"jacob" poems
#*It's at the point of desperation that the soul finds its deepest desire,
and in that desire lies everything of which true life is made.
Perhaps the first and central question concerning surrender
ought not to be, “What am I willing to give to God?”
but “What am I willing to receive from Him?”
For it's only in the realization that I have nothing to give Him and
He has everything to give me that true humility and surrender come.
If I would simply receive all He offers me and let Him fill me up
I would have no room in my hands to hold onto anything else.
But how often it is that we won't receive it until everything else is lost.
It's the secret and inexpressible dreams of the soul
which are the hardest things of all to let go and the last to go.
When they are finally gone we have nothing left to run to but Him,
and when we do we find that He is the beginning,
the end and the center of every secret dream.
Ah, blessed Peniel—that mysterious and holy ground
where heartache collides head-on with romance,
that deep and shadowed land where we struggle
with God and with men and we overcome,
that painful yet glorious place which we may leave limping
with a wrenched hip but we do not care, for we have seen God’s face—
like Jacob, may we not pass you by without being forever changed.*#
Jul 2, 2016
Jul 2, 2016 at 2:06 PM UTC
*I am an African
My skin is black
My hair is black
I am black
I take pride in my blackness
For my colour is not a badge
Of shame, but an identity,
Yes black is my identify
Africa is my identity
I am the son of the black soil,
A soil rich in history
And blessed with diverse cultures
Each unique in their own way,
I am an African
Africa a nation of the oppressed
But slowly rising to conquer
And claim what is theirs
From the oppressors,
Yes the sleeping sons of Jacob
Are rising, slowly realising
Their potential as nation ,
Yes my fellow Africans are rising
The black nation is on its knees
I'm a proud african,
Africa my roots
Africa my identity
Africa my ancestral land
Africa my home
Africa is who i am
I am African
Copyrights.
Taetso jojo*
Jan 14, 2017
Jan 14, 2017 at 2:48 PM UTC
#*It's at the point of desperation that the soul finds its deepest desire,
and in that desire lies everything of which true life is made.
Perhaps the first and central question concerning surrender
ought not to be, “What am I willing to give to God?”
but “What am I willing to receive from Him?”
For it's only in the realization that I have nothing to give Him and
He has everything to give me that true humility and surrender come.
If I would simply receive all He offers me and let Him fill me up
I would have no room in my hands to hold onto anything else.
But how often it is that we won't receive it until everything else is lost.
It's the secret and inexpressible dreams of the soul
which are the hardest things of all to let go and the last to go.
When they are finally gone we have nothing left to run to but Him,
and when we do we find that He is the beginning,
the end and the center of every secret dream.
Ah, blessed Peniel—that mysterious and holy ground
where heartache collides head-on with romance,
that deep and shadowed land where we struggle
with God and with men and we overcome,
that painful yet glorious place which we may leave limping
with a wrenched hip but we do not care, for we have seen God’s face—
like Jacob, may we not pass you by without being forever changed.*#
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 12:48 AM UTC
Oh what joy.
A little boy.
Jacob so happy.
A cheerful chappie.
Paul Butters
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 11:50 AM UTC
When I look into your eyes nothing exist around me,
When I look into your eyes you’re the river that runs through my blood streams.
When I look into your eyes can see the ocean blues,
When I look into your eyes you make me feel brand new.
When I look into your eyes you make me blush every time,
When I look into your eyes I’m glad that you are mine.
When I look into your eyes your beauty gets my attention.
When I look into your eyes you’re the path to every direction.
When I look into your eyes your I see no more night,
When I look into your eyes I always see the light.
When I look into your eyes your always by my side,
When I look into your eyes I’m no longer blind.
When I look into your eyes to know that we have each other hearts
When I look into your eyes nothing can take us apart.
By Jacob Cuadro
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 2:42 PM UTC
Is it really this hard
to find people I can go back and forth in discussion with
about Buddhist and Hindu theology compared and contrasted against Christian and Yoruba
I want to scream and shout and dance with somebody over Janet Jackson's new album
and at the same time
feel the heat and talk with somebody about how extremely sad and depressing
but oh so good Giovanni's Room was
I want to be able to speak with somebody whom can quote Malcolm X and Kafka in the same breath
Somebody who could see the logic of Pac and Immortal Technique on the same piece
with the Budos Band or Mulatu on the back track
I want to know people whom know
just exactly who
Suki Lee and Bayard Rustin are
can we talk about Jacob Kinohoor's ***
at least for a moment
then get into some B.B. King or Johnny Cash
have you seen Dune
the one from the eighties
James McAvoy shirtless
as well as John Goodman’s acting
were only good things about the other
if you read it
even better
what about the ***** that sat by the door
Or
killer clowns from outer space
let's be shady and point out all the inaccuracies on the history and discovery and channels
praying for that day
that's not in February
They show Shaka Zulu in full
without commercial interruption
Or maybe a documentary about native American people
with actual native actors
that do not depict them all as either
plains people
Or Inuit
Cause you already know
not everybody is Eskimo
then let's put on our own private production of legally blonde
followed by encore presentations of the classic scene
Of Miss Celie and miss Ofelia going in over Harpo
can I discuss with you
how the Patriot act nullifies everything in constitution
And the bill of rights
even though they never were intended to be permanent any way
It would be nice to not have to explain a Corporatocracy
all my life Ive been into Egyptology
You do know that Imhotep was the actual founder of medicine
by a good 2000 years
not that Hippocrat
the thing is
I'm still learning
when attempt to delve that deeply into people
which I don't even consider that deep
They often misunderstand
They often concluded without thinking
maybe
just maybe
©Christopher F. Brown 2015
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 11:30 PM UTC
#012116 #Genesis
"Ikaw na siyang tagapangalaga ng mga tupa,
Habang ako'y hamak na ligaw lamang,
Sa lupaing yaong paraiso sa inyo.
At kagandahan mo'y
Siyang bukas kong may sigla."
"Ginoo, ako'y hanga sa iyo
Pagkat tupa ko'y iyong diniligan.
Ni hindi mo sinadyang ako ang unahin."
"Hayaan **** pagsilbihan kita,
Kahit pitong taon pa.
Giliw, ako'y maghihintay.
Mabilis lang ang araw
Sa pusong tunay na nagmamahal."
"Paumanhin, tila nabalewala ang iyong pagpapagal.
Kaya mo pa bang ako'y ipaglaban?
Kung hindi ma'y, sana'y sambitin mo
Nang maarok ko ang tugon mo."
"Sinta, ako ma'y subukin pa
Ng pitong taong muli.
Ipaglalaban pa rin kita,
Pagkat pag-ibig ko'y hindi limitado ng panahon."
"Salamat pagkat ikaw ang kabiyak,
Puso mo't lakas, tila'y napagod.
Hayaan **** ako mismo
Ang siyang magbigay kapahingahan."
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 9:34 PM UTC
cherry blossom was his smoking hot girlfriend.
they moved in together, probably in 2007.
he met her online, he was married to a woman
who he said was a fundamentalist. they had four kids,
three daughters and a son.
he wrote a lot about how his fundamentalist wife had turned
the three daughters against him. as the years went by,
he forgot their birthdays and ages because it hurt too much,
so he wrote.
"cherry blossom, you're going to make it
with your unbroken man who i hope to thank
one day for making you happy", he wrote
in a journal entitled "the last one"
dated late September of 2012.
they broke up in mid August 2011
from a journal entry dated at the end of October 2012:
"ten things you want to say to ten different people"
cherry blossom was first on the list
cherry blossom's unbroken man was second on the list
cherry blossom's son of a different baby daddy was third on the list
his own son was fourth on the list
his daughters were not on the list at all.
he was glad she was with a good guy. he didn't have to worry about her. unbroken guy was a good guy, he loved unbroken guy for that. her son was a good guy, he was glad that her son got to hang out with him and his son.
according to the public messages his friends left on his profile and the last time stamp on his activity feed,
he must have died almost three years ago,
in mid August, 7 years to the exact date
he had posted a journal entry explaining
that they had broken up and cherry blossom was moving out.
7 years is the same amount of time
it took for jacob to get rachel as his wife
after being deceived into marrying leah.
he had other journal entries too,
they go back to 2008, so some of them
cover his time with cherry blossom
cherry blossom was smokin hot,
they had *** parties
cherry blossom got all the attention
because she was smokin hot
he had bottomed to his vanilla fundamentalist wife
who turned his three daughters against him
but cherry blossom was his submissive
so cherry blossom was the way
cherry blossom introduced him to swinging, **** and gang bangs
his fundamentalist wife, who he never got a legal divorce from,
turned his three daughters against him.
he had 342 friends and 13 followers on his fetlife profile,
five left public messages on his wall after he died.
cherry blossom was so smokin hot.
Mar 23, 2021
Mar 23, 2021 at 8:54 PM UTC
Resilient
I settle with settling.
My thoughts, overlapping,
are details shrouded in clouds.
Images awaken and stir in themselves
the old and aging thoughts
raised like veins.
I pray for insolence, usually,
but sometimes I pray for
the weak to be free,
for strength in numbers.
I pray for the art of mind
over matter
over death.
I'll be free when
the rhythm is running again,
when I'm riding inside the rushes,
when the other worldly colors
let me fold them and squeeze.
I'm looking up but I'm looking down.
I drop.
I lose my sense of everything
but the friction
the fiction sustains the glides.
Jake Mahaffey
Copyright (c) 2013 Jacob Mahaffey
Jan 22, 2012
Jan 22, 2012 at 6:08 PM UTC
I'm No born free
I tasted the dust of apartheid
My mother was hiding behind the trees screaming for help
No one was there
No time to sleep
We were cursed for struggle
My father never smiled when my mother would say "the baby is kicking"
Cause he knew,it wasn't the kick of joy
It wasn't a sign of being a soccer star
It was the struggle!
1990 Mandela was out of prison
1993 I was born
1994 the Dom's were free
No more Dom-pass,but not uhuru still
Innocent souls were lost
What was the fighting worth for?
I can forgive but never forget
When De klert called black fools
He said they do nothing but barking
We turned to dogs now
This is for Steve Biko
Chris Hani
Hector Paterson
Raymond mhlaba
Let not my skin define who I am
Let not the earth describe me
I know my future because of my history
I was raised in a town of fallen angels
Where blacks were deceived
Whites felt free
Turn the lights off we all the same colour
Don't turn them on
I want my son to know the history
But to not repeat it.
They say follow your leader
How can you follow corruption?
Zuma this zuma that
Its all illusion
I'll only follow u twitter
I want you to retweet all the ish I'll be posting about you,the Raping,The Nkandla part,The Cheating,The Art and the bunch of wives
Yes I voted,I still don't know why I voted
Helen Zille only speaks xhosa in time of elections
Jacob Zuma gives free taxis only to the voting station
Julius Malema will bring apartheid back it is said on radio stations
Mandela spent most time in hospital
All of a sudden his dead
Was he even in jail before?
Oscar Pistorius ran to ****
His now a criminal.
Mandela note on my hand
But valueless
Our economy is dying
Our world is dying
My Dear South Africa..No Power!
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 11:30 AM UTC
~~~
for Matt
~~~
*"My suspect credibility upon the rockets of birds,
the soft parts of people,
the oceans’ inevitable, cyclical weeping,*
Who has time for poetry has more time than they deserve"
Breaking Spring by Matt Hart
~~~
your words warp me,
the woven texture of your composition,
Matt,
dumbfounding the sweeping, weeping, instant recognition in
the soft parts' of
Nat,
where credibility
long past being suspected,
simply arrested for statutory dark room
torrented questioning
deserve poetry deserve blessing deserve curse
You Jacob, wrestle with this angel witch curveball!
'tis better to give or receive
this poetry admonishment?
for who knows where the time goes,
when the fix is in,
the addiction itch,
commands and commends,
*feed the poetry *****
write or die*
one fix, one poem,
carousel leads to another,
yet,
with only time to live,
pay the bills
for renting the space you Earth occupy,
no time for illegal
compulsive word blending
the interrogator demands
deserve poetry deserve blessing deserve curse?
*who is your supplier?
who is your time stealer?*
by the ocean, weeping,
you plead innocence,
just ill drivel, needy for expulsion,
deserving of repulsion,
swear repeatedly,
never again, imbibe, scribe
*but the ***** coos in my ear,
reaching beneath
the vulnerable soft tissued skin and cells:
write or die
I thieve your time,
'tis nothing you deserve,
I am Poetry,
just your mistress,
better served*
deserve poetry
deserve blessing
deserve curse
~~~
June 25, 2016
written by the ocean, weeping
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 1:25 PM UTC
Bobo's kitchen
in the kitchen
icebergs rampage from the freezer
burying pizzas and waffles
in a glacier jungle
Bobo swings forks and knives
at the ice until the maintenance man
cusses in Polish
gallons of water
dripping downstairs
sizzling Bertalina's soul
the fiery bilingual single mom
living in fear
below his fear
of noise complaints
she sends tape recordings
to the landlord in her
cute red faced anger
loud people! and bongos!
guitars! stomping! laughter!
nightmares for her boys
who think they hear ghosts
her tight black spandex
drives Bobo mad when she runs
drifted scents of her food
sift in through his windows
knocking him out
in hungry frustration!
¿Como estás? he asks her
I speak ******* English! she barks back
back up the stairs Bobo goes
to his own kitchen where
the mice crawl out the stove tops
and potatoes grow tree roots
clear through the window
toward another life
Jake Mahaffey
Copyright (c) 2013 Jacob Mahaffey
Jan 23, 2012
Jan 23, 2012 at 12:28 AM UTC
He has no face
or desire
to face
the large grate
And inside
the wicket of the grate
The little door
to the larger gate
One side named narrow
The door knob's
apprehensions
twist in the fingertips
The other side
slides to the indifference
The 69 peep holes rock in
scandalization
How does one survive ?
The false prophet goes
door to door
selling sheep skin
diplomas
black as raven's hair
His false fruit
lays fermenting adding
pollution to our despair .
The prophet's basic fault is full of self interests
For gain and grain of easy life
For personal prestige
through others pain and strife
His man-centered words
appeal to the ears that want to be tickled with ear candy
And the results are that truth be forgotten , trampled to dust and thrown away
Beware of the smooth tongue Jacob with
the rough hairy hands
of Esau .
Sep 16, 2025
Sep 16, 2025 at 8:26 PM UTC
From beginning to end
she kept a straight face.
If she didn't, she would just explode.
The white, silk polka-dots
surrounded her, billowing
like an ivory cloud.
She grasped his finger tightly,
Her manicured hands sweating, feet throbbing.
The ring touched her head.
She had not promised herself to another.
She kept a straight face.
If she smiled, she would just burst.
On their heads were glorious crowns
of laurels and satin,
and they danced the ancient dance of Isaiah.
She kept a straight face,
if she didn't watch where she was going
she would fall, but he would catch her.
*May you be as loving as Isaac and Rebecca,
as fruitful as Jacob and Rachel.*
Another squeeze of his pinky, and a twitch of her cheek.
God grant many years!
Chant onlookers.
Her eyes flooded and washed away
her straight face.
Catching her soiled tears,
Papa's paisley black handkerchief.
She was still his little Tzeitel.
Jun 26, 2010
Jun 26, 2010 at 6:09 PM UTC
i would hate to be built a brick wall
linear as immovable constants
and the wristwatch hands i fear
weave me around callouses
like a spring, double helix,
and i will shrug in content
nucleotides formed of consciousness
hydrogen and karmic bonds together
jacob's ladder extending to liberation
and sincerity for all the moments
i was missing from the jigsaw tangle
of pillows and down and sprawl
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 1:26 PM UTC
It was a couple of years ago I had an experience I couldn't explain but wouldn't deny.
It was almost like a daydream that took me back to the age of five.
I saw how I was pushed into society before I had developed the wings to fly.
To survive I had to split my soul into two to create a false personality of mine.
Ever since, the 10% I was suppose to give as tide has been occupied by the hatching seeds in the left side of my thin mind.
The experience brought me back to where I lied. I couldnt move and my heart was racing It felt like I was going to die.
At the end of what felt like a paralyzed panic attack I had a strange tingle in the lowest part of my spine.
The tingles slowly started to rise,
like two angels slithering their way up all thirty three steps of Jacob's ladder to open up the seventh seal. My gateway to heaven.
It was sensational. A euphoric feeling, I never felt that happy before. Everything that was holding me back, all the bad memories
and all the grudges I had been holding on to, did not matter anymore.
I started to think freely and act accordingly. I worked less and wrote more because money was not a priority.
The value of life became clear to me.
There I was, reborn with Christ oil.
I dwelt in that right hemisphere of my brain for three and a half months before I got thrown out of paradise for questioning myself again.
Of course I tried to force my way back but drugs only gives you a temporary pass.
Besides I can't let go of the lifestyle of the genie in my genes that likes to buy expensive jeans.
It's genius how they deceive us, or I'm just seriously delirious and my psychological awareness is just as meaningless as my nihilistic periods.
Who is really the genie; us?
Jun 14, 2018
Jun 14, 2018 at 9:10 AM UTC
The sound of my snoring is just as loud
as the roars of every great beast
roaring ecstatically in a chorus of roars
my brother told me
he woke up at 3:00 A.M
and took a trip to our conjoined bathroom
known in the industry
as a jack and jill
but I am Jacob
and he is Jordan
he said that I was snoring
long, loud and violent
thrashing from side to side
like a boat on deadliest catch
like trees during that tornado
wherever that thing was
like someone struggling to live
and breathe
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 2:04 PM UTC
You're the sweetest person I’ve ever met and I’ve only known you for a short while.
Nothing like a carefree person (which you are) to make me blow away.
I admire you...only a child who’s smarter than he looks
My undeniable love for you can’t ever be enough
When were hand in hand I smile and so do you
I cant find a bigger, stronger word to say how much I love you
And though your small now, you’ll get bigger soon
My darling child, just want you to know my undeniable love
Is how much I care for you.
Your brown skin is way to soft
And I’m sure those girls will target you
When you smile, the worlds happy
And when you frown it makes me wanna cry
I still haven’t found the right words...not yet
Still haven’t found the right feeling...not yet
Still haven’t found the right hugs to give you...not just yet
But I know I've found the love for you when I held you in my arms
I was scared because you were fragile
Because you were small
Because you were precious...more precious than the stars
And since your growing now I just want you to know
I love you .
Dedicated to: Jacob
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 10:19 AM UTC
every line bears this weight
clumsy truth, crucifix-like
and in bearing alone, they are born
up and sing
on the wings of those demons we've seemingly seen
to be
descending
one ladder inverted
where once Jacob had torn
down his alter
in anger, in the dry place where we left the vision
Jun 30, 2019
Jun 30, 2019 at 1:54 AM UTC
an old familiar,
an adversary of the first degree,
when we wrestle,
me and this god
disguised as an angel disguised as man,
the door to where we tangle,
clicks shut with a perceptible oval sounding,
a trumpet announcing commencement of the festivities,
that we are
Occupado
no stray observers permitted in,
the room entrances locked,
someone's two hands upon each temple,
(cannot be mine, for)
inside we combat literally,
"mano-a-mano"
hand to hand,
word to word,
gradually, continuously,
up close and personally,
one on
One
over the course of a lifetime,
each battle named,
famously borrowed and thus recorded,
Agincourt, Waterloo, Gettysburg, Leningrad, Ðiên Biên Phú,
for the record keeping purposes of our unforgiving ******
historian
the rules of engagement somewhat flexible,
biting, choking, eye gouging,
kicking when down, not just legal,
encouraged, no holds barred,
when we wrestle,
the dirtier the
better
take turns declaring a victor,
for that matters little, truly,
just a record keeping notation,
the battle and its aftermath,
the waves of pain inflicted,
the casualty count engorged,
is the greatest glory,
dans une manière de
parler
though sent away the children,
our earthly goods,
designating them purportedly,
non-combatants observers,
yet 'no rules' meant
they could be accidentally drawn in,
non-combatant status does not prevent them
from being freely captured or
killed
the conflict ongoing,
no one ever calls for a truce,
for both unequal adversaries know,
no quarter will ere be given,
and though the tide shifts,
each individual battle produces as always,
a winner and a
loser
noisy affairs,
long after the battle,
the slain yet scream,
perhaps I am confused,
perhaps it is the day's survivors,
announcing that sadly,
they are still
alive
it must be the latter,
for here I am writing and recording,
and though alone,
I hear an ever growing louder,
gouging sine wave scream piercing,
daring my soul to leave my wracked
body
for though mortal wounded,
I am therefore
both dead and alive,
but which more so,
none can surely
say
this conflict remains
unconcluded
the pain in my hip, now
everywhere,
my Jacob, now, Israel,
marker
so visible even if itself,
unseen
3:59am
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 4:03 AM UTC
All praise to AHAYAH BAHASHAM YASHIYAH
the most high GOD , No they can't be no higher
My siblings are asleep , They're all lost sheep
It's time to wake up , the children of Jacob
QAM YASHARALAH
get back up on your feet
Open up your eyes to all these lies and deceit
The end times are near , but there's nothing to fear
This old world will start to crumble up , and disappear
A new heaven and earth, as it is written
It's already prepared but of now it is hidden
If you follow the prophecy , it just beats down theology
So just continue to endure , soon pain will be no more
As it is written in REVELATIONS 21 and 4
Locked up under key ,Satan will be bound
No longer able to send off his hounds
When a thousand years are up , the devil will be set free
And chaos will start to abrupt
For a short season , but what's the reason?
AHAYAH don't play that
Rain fire from the heavens
He's just going to take back , what's rightfully his
(Payback that is!)
His days of ruling are over, the devil can't stay
Now it's his time to pay , just cut the wire
He's thrown down to the lake of fire
Wickedness will leave , it shall depart
No longer left to cleave on to our hearts
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 2:46 PM UTC
The Rhyming Shuffle
Feeling all alone,
life is on postpone.
No one seems to care,
time is now to beware.
Stick me with a fork,
in my *** is a scented cork.
Farts smelling like a rose,
watching bodies decompose.
Climbing up Jacob's ladder,
peeing a lot cause of my bladder.
Calling me an Uncle Tom,
shaving my hairy palm.
Addicted to Candy Crush,
brain turning into mush.
Tired of always snapping,
I deserve some ***** slapping.
Grass is always greener,
with the little old lady from Pasadena.
On board the love boat,
left me with a sore throat.
Saving money is impossible,
spending is just unstoppable.
Writing rhymes is all I know,
all my ducts are in a row.
Going fishing without a pole,
one to many hits from my bowl.
Dying of old age,
took my final bow,
on the center stage.
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 2:12 PM UTC
59
A little East of Jordan,
Evangelists record,
A Gymnast and an Angel
Did wrestle long and hard—
Till morning touching mountain—
And Jacob, waxing strong,
The Angel begged permission
To Breakfast—to return—
Not so, said cunning Jacob!
“I will not let thee go
Except thou bless me”—Stranger!
The which acceded to—
Light swung the silver fleeces
“Peniel” Hills beyond,
And the bewildered Gymnast
Found he had worsted God!
3.1k
JACOB’S LADDER (Written by Susan J. Hunt 09-29-09)
I’ve been told I have no coping skills
More than a few times. It’s the same old line.
Then what the hell am I doing here?
I’ve survived up to this time.
A big fat zero, the test spits out.
Yep, that’s me no coping skills, probably ready to ****
I have nothing to help me become my best.
Honesty is an asset, but doesn’t appear so from the tests
So sometimes, I have to lie. I don’t like to, but I must.
Otherwise they’ll t to run at me with a restraining jacket
Before I jump out a two-story building and land in the brush.
I’m very quick and wily.
That’s got to count for something.
I break no bones and run away.
All are amazed at my escape.
That’s what I’ve learned as coping skills.
I drink and do other sins, but I would never ****
Even to my detriment, I just don’t have that will
I’m not crazy. I’m not insane. I just see things differently.
I’m not Sybil or Ted Bundy, I just have issues within me
The fact is, I see more harm, I carry it inside of me
I’m working on my coping skills
and my social skills as well.
I’m working on them the best I can.
So far, it’s gone not so well
You couldn’t tell how sick I am
as we cross the street and pass.
Not that I would harm you,
I would offer you my flask.
My sensitive nature is on overload
I see every misdeed
Not that it matters much,
I’m too involved with me.
There must be a way to crawl out of this pit
I need a Jacob’s ladder.
May I become more alive and aware
Of how I can sincerely, matter.
Oct 15, 2009
Oct 15, 2009 at 11:22 AM UTC
They say we have these anchors
They drown us out at sea
But this chain bound tight to my ankle
Is not fastened to a weight.
It just keeps going
Link by link
It has no end
No beginning
I was born into this aquatic life
From my earliest days
I was held underwater
And each day on has added to my chain
Not like the chain of Jacob Marley
In Dickens' tale,
Not forged by greed
But birthed from every thought
That I cannot forget
And every blow to my persistance
I have ever recieved
It all stays with me
And we each have these chains.
But most grow gills
And sprout fins.
And learn to swim .
But here I am.
Still drowning.
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 11:49 PM UTC