity,
ensnared their own souls
in a bid to put out her luminous radiance.
They have murdered sleep through their ignoble gestures.
Behold the star as she abides in the firmaments!
Purified by the trials and tribulations,
she stoically endures and thrives.
The sky may be bespangled with twinkling stars,
but her brilliance stands out in luminary distinction.
Sep 23, 2020
Sep 23, 2020 at 8:11 PM UTC
Mary, Queen of the Angels
Blessed Mary, Queen of the Angels
Guard us while we pray and keep us safe from harm
Holy Mary, Lady of the Blessed Sacrament
Intercede and let your graces flow through us
Hail Mary, full of grace and peace and light
Shelter us in our storms and guide us through our darkest night
Immaculate Mary, pure of heart and free from sin
Change our hearts and our lives from deep within
Merciful Mary, you showed us the way to your son Jesus
You bore the one who frees us
Sorrowful Mary, your heart was pierced and still you clung to hope
Comfort and hold us when we lose our hope
Mary, Queen of the new Evangelization stand with us
Give us the courage to stand in our faith or fall on Jesus and say "Yes"
Mary our Mother, of gentleness and Love
Help us reach out to all and fix our eyes on things above
Mary most high and queen of the heavenly host
Help us join in adoration the one we love the most
We ask your intercession that you bring this offering of Prayer and Praise to the feet of your son. We pray this and all things in your son Jesus' name. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 4:47 PM UTC
When I stare into the mirror, do you know what I see? I look into my eyes and see the stranger things about me.
So many stories and tears that I've obtained over the years are starting to show, I fear, and affect the ones I hold dear.
Why do I have to have these emotions and feel so much? Like my heart starts off lightly touched then it turns into a clutch feeling like it's in a death grip and such.
My atelophobia has me seeing like myopia, breathing like pneumonia and sleeping like insomnia.
There's no question that because I lie to myself about how I feel is part of the progression to my depression and aggression deeply compressed in my expressions; I'm in need of an intercession.
This reflection staring back at me reveals my imperfection; with close inspection, you can see the connection of affection and infection in the projection of my eyes complexion.
My silence is my loudest cry and I don't know why that I lie when I say it's because I'm shy; the only reply I rely on.
But when someone takes a peep through the peephole, I feel a loss of control when they see a part of my soul that has taken it's toll and is no longer whole begging to be consoled.
The heaviness of this emptiness isn't for pity; it's loneliness in the form of poems and lyrics since I'm left breathless and can't speak about this restless craziness.
Mirror, mirror staring straight at me, is happiness in the near future something you can foresee? Can you please guarantee that I will be set free from the misery?
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 8:58 PM UTC
How strange
that such a nonsense
piece of trivia
inserted tongue-in-cheek,
should bring forth
such a dynamite
response
to my own neophyte
essays in versifying.
Can it be perhaps that others
who might be thought
to understand much better
see it as mere aggression
instead of, as intended,
intercession.
But, metaphorically,
before you close my book,
turn to the final page
and have a look.
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 1:53 PM UTC
I know you're not supposed to be a distraction,
I just wonder what God was up to
when He made my soul's natural reaction
loving, trying, and dying for you.
It's not about needing your affection,
it's not about what you do or don't do
It is about your soul's affliction,
and the suffering I watch you go through.
I pray for the Lord's intercession
there's nothing He can't do.
And He tells me I can do nothing
except be there for you.
And so continue to hurt me,
if that's what you must do.
I just know my prayers are working,
even if I can't see what they do.
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 2:59 PM UTC
The sun does arise
In that aubade way
It spills out over petals
Infinitely
So silent but a discourse:
A camp of brook and pale-freckled
Leaves,
A clamor of engines
Escaping the scene
Too busy, too distant
To actualize their hum.
At the intercession of wood and modern man
I stood dutiful, tenuous,
Apt to standing still
‘Tween what has my calling
And what, my will:
This aesthetic simplicity, resplendent awe
Stays with the punch-card
On my way to work
But I know I’ll stand at the edge
Once more.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 8:29 AM UTC
I'll tell you a story instead.
Mind you, it's a short story and gets horribly dull at times.
It's about a boy. His name is irrelevant, because his true name was dreary, dull and quire big. So more often than he made friends, he assumed names. Slowly, burdened by the brunt of all that he was, he lost sense of who he truly was.
And then suddenly, the darkness grew tangible, swallowing him, churning everything positive into nothingness, extinguishing all the specks of light and hope he clung to, replacing it, replacing him with an abyss.
And then he was truly no longer the boy he was. To be honest, he wasn't even human anymore. Self pity stripped him of his conscience and his rage defiled his humanity. He was no more than a woven shadow, a psyche whose malicious intent was so honed that his character became a sharp blade of cold Stygian iron, forged to inflict misery.
And one night, the boy who was slumbering in the depths of the abyss woke up, to find himself alone on a hill of fresh corpses.
No more he swore.
In the name of those who suffered for the sins their race had committed, he swore that he'd change, he'd be the stranger who never stayed, an intercession in times of crisis, he'd become the boy who ran to save the lives he had no connection to.
But unfortunately, the dead told tales and the blood on his hands would never disappear. Even though he was there for people, few were there for him. And every time he lowered his defenses and allowed himself the luxury of a liaison, the world would cruelly remind him that he was merely to be tolerated. Cast out of the lives of the people he once thought he could love, he kept on running away. Imposing a self exile, he lost things that he could not even comprehend. And he's still running. Because humanity always tries to make good of its promises. Running and hoping that someday, he'd become a proper story.
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 3:15 AM UTC
Woe
Woe
Woe!!!!!!!!!!!!
Thus says The Lord: How long must I speak to that which is obvious, little flock? Must My servant be drawn away continually to feed you, as though you were yet babes? How is it you still question, though within your heart the truth of the matter is made known by My spirit, which cries, “False!”? When will you open your eyes and see? When will you lay yourselves down and hear? When will you empty yourselves, that you may truly discern?
Therefore, because your eyes are slow in seeing and your ears dull in hearing, your mind congested with the many deceits of this world, this is what The Lord your God says: WOE TO THOSE WHO LEAD MY LAMBS ASTRAY! WOE, I SAY TO THEM! Woe to all who feed lies to the little ones and cause them to sin! For as it is written, it would be better for them if a millstone were hung around their neck, and they were drowned in the depths of the sea! For punishment is reserved for all who corrupt the innocent for evil gain; indeed, many millstones are prepared and wait for those who must bear them! Behold, My strong rebuke comes forth, for all who bear false witness in My name!
Woe to those who uphold perverse and bitter doctrine!
Your discipline shall be most severe!...
Woe to those who pollute My name, in word and by deed!
For you have brought shame upon your own heads,
And disgrace to all your houses which you call by My name!
Woe to all who take advantage of the ignorant
And pollute the minds of the innocent!...
WOE TO ALL WHO HARM MY LITTLE ONES!
For I shall stretch out My hand against you;
Indeed, a double portion of wrath is reserved for you!
Behold, I shall stretch out My hand and bring harm upon the wicked, and strike those who slaughter the innocent, until I have destroyed them in all the earth! Says The Lord God. For My wrath remains upon all who have taken part, upon all who voice their agreement!... And yes double, even double again, upon all who ****** My precious gifts!
Therefore, beloved, turn away from the churches of men and take a stand against the wickedness of this world; and no more give any credence to that which you behold on the screen. Rather fall down and pray, wail and bring forth many tears on behalf of those perishing... Yet of the little ones, you need not pray or make intercession, for they are Mine and I shall surely steal them away, says The Lord.
Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 5:43 PM UTC