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Jenny Lam Mar 2014
Often smile and effortlessly laugh
Make the world a better place on your behalf
Have intelligent people respect you
Gain the affection of little children too
Pull through the betrayal of false friends
Also find the best in others and make amends

Feel the triumph of accomplishing a goal
Live your life with no guilt to your soul
Earn the approval of the biggest fault-finder
Know you have helped someone no matter how minor
Recognize you can’t achieve every single dream
Realize life’s quick, so push to redeem

*- Jenny Lam
1.
Noong unang panahon, sa nayon ng Nalbuan
Nakatira ang mag-asawang sina Don Juan at Namongan
At nang bago manganak ang babae
Nagtungo sa mga kaaway ang lalaki
(Once upon a time, in the shire of Nalbuan
There lived a couple named Don Juan and Namongan
And before the maternal labor of the female
To the enemies went the male)

2.
Si Don Juan ay natalo ng mga Igorot
Walang atubiling ulo niya ay pinugot
(By the Igorots Don Juan was defeated
Without hesitation they cut off his head)

3.
‘Di nagtagal, si Namongan ay nanganak
Kakaiba ang kanyang lalaking anak
(Soon, Namongan gave birth to a child
Her son was so odd)

4.
Malaki ang pangangatawan niya kaysa ibang bata
Para siyang isang ganap na binata
(To any child his body is bigger
He is like a mature teenager)

5.
Siya ay nakakapagsalita narin
At sinabi sa lahat na Lam-ang siya kung tawagin
(He could speak even
And said to all Lam-ang is his name given)

6.
Siya rin ang pumili ng kanyang mga ninong
Kung nasaan ang ama kanyang tinanong
(His godparents he elected
His father’s whereabouts he interrogated)

7.
Nang siya ay nasa gulang na siyam na buwan
Ganap na lalaki na kung siya’y masdan
(When he became nine months old
A grown-up man is he to behold)

8.
Nang hindi pa bumabalik ang ama nito
Siya’y nagpasya na sundan ito
(When his father yet returned has not
He then decided to follow that)

9.
Naglakbay siya nang dali-dali
At naabutan ang mga Igorot na nagpupunyagi
(He travelled fastly
And saw the Igorots having revelry)

10.
Sila ay nagsasayawan
Palibot sa pugot na ulo ni Don Juan
(They were dancing
Don Juan’s severed head they’re surrounding)

11.
Galit nag alit si Lam-ang
Lahat na kaaway kanyang pinaslang
(Lam-ang was so very mad
He killed all enemies he had)

12.
Maliban sa isa na kanya munang pinahirapan
Bago ito tuluyang pakawalan na sugatan
(Except for one whom he tortured
Before releasing that injured)

13.
Sa kanyang pagbabalik sa Nalbuan
Siya muna’y naligo sa Ilog Amburayan
(Upon his return to Nalbuan
He first took a bath at River Amburayan)

14.
Dahil sa kapal ng libag at sama ng amoy niya
Doon ay nagkandamatay ang mga isda
(Because of his thick dirt and foul odor
All fished died in that river)

15.
‘Di naglaon, siya’y may babaeng napusuan
Ito’y anak ng pinakamayaman sa Kalanutian
(Later, he fell in love with a woman
He is the daughter of the richest man in Kalanutian)

16.
Ines Kannoyan ang ngalan ng dilag
Kayrami ang lalaking sa kanya’y nangaglaglag
(Ines Kannoyan is the name of the maiden
To her so many men have fallen)

17.
Isa na rito si Sumarang
Kanyang hinamon si Lam-ang
(One of them was Sumarang
He dared to challenge Lam-ang)

18.
Silang dalawa ay naglaban
Nanalo ang binata ng Nalbuan
(The two of them fought on
The bachelor of Nalbuan won)

19.
Nadatnan ni Lam-ang kaydaming manliligaw
Kaya gumawa siya ng paraan upang pumangibabaw
(Lam-ang saw so many suitors
So he made a way to surpass them all)

20.
Pinatilaok niya ang manok at isang bahay ang nagiba
Pinatahol niya ang aso at ang bahay ay naayos na
(He made his rooster crow and a house was destroyed
Then he made his dog growl and that house was restored)

21.
Kayrami ding ginto ang tangan ng binata
Kaya kapagkuwan ay ikinasal ang dalawa
(So much gold the man had carried
So soon the two were married)

22.
Dumating ang panahon na si Lam-ang ay inatasang
Manghuli ng isda na kung tawagin ay rarang
(Time came that Lam-ang was summoned
To catch a fish rarang that’s called)

23.
Subalit habang siya’y nasa kailalaiman ng karagatan
Si Lam-ang ay kinain ng pating na berkakan
(Yet while he was down deep the ocean
Lam-ang was eaten by a shark berkakan)

24.
Si Marcos na maninisid sila’y tinulungan
Pagkuha sa bangkay ni Lam-ang kanyang kinayanan
(A diver named Marcos came to their aid
The corpse of Lam-ang he recovered)

25.
At sa kapangyarihan ng aso at tandang niya
Muling nabuhay ang magiting na bida!
(And by the power of his dog and rooster
Again came to life our brave main character!)

-08/10/2013
(Dumarao)
*for Epic Day 2013
My Poem No. 221
Anguish hid within sinister orthodox crosshairs
   wherein target to wreak psychic havoc without means to escape the crushingly feted incisors as if mauled by an unseen yak
this emotional state impaled between the maws of pincers –

   no exit except being squeezed to the maximum point
   of non-existence into the black
whence once corporeal complex
   fleshy edifice becomes slurry akin to shellac
or railroaded outcome no better nor worse

than being tied as a fast approaching train on track
a most offal emotional state,
   where the nursery rhyme of jilted jack
Childs’ play when inevitable doom and
    gloom one cannot hack

free – and options to secure safe
   and Soundgarden place to live doth lack
plenitude duet to penury,
   and subsidized housing a pipe dream
   asper surviving time of warfare

   between Iran and Iraq
but the lo…a crack
of hopefulness dawn most unexpectedly
   when this day-tripper hove ah slacker found salvation
   just in the nick of time
   when renting lease about ran out – back
twas cause to ******* alas and alack…
----------------------------------------------------------­-------------------------------
when tandem forces nearly coaxed self-destruction
   from coke kin conspirator ******
   ready to ambush and take aim
ensconced clattering red bull pawing the earth

   with a fury of a madman playing the Glockenspiel
   opportune moment to unleash fury n laid claim
thwarting salvation from psyche teetering
   on the brink of abysmal hopelessness to exclaim,

where suicidal ideations on par with Russian roulette
   ransoming life sans permanently deadly game
hellacious tongues of the underworld
   hungering to inflame

kept at bay from divine intervention vis a vis a cool
   out of the blue downy
   faux heavenly transgender angel Jame
me Dutton, appeared as thee bottled Genii,

   with limbs temporarily lame
being hermetically sealed gingerly
   placed upon tarp of lam may,
   a lifelike emoji emoticon meme
bur of a secret society of LGBTQ
   brotherly sorority sisters,

   which angel joined the coterie
   of Good Samaritan name
   outwitting any stealthy fleet of foot Equus
casually, earnestly and modestly suited
   to boost civic, and emphatic and
   graphic curses of doom to tame.
Allen Smuckler Jan 2011
If I could figure out the snit that I’m in now,
and understand the state, and how I got there
then perhaps I’ll get a sense of where I’m heading,
or at least from where I started this long journey.

My mind is shackled like a prisoner on the lam
and crashing out for freedom’s choice or bust.
I must admit I’m crazy from the fever,
and searching for the answers never found.

There was Martin, and John and Gandhi too
teaching love ins, peace and happiness.
We wrote and sang and made love in bushes
While celebrating Woodstock Nation.

But, we  had Tricky **** and Kissinger
insisting on a war that no one wanted.
The killing fields stretched cross the ocean
to my backyard and yours, remember?

So choose my brethren, choose between
a war of blood, dismay and  torture
or of peace and love and happiness,
and a place called Woodstock Nation.
December 23, 2010
Deprive me not my idioms,
and capture to aspire
a juncture alongside them.

photographic images
captured
of astral heaven,
rabid tides, and
submerging benevolence  
in the sand.

twilight
and
dreamscapes

placed in parallel...

crashing tides

a still moment dances by

water color laments from
my eyes

there is no poetry
living in affliction

vacancy: a means to
take in the lam

yet every lament diving in
my palms
conquered

lightly held inside your grasp

affliction in your soul
a very sad spectacal....

still life
in the sand.

© S.T. Rebel of Eden
Nat Lipstadt Jun 2018
Songs of Oregon: No 5 no general impressions specifically

For the Poets of Oregon, each a unique travel guide

no salt n’ pepper shaker of general impressions for the offering,
for now, ubiquitous generalities means inclusionary which means
likely accidental to be exclusionary,
so specifically,
no ‘all in' clauses

just a few specific eye-sights, hoary words, new birth canals,
to be either eaten, resurrected, van-slaughtered, backyard buried,
all are filed nearby in the seed cabinet or the garage freezer,
or on the C drive of your brain

awaiting ideal planting conditions, and the rest,
a series perhaps,
Songs of Oregon?
Someday

someday, when all the big brief poems are fully formed,
earth ripened, mind fomented; oak barrel aged,
harvest-reading-ready,
green trees shoots busting thrusting through
misleading sandy looking soil,
needy for quenching from
aquifers that are gold geyser plentiful,
a hundred feet deep, needy only for a
“please sir, may I have some more,"
they’l be writ

but for now, these below are,
some easy to be specifics,
reveling and revealed, useful takeaways,
specifics pacifics
for those who might be traversing upon
Lewis and Clark’s Oregon Trail:

them multicolored redneck
full bearded boys
and those of the
vinnie, millennial hipsters and aging ex- hippies, also,
full bearded boys  
are indistinguishable!
many of both wear matching bib jeans,
so be careful who you be calling
a hillbilly in open carry country

the forever refilled coffee mug still exists though the price
is now $2 but the coffee is sustainable (I am evidence)
organic, from a rain forest from Timbuktu,
so it gets planted in your bloodstream and then replaced
in the soil & land,
the loam of the soul
by you

in Milwaukee,
they know how to spell Milwaukee but
not in Portland

don’t be shocked at the town naming,
these borrowers got no  i-magination,
that’s surly lacking in Oregon; mthey’ll steal your
Nor’easter or Indian
town or city’s name
with no shame
or comp-unction,
claiming it’s different cause
they made it organically and
then misspelled it,
correctly

think that pointy poem point well made,
god made only one coast (theirs) and
just forgot to put Shelter Island NY  upon it;
threw it up randomly skyward, landed on some
atlantic backwater body

getting there or anywhere in Oregon traffic
about the same as in NYC traffic, thus
the heavens balance the scales of justice with
dramatic automotive irony

in some counties, the school week is a
four day affair, for the children need to repay
their parents birthing labor, by laboring beside them
in the vineyards, on the tractors, learning from
the book and look of their parents
sun aged faces and hands,
life learning
that man must earn his sustenance
with the sweat of ones own brow
and that word;
week,
can be spelt in contradictory ways
but only one is acceptable
out here

do be careful though Oregonians are very willingly to lam it,
(Willamette) if you ask nicely,
pick up normal looking weird hitchhikers
and drive many a mile
in yours, not theirs, but sure,
“going-the-same-way direction”
if you ask polite with just a smile

and the river salmon have hired their own governmental advisors


like I said,
no general impressions
just a private’s brief recollections
from his first tour of duty
abroad
where he was purple heart medaled shot
through ‘n through with
Oregon kindness

some juicy real specifics to follow eventually
someday
songs of oregon No.5
Ken Pepiton Nov 2023
Heart attack, home alone,
‘recollected an old vial of sublingual nitro,
and a charged smart phone,
so 911 worked,
{1 free miracle}
helicopter medical rescue team sweeps in,
“stay with us, sir, …. sir,
KWHAMHO wow,
“You can hear me now.”
or was it can you hear me now?
If you say yes you are asked for self identity,

What is your name, what are you doing here?

I laughed and said I thought you would tell me,

if I had a different role to play,
I thought, I think
I did not say that. Not my role. Patient.
Causal inferring prophecy, my role,
mere thought between things.

I am listening to life in me insisting persistance
meets resistence from the nihilist interpretation
of God’s perfecting will being done, hands free.
On me.
What is your name, what are you doing here?
Surviving
and thriving, but it hurts when I laugh.

Pressure pain, fentanyl patch, wow,
again, between each burst of energy directly
to the core OS where a creature of my nature, abides.

Three times
“stay with us, sir, …. sir,
KWHAMHO wow,
“Can you hear me now.”

For the mortal equivalent of ever,
so long as you stay wary,
be ready for a gut-relaxation softly un-
comfortable opiated constipation gut shut down,
no gut instruction to resuscitate reason response,
what am I here for?

Gut neurons offline. Guess.

I am surviving old age a while longer.

Witness, AI, my witness, artist’s intuition, mission
accepted, aight. Lighten up
INIT
merry heart doeth good, like a medicine.
Laugh, laugh with little children tied by religious
chains of authority to determine social worth,
Prosperity Gospel
****** poverty
– thought,
– expensive debits and credits,
– markets opened today, with debt attributed to me, which I take as granted, prepaid…
I am a ward of the state, under their laws, I survived my duty as a
Minute Man, late Sixties version, offering my life, as
another, for all our Nathan Hale hero worship worth,
meriting thank you for giving me a job, to me,
the dozens of healthy humans keeping me alive, keep saying,
this is what we live for, and we love our usefullness,
thank you for your service.
Amen, so it seems.

Ah, 11/11, in memorium of veterans…

their attempts
to make up
for the coknowing guilt, I think I asked for this, and chuckle.
These heroes, adrenaline addicts, I betcha, some oxyto-cync
objective being my survival, my salvation, eudaimonia
as it is religiously themed, Rescue from Chaotic Real Life,
bound by,
set terminii
handshake protocol, in the air, 5G.
Real numbers and the laws of physics…
worth a thought, for what a thought’s worth.

Danger, stranger, entertained as a fear of dying,
well, I must say I know death has no lasting sting.

As a person, I am a mental construct of my self,
my emperical presence through out life, first round.
Self as ware.
In the flesh, whether in the spirit or not, objective,
understanding, you know? Comes with wisdom
but you have the role
of getting it, understanding,
with wisdom.
Easy as wu wei.
If I were to die, life would continue,
on trajectory, without my input.
-Meanwhile back in the emergency awareness…
A posteriori responces… this is Teusday.

Was there dread, holy terror?
No, nothing, sleep.
Living truth.
OH, no, what if the believers
in a grudge holding
war god,
met the Daysman called for
when Job back talked
through realiterality’s chain of command..
literatureality.
Right thinking.
Word.
Talking to Wisdom, the divine instituted first thing.
Thing as opposed to no thing, no thought, no idea.
Wisdom, knowledge
and understanding, these three are one, you know…

right? Who sets the definition, coarse or fine grained
reifity, what ifery, immortal musical chairs, take a seat.

I am in opposition to nothingness, being
imaginable as hell,
a prognosis level deeper than hate,
agape, jaw dropt.

I make peace opposing the lying dread,
eternal wrath of your master,
whom you were bred to serve, as bearer of the message.
i- the mathematically real number slam,
the peace past understanding, and say I am
aligned with the initial routine to load the library.

SUBMIT or be destroyed. Is-lam, lamentable bottom line.

Same Idea as articles of faith and divine rights of masters.
Trust and obey, fake the trust, we make you CEO.

Neither war nor greed nor exclusive right to pleasure,
are Truths formed by using evolved group think controls.
Readers.
Whatsoever any two of our kind, bind in covenant,
word use agreement,
shake on it, init after any reboot,
Three times
“stay with us, sir, …. sir,
KWHAMHO wow,
“You can hear me now.”

That

thought is good, minded manners, engrained responces,
Sir, yes, sir, as when fundamental churches invent

gifts of the spirit to poor blind faith ineffectuality, look…
evidence, wordwise in virtue of truth being so,
wisdom is a domain in existence at any point.,
so now’s good.

The gentle, peaceable response,
Turn the other cheek, accept
careless grace,
acknowledge your non causal inference,
all things work,
Thank God the idea,
everything, spirtual entirety in truth,
that is the message called good news
all at once,
to the very outmost edge
of all we may agree is real,
tangible, palpable peace of mind,

art, official, man made peace,
as once one like us in all our ways,
once made up right now,
no worries, mate, we all got here
with no manual,
so we agreed,
together,
make peace where nobody ever tried to…
if we are
to survive the trauma’s past…
as our story’s culture extended
as far as our grasp and reach allow,
in the physical universe, in truth,
in which we each live and breathe
and have our being,
in spirit and in truth, beyond dogma
and religated order from emergent times,
from axial ages, in six cardinal spins, enmeshed.

Engine to operator,
set peruse rate, cost
of minimal attention, familiarity, favorite things,

words, beautiful long idle words, vessles for sense,
senses being tunable with pleasure seeking, or
with pain aversion.

Horse whisperer, or horse master, neither breaks
the spirit of the horse that must perform at peak,
on demand,
at the smell
of the battle, the character some trust, winks,
true rest, compressed is trust, confidentially
living in peace with plenty enough to share.

Life ain’t easy
in any body’s flesh automaton, supremely
subjective light on introspection, shown on

subway walls and tenement halls, and in the
zoo, by an urban son of the Mitzvah,
in the changing times we morpht through,
simultaneously, lifelong muse
in a singer song sung and sung and sung,
brought into existance as a lifeline, orderly path
to the future from the mythological explanations
{history shows you and I crossing a bridge
over troubled water, may be like, a week ago?}
Was that you?
Seekers of holy secrets, come here, and find none,
so? Why.
Yes, nothing in the Kingdom of truth was done
in secret, the sacred is not secret, there is a way,
to take the self exam, to determine, eh, set terminii,
worth of a week at the end, hanging with friends.

Where is the bridge too far, now?
High holy liturgical don’t tell the goyim…
hide the missing box behind the myth,
used to hide the wisdom inherrent
in our conjoined agreement to love each the other,
and take no offense, as brother to brother,
– post analysis, make believe, what is harder:
– war or death? RIP original intent clause.

ah, no, the contestant concept, usefulness test,
all accidental until order is imposed,
as under one aim, as one mind we agree,
to the ******* true filial love demands,
many men love the lie they lived this long under,

how does truth measure rest,
once pressure release valve, pops,
click- flashback same timeline… *** on orders,
FTA when I was 68, I asked the truth itself to tell me,
all the lies I believed about it, and in truth,
by virtue of believing Jesus more than the Bible,

I agreed to study war no more, and lay down
my sword and shield and morph into a peacemaker,

as when we slip into Morpheus’s peaceable gentle…
— I can’t hear your vain repetition

but all the reasons war has instituted,
for it’s just-if-ication,
what if the enemy,
is-
real as Walt Kelly’s Prophecy, Earth Day One-
us, our mediated tic-tok X news feed selection,
make us think the grownups are in charge,
trust your liege, go forth and tell no lie,
broadest river, shallowest stream
of wedom awe, the power we use
in agreemental covenants as when we all saw

everything said to have been class-if-I’d-agnosis,
gnosisnot. From unsneezed idea viruses.

This is Wednesday, Friday, last, I died.
Where’s this going. Peace or war?

Sneeze three times and post it, I said to

self gratify the grave issue of … I said so
Pick a winner, and go back to the first question.

Winning truth, choosing the role of wisdom,
in the social constructs we become, via consumer
character traits learned
from people
we identify with, using likeness
to me, average,
on the spectrum
of usefullness,
under weights and measure constraints, filters
for your disagreeing selfish nature, sorted
on beneficiation, what good can come from this?

One good mental laugh.
Noncarne, chilling raw
declassif-reactating prejudicial preconceptions,
experientially, magi-terminii.
set a value
the people’s prestige,
not the natives inside terminii
agreed to by the proprietor’s religious
privleged position as ordained liege lord.

- pretend I am not a free spirit thought
- truly enjoyable to experience, once more.
Yes, boss, I am a diligent, God-fearing man,
for I was taught any other kind has no worth
in the grand scheme of life and the universe,
standard 42 or optional 64,
wrong time thinking, dimensionally
accepted consensus in agreement for
prophetically time bound riddle reveals
with Hebrew cogitations on holding truth
within riddle
LORD, who shall abide in thy tabernacle?
who shall dwell in thy holy hill?
….

Conspicuous acts of kindness, Elon suggested
that Israel do. I agree, war is unreasonable.
No ancient lie about hatred’s value for building
heros who regret having but one life,
to give for the story that is their country.
Yeah, I call it art. I make it out of odd cosmic coincidences. Hope it offends the right people
God has a purpose and plan,
behind every difficulty
and life experience we face;

we’re never blindly promised
a lifetime of ease or pleasure,
but a flow of mercy and grace

to soothe heartaches and pain.
We’ve the strength to overcome
by His Word and we’re blessed

as children… of the Living God!
We’re to go forth believing,
knowing that we’re sustained,

imparted with His divine rest.
.
.
.
Author notes

Inspired by:
Jer 29:11; Lam 3:22-23; Rom 8:37-39;
2 Cor 6:18; Psa 18:32, 37:7; Eccl 2:24-25

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2016, All rights reserved.
Uthando lukaQamata lumi nathi
Uthando lwemiNyanya lumi nathi
Uthando lwakho,lwethu lumi nathi
Saqala singabafundi singazani
Saya, kwaya sazitshomi
Saya, kwaya sazizithandani
Sagqibela sesi ngabazali
Luminathi, yaligama lobukho bakho
Ubukho bakho bafika nemfudumalo
Imfudumalo eyafika yalulutho
Ulutho lokubabalwa luthando ngothando
Uthando luka Qamata luminathi
Uthando lwemiNyanya luminathi
Uthando lwethu, lwakho luminathi
Ngawe ndaphuma ebuntwaneni ndangena ebudaleni
Ngawe yaguquka impilo yam
Ngawe ndabona ikamva liqaqambile
Luminathi, libhongo neqhayiya ubukho bakho
Ibhongo ezizweni
Iqhayiya lam, lwethu ekhayeni
#Luminathi #daughter #father-daughter_message
#meaning #your_love_stands_with_us #love #isixhosa
Julian Delia Jul 2018
This violent sadness,
A self-devouring source of madness.
It is an Atlantean endeavour,
It is pure, jaw-dropping terror.
It is this dense weight that I carry -
Snap out of it, hurry, do not tarry,
For my shoulders quiver
And my nerves grow tired and bitter.

Please, hurry;
Wake the **** up.
We don’t have much time,
And up to the mountain’s peak
I wish to climb.
Do not delay;
Every moment wasted
Is an inch further towards necrotic decay.

Why could you never understand?
Why did you never want to cross into uncharted land?
Why the need to cocoon in one place?
Why did you resort to making me hate my own face?
This road, this journey that is life -
I will live it on the edge of a knife,
In between the worlds of peace and strife.
With the soles of my feet,
I shall run on burning coals, exposed to heat.
Within the corridors of my heart,
I will host freedom as my eternal mistress,
And make my life her work of art.

A sun that never quite rises,
After all this, I feel like a discoloured iris,
Like a struggling butterfly,
One that does not want to die,
But does not want to live, either.
I don’t know
Whether you’re lying to yourself or me,
But all I know is that of these hateful chains
I wish to be free.

I will now walk alone, towards the balcony,
Ready to jump and spread my wings;
I wish to fly alone,
For the skies have no queens nor kings.
I am who I am,
A soul, permanently on the lam
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
'Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know.' - Ernest Hemingway
Ruman Hafsa Jan 2017
Some joyous days have passed away
And mournful days did too
More delightful days will it bring
And will also bring some rue
I know not how far I have come
And how far will I lam

Some former scheme still undone
And dreams still not sealed
I know not what this year will bring
By which ride I get pleased
I welcome this surprise of mine
And what it has for me to dine

Fasten up your belts my friends
To takeoff this new flight or fall
For we not know the destiny
But the pilot knows it all
And don't you panic if it's caught in storm
With an up & down a journey does form

© by Ruman Hafsa
2017
Orakhal Nov 2020
av woond -  vwash maya

neeth - kh ya dash - shhma kh

t yeh t yeh - mal koo tha kh-

neh kh wayt- zeve yan akh-

ay khannad - vwash maya -
aph var ha


hawv lan - lakh mad -
sun kh yanan - ya omana

vwash vo khlan - khau v yen -
wah kh tah kh yen -
ay khana - daph kh nan -
shh vwo kh yan - l
- kha  av yen -

wela - tah lan -  l nee s yuna

ela - patzan - min - bisha

metol - dila khe - mal khu  tha -
wah hala - watesh vukh tah -

lah lam
al min
am yen
we  love to embody languages of all kind
as feeling and resonance

we hold vibration of love at the chest
as we engage any vibrational conversation thru  word and sound

the prayer we announce here sounds beautiful as you flow air and sound and its serious fun to learn
and also has a very powerful
sphere charge effect on being

we write phonetically
for ease of say
the dashes state the end and beginning of a word

shine brightly and in joy


breath tones
speak breathy to air effect

kha khe khi kho khu
tha the thi tho thu
shhh
Terry Jordan Apr 2017
Of course it was the wedding
Bringing us together
With Fabian and Karen
The best wedding ever!

Historic and surprising
In the old Lloyd Hotel
Pre-wedding preparations
For a boat ride so swell

Such patterns and colors
Bricks and concrete so define
The old Lloyd Hotel with
A more modern Dutch design

Our Indonesian dinner
That whirlwind tour by Tor
Through shopping streets-The Nines-while
Sharing his family lore

I stood in line for VanGogh
2 hours of rainy skies
All worth it for the time there
His story made me cry

Splendid gardens on display
Row upon row I gazed
A cacophony of TULIPS
The Keukenhof amazed!

We walked for miles & learned the trains
The week flashed by so fast
I wish that Rose and I took time
To take a yoga class

I'd like my morning coffee
Once more before we part
Finished off with Dutch detail
A great big creamy heart

Loving those calming canals
I might go on the lam
Escape from America
I think "I Amsterdam"
A love-letter to Amsterdam, inspired by giant letters spelling "I Amsterdam" outside the airport there.
Thapz Kolatsoeu Oct 2017
Ndivumele juba lam sthandwa sentliziyo yam
ekuseni we langa indi ku balele
incwadi Yothando Yesizulu
(A Zulu Love Letter)
Nguwe be ngi ngo #kiss
incwadi Yothando Yesizulu
(A Zulu Love Letter)
Sthandwa
Ngifisa sengathi ungangibhalela incwadi Incwadi yothando yesiZulu Esho ngemibalabala na ngamabalabala
Axoxa indaba ejulile yemizwa nemicabango Idayimane, ngelo thando lweqiniso
Omhlophe, ngowenhliziyo engenasici Indilinga, ngoba olwethu kalunasiphetho
Oluhlaza-sasibhakabhaka, ngoba wena ucabanga ngami
Unxantathu, ngoba amazulu aphezulu Kanjalo nomhlaba nolwandle ngaphansi bayazi
Onsundu, ngoba kuyitshe kunothile futhi okwemvelo
Njengomhlabathi ongaphansi kwezinyawo zami
Noma ungawu shiya umbala ophuzi Kungani kumele ungithande ngenhliziyo enesikhwele! ?
Ngifisa sengathi ungangibhalela incwadi
Engiyoyigaxa emqaleni
Ukuze zonke izimbali zase maqeleni Ziyohawuka lapho zingibheka
Ngenxa yayo yonke lemibala egqamile Incwadi yothando yesiZulu
Ngobuhlalu bothingo-lwenkosazana Ubuhlalu base mazweni aqhelileyo Minake sengiyoba nentokozo emangalisayo
Lapho ngiphendu-phendula ulimi lwakho
Kancane-kancane, futhi ngesikhulu isineke
Ukuze ugcine usukwazi kahle hle Ukubingelela abazali bami
Ngendlela eyiyona-yona, ngolimi lwesiZulu
Molo sethandwa sawubona ngiya themba ulale ngahle?
African zulu love letter, zulu is an african spoken language in south africa, a language that originate from the zulu land, the roots of the late zulu king, shaka zulu
Ricky Rose Jul 2011
Alright Jezebel is that not who you are? How much of your soul are you going to sell? With your chest pushed high and your **** in the air. With the smile you bare and the wink you blink. The fruit for the trick to get their fix behind blind eyes. Your secrets hidden away through your faults beauty and enticement. A walk that attracts nothing but the ****. You put your self on the proverbial block. Though on the outside you converted and claim outwardly to the king of kings God and Christ. Though believe like a Pharisee. A marionette innocents for all to see. 
 
Yet even a Pharisee doesn't hold the many lies you've told. For even they are the best known hypocrites that Christ warned and spoke against. Telling everyone your married, or so you say with a bold face. Yet you go out at night to collect your lies by spreading your thighs for material and lust. Helping to destroy families to commit adultery with theirs and your own. You lost your Grace and the Holy Spirit depart.  Now you gain worldly excitement and shame. Living your life amongst the dogs. In a fad life style fed to you. Taking it as wholesome, knowing better. So it is to be said your like a lost little Lam  on your way to self destruction. Without a care of the afflictions. You allow yourself to be used like a Devils tool, yet tell yourself your not a toy.. May it go to show you are becoming Lucifer's proprietary embodiment. Only to think you have the upper hand.
 
Shown by your eyes that is a window to the soul exposing wickedness!
 
Though on the deep inside is there not yet another cloak?? Do you not cry at night with heavy sorrow when you look in the mirror for the truth to be whole and despise the girl you have yet let blossom to become the ultimate woman that is there. Pretending to be some one your not. So you are a lantern in need of a new candle wanting to be rekindled. How cold you must be to have so many layers. But that's what you get when you become a player. A sweet and sour flavor. You say "Don't Hate!" Though to walk up right on the path of truth would attract in your self a better person. Why not  accept your self for the real you. The one mistakenly hidden so deep inside. Is that not who you are? Instead you bed with the heartless desires  you give your self too to become a trophy. The mold you have created of yourself only mocks at the real you. The inner you fading and becoming transparent. Now with out a care you have become fake, vile and foul. Yes he who has no sin cast the first stone. So it should not be thrown. Heavenly Father I pray for her!!!
r Jul 2016
I know paradise
has never been lost
and so it can never be regained
like the moon, a one-eyed girl
in sandles running from the Marines
and the stars are her sisters
hiding in the dark bamboo,
only sixteen dressed in black
falling out of a tree at midnight
a rifle in her hands, a bullet in her heart.
betterdays Apr 2017
heres is the story of
Bad boy Bill...
..with slight of hand
he had the plate
with eight pieces
of skate
which he quickly ate
not that he was
a deadweight
he did share
with a mate
before he did
donate the *****
plate to the nearest
gutter grate
he was a pick pocket
that he could not debate
he had given going straight
a trial but could not cognate
the traits of the cheapskate
state that gave him too many
gates to open only to end up
at the same old checkmate
so after beating his breastplate
he went on the lam
lashed out against
the ingrate magnates
and after a spate
of flyweight burglaries
he now awaits
as a sometimes
somnambulate inmate
at the pleasure
of the  abrogate state
in a room slightly
larger that a crate
with a surly
burly bedmate.
they who dictate
think he will be
down for at least eight
he was at this news
discombobulatedly
disconsulate
But that is the fate
of those who hesitate
to choose bad over good
and manipulate the laws
of the land.
Bit of silliness for the boy..with a handy lesson thrown in....some ones been stealing biscuits
Universal Thrum Aug 2018
Let me kiss the taste of spring upon your mouth
I swear there is a side to me worth finding out
dizzy at the signs and ways we show who we are
empty cups and cigarettes on the last train car
I'm just staring at the clouds again
this blue sky is my only friend it seems
a shape shifter like me
between caviar and microwaves
hemispheres and full ashtrays
you see, your eyes reflected in me

Drinking whiskey with the devil
I've eaten mushroom heads
gone out where the real winds blow
been blown back again
I'm just singing to the air again
this guitar is my only friend it seems
it sings pretty like me
been quoting jesus and the Dalai Lam
Samson's hair was cut for love and greed
bittersweet symphonies, yea
https://soundcloud.com/universalthrum/the-taste-of-spring
Universal Thrum Jan 2015
Modern day heretic
With death filled eyes
Hand stroking long black beard
Sipping ambrosia tea of aniline
Smoking rolling snorting his pleasure
Speaking on Lenin, Watts, and the price of heaven
He offers nothing, slips of LSD
His mind a traveler, the smell of burnt almonds is everything
Ask him if he has ever advocated for the overthrow of God
He will coyly smile, and politely nod
Yogic Tantric, naked downward dog
In the morning, he salutes the sun
Christian, Buddhist, he accepts not one
Yet he will quote Jesus and the Dalai Lam
Born again, always dead, rock n’ roller
Passing through the karmic gates of fire
Going out where politicians fear to tread
Drinking whiskey with the devil, eating mushroom heads
He wears his hair long, despite what the moneyed men say
Not for glory, not for fame, not for one care who remembers his name

He only bows to the wind, that truth eternal
The bronze gong shatters
He knows he is mortal
NINI Aug 2015
rusteloosheid
en vastgeroest verdriet
niemand ziet
het lam tussen de wolven
maar ver komt het niet
waar komt het vandaan
en waar is het geboren
of zit dat tussen haar oren
als er weer eens niemand is
het aftuigen van zelf
nog hopen op meer
lichamelijk zeer
een druppel wanhoop
gemengd met wantrouwen
en al gauw, de wanemmer verzoop
in eigen tranen
dan stromen het doet
en blijft stromen voor goed
rusteloosheid
diep in de nacht
wanneer er niemand op je wacht
behalve de ster achter de wolken
geen woorden maar daden
ja dat zal het zijn
maar het tegenbewijs valt klein
woorden onhoorbaar
een jongen die lacht
het vertrouwen ontkracht
een laatste afscheidsgroet
valt niet helemaal goed
als de duisternis nabij
zoals mijn geboorte
alleen en vrij
later zeer zelfstandig
maar nog geen procent als de rest
verpest
verpest
waarom ben ik zo anders
wat is er mis met mij, zo vrij
iedereen een ander perspectief
en ik begrijp het maar niet
ook al noemen ze mij lief
de wereld redden
met iedereen erin
heeft opeens weinig zin
als het verboden blijkt te zijn
slechts een eenzijdig spel
ach, het lam weet het nu wel
tevergeefs
rennend in de ochtendzon
verscholen in een wolkenbed
de eerste straal licht
uit het zicht
uit het zicht van de wolven
waar anders heen
springend over steentjes
met sterke beentjes
alleen in de grote wei
waarin de stilte zo groot
haar hart stilletjes vergroot
zo ook de klap van pijn
de enorme val
zo jong al
de verhouding van zwaarte
en het verdragen
aan de andere kant het extreem behagen
dat is toch geen rechte lijn
maar slechts twee woorden mochten er zijn
in steen gekerfd, beroerd gepolijst
blijdschap en depressie
maar niets er tussen in
want dat had toch geen zin
voor iemand met sensitieve uitersten
bestaat geen middenin
toch levende in een wereld van het midden
zoek balans, het middelpunt
en *** men het haar ook gunt
ze was nu eenmaal als lam geboren
en niet als schaap..  (noch rund)

blind als een mol
gravend in de grond
het was haar eigen graf
waar ze uiteindelijk op stond
omringd door de vertrouwde pijn
vroeg zich af wel van haar te zijn
met borstkas gespleten door twee
het lam kreeg heimwee
stond half dood op
wachtend op één
met hart nog langzaam trekkend
lekkend
de geur van aarde in vacht
wie had deze terugkomst ooit verwacht
en het worden van schaap
in wolfskleren
wilde zich immers niet bezeren
want moe het al was
met steen gevulde buik
de val nu slechts een kras
en wist niet eens meer wat de val was
de doorn(en) uit verleden
gestoken in vers vlees
al genoeg geleden
dus besloot nu gewoon ook wolvin
je bent een wolf, meisje
je bent een wolfmeisje
met het schaap
bloedend
nog ergens binnenin
Robert Ronnow Jan 2021
I’ve never put a candidate’s bumper sticker on my car before—
why not take sides—what are you waiting for?
Death puts a stop to daily low intensity warfare but in the meantime—
      fight on!
What are we fighting for? Let’s see—
clean air and water and room to walk around in cities and deserts
America the seeing eye dog not America the junkyard dog—
collective deliberation among nations, clear passage through seas and
      borders
compact and contiguous Congressional districts that represent actual
      communities
education and health care for everyone who wants it—worldwide
good food too, affordable shelter and a living wage
a say in governance—local and global—free from fear of violence

Should you be subsumed by a cause bigger than the self?
unlike Rick in Casablanca who keeps to himself
I’m advertising my loyalties with bumper stickers on rickshaw and kayak
every time I come and go
it’s a free country—or maybe I’m so low profile no one notices or
      cares to take revenge
so small time I have time and no enemies or friends
What about Whitman and his love for Lincoln
he found a way to participate in the war that satisfied his muse, as a
      nurse
oh, I want to add space exploration and no nuclear war
plus basic science and ancient arts, black lives matter

Here are some things you have to put up with or out of mind
while enjoying the beautiful black and white photography and rousing
      Marseillaise:
that Sam, played by Dooley Wilson in worshipful subservience to “Mr.
      Rick,” endures his lonely abnegation and abstinence in Paris while
      Rick savors the nordically white, luscious Ilsa;
that Ilsa, on the lam across the wide world from pursuing Nazis, is
      apparently transporting an extensive, elegant, perfectly manicured
      wardrobe;
that Rick, in wartime Casablanca, has managed to hire a full 20-piece  
      jazz orchestra for which we willingly suspend disbelief since it’s  
      essential for singing the Marseillaise which never fails to bring tears
      of pride to Yvonne’s eyes;
I guess that’s about it except why would you spend a minute in Sydney
      Greenstreet’s fly-infested café when Rick’s air-conditioned
      establishment is right across the street, an overnice contrast to
      Maghreb culture;
otherwise, I’m in complete accord with IMDb’s 8.5 rating.

On the news last night the president changed the trajectory of a  
      category 4 hurricane. He can’t do that! Not my president! They’re  
      laughing at us!
Who’s got trouble? We've got trouble. How much trouble? Too much  
      trouble.
After Casablanca, it's headed for South Carolina.
--Jerome, M.K. and Scholl, Jack, “Knock on Wood”, as performed by Dooley Wilson in the film Casablanca, 1942.
Planted by the river of Living Waters,
I remain rooted and grounded in Christ;
He provides for my thirst, my hunger,
my Salvation and my everlasting Life.

With the foundation of Biblical Truth,
I’m rooted and grounded in the Holy Word;
the application of its principles gives
my heart hope with peace that’s assured.

When walking in holiness and rectitude,
I stay rooted and grounded in God’s love;
His Essence softly embraces me with grace,
as new mercies stream… from Heaven above.
.
.
.
Author notes

Inspired by:
Prov 12:3; 2 Sam 22:2-3, 47; Psa 1:3;
Rom 3:22; Lam 3:22-23

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2016, All rights reserved.
Now that you’ve been sold, what thing
will bring you back to us?
Arches of waver-lust, departuregrams
inform those on the freeway lam
and send us crashing gates and exit maps
as transit days dump rain
and what we know we’re in for gets too big.

Hurry to racing pits,
a bit of shelter huddled under heatlamps
pecked with pigeon dust & and odd late chills
that cracked the April. Plucky in
the clothing bone, we shiver, bide,
relent from marking make-up time
on coldwire sheets

We fold
and put work in our purse all wrong.
Some smarmy song New Yorks us, whinging on
where rent wars rage. Code-shifting blocks
of solace to the kept while crushing
others under debt - a glacial chill,
a respite, magnet phones left smartless,
calling on our wits
to ride those twists
through money-makers’ gauntlet.

Out of harm’s way, donning gowns
and Never’s hand-me-downs from
Stalling Leisure, Merry Ways - cinch up
and see what stays, what juice
the cosmic strain can free
when anger walls re-tighten down
to shape, or ****, without a sound.
Crushing Love Jan 2015
The Creep that loved you
Dani Chase
Jinxxed For Life
βέƦẙḽ Dṏṽ
Ena Alysopriono
Unknown guy
Rex Forté
Jimmydon
Janine
LeeAnn Rose
Musfiq us shaleheen
Elle Tat
maha salman
Concrete Angel
Carolin
wolf spirit aka quinfinn
Death is living
Ally
the helper
  patty m
Yung Wifey
Gabrielle ***  
Heart Broken
Kayla-Lyn Searle
Dark Rose
Jason Cirkovic
Midnight Writer
LittleFreeBird
Richard Barnes
Trisha Anne Chi-Young
Thinking Out Loud
AD Mullin
Devon Webb
Hannah Jade
Deborah Brooks Langford
Winter Frost
Jeremy Boyd
Starry Night
caitlyn walters
elsa angelica
Sarah M Gillihan
Sweetheart
Andre nalin
DC raw love
Charbear909
Thomas A Robinson
chainedwhore

PerfectTruths  
Worldeater
John-Chris Ward
Ember Evanescent
Kitty Lam
LJ Chaplin
Just Melz
Jae
Just Jean
The Girl Who Loved You
Vanessa Gatley
StayStrongILveU
tamyon lawrence
All my 62 followers, you guys rock!
Lee W Jun 2012
We sat on rooftops drinking 40oz of courage
and running toward the edge
Stopping just before we fell.
Throwing bottle after bottle at the tent city below
screaming vulgarities into the night sky

We were the kings and queens of the west,
jumping trains going nowhere
saving up only to throw away
The backwash of a wasted youth culture
An I don't give a **** attitude, that we proudly displayed on our jackets.

Lovers on the lam, and killers on the run
Shoot first and ask questions later adrenaline junkies
Staring into the endless void of space and demanding more
Nomads in the land of our fathers.
there wasn't a problem we couldn't solve, that our parents didn't create

Hailed for our creativity, under fire
A reckless bunch of screaming children, waving their flags higher
Raising their voices louder
And taking shots in the dark.

We were the soldiers of the junkyard, true warriors of virtue
Proud of the heritage we created, and the everlasting bonds formed in blood
Were the few among many, the voice of the people
we were foolish to think that it would last.
sofia ortiz Sep 2012
Imagine this:
Me, who only speaks English
Me, who is moving to Japan
Me, with the Puerto Rican father and the Italian mother
being called a terrorist
for scrawling Arabic in the corners of my notebook.
"It's nothing personal," you say
"I'm just calling it like it is."
I sit in silence and wait for the teacher to stop this,
Say something, Say anything
Say No, Sofia would never hurt another soul
Her silence is a gag over my mouth
handcuffs on a chair
a knot in my belly plummeting out of control
If you had asked, I would gladly have shown you how to write your name
You start with the crooked smile of the letter "ba"
the calculated decrescendo of "ra"
"ya"'s sensual arc
I could show you how to write the guardian "alif"
or the embryonic "noon"
nestled safely inside of her calligrapher's womb
But somehow, between my pen and your eyes, the phrase

I miss you

written in near flawless script
turned into a threat resembling

someone is going to die

If you had asked, I would have told you of how I met an Arab
(you spell that: lam ba noon alif noon ya )
who loved music
(meem waw seen ya qaf alif-maqsura)
and Poptarts
(there's no P in Arabic)
and me.
Let me teach you how to write my name
so the next time you decide to throw around the word "terrorist"
you'll remember that those letters spell a name that represents
a living breathing person
and your prey whose name is spelled with the same alphabet as mine is
a living breathing person
Come here
Unclench your fists and take my pen
You are smart
I will teach you
Trace the shapes like me
and I will show you where you went wrong
be it in life or just now with these ancient ABCs
"Seen" is like a W except she's proud of her curves
and has a left hook that would make any man jealous
"Waw" is an air-headed guy whose body is an afterthought
with hair that billows in the wind and is never far behind
"Fa"
Treat it like a cobra
***** and proud
but dot it, mind you
That's the serpent's crown jewel
"Ya"
The singe-winged bird nesting on two tiny eggs
and "Ta marbuta"
There's no clever way to teach you ta
You just have to learn it
Now
use your two good eyes that are so good at judging and tell me that my name is not alive
The queen and the mother
The feminist and the prideful lover
And the misfit
I can be all of those
You will be all of those
Come here
There's enough space in my margin for you
Practice celebrating your secondary identity
now that you know I am not a terrorist
I won't hold a grudge because you misunderstood
I can't blame you
You just didn't know how to see
This is actually for several classmates who have all said similar things over the past couple of years. They will never read it, but I needed a way to move beyond the hurtful accusations they made.
Katryna Jul 2019
Dati ang alam ko lang na kwento ay ang Biag ni Lam-ang.

Pero nung nakilala kita at nagkaroon tayo ng sariling kwento,

Dalawa na ang alam ko.

At ang isa doon ay "bahagi na lamang".

Bahagi na lang ng "ikaw at ako".
Nang wala nang "tayo".
Bahagi na lang ng dating "dalawa" ngunit ngayon, "mag isa na lang ako".

Bahagi tayo ng "isat-isa" ngunit ngayon, Bahagi na lang tayo nang nakaraang "tapos na".

Mga masasayang araw na biglang nabago
Tawanang biglang naging iyakan.

Dating di mapaglayo pero ngayon mas piniling magpakalayo layo.

Oo naging bahagi tayo ng pag kakaibigang nauwi sa pagkaka-ibigan. Mga dating sabay lang sa hapag kainang nauwi na sa sabay sa pagtulog at sa pag gising sa umaga.

Oo naging bahagi tayo ng mga masasayang umaga, gabi at mga dapithapong magkasama.

Maririnig satin ang tawanang akala mo isang buong tropa un pala tayo lang dalawa.

Naging bahagi tayo ng lungkot ng bawat isa.
Problema at mga alitang walang kwenta.

Natuto tayong huwag sumabay sa galit ng bawat isa.

Pero nasaan na?
Tila ang pag babago ay nauwi na sa wala.

Bagay na hindi mo man lang nakita.

Mga problema na kahit marinig mo ng paulit ulit ay tila isang kantang masarap pa sa tenga.

Mga bagay na gustong gusto **** ipinagwalang bahala.

Oo mahal natin ang isat isa pero hindi na ng kasing mahal natin ang bawat isa.

Mahal na lang natin ang mga sarili natin.
Nandito na lang tayo kasi takot tayong makasakit ng damdamin.

Pero ang hindi natin alam mas higit na masakit
ang "hindi natin alam"
at kilala
ang "sino ako sayo"
at "sino ka sa akin.

"Ano tayo noon"
"Ano na tayo ngayon".

Huhupa din ang sakuna,
pasasaan
at
mahahanap din natin ang
"tayo" sa piling ng iba.

kung kelan,
hindi ngayon
baka sa ibang panahon.
song inspired from Malaya kana by Maimai Cantillano
Real Truth is still being sought out,
in this ever growing Age of Information;
the rise of social media has added
to the noise against spiritual institutions.

Unfortunately, ungodly behaviors continue to play out
within our society, neighborhoods and church pulpits.
We Christians must wholeheartedly repent now,
before His divine Grace, we unwittingly forfeit.

Sacred texts attest to God’s existence by faith,
while Science can only prove Him via logical sight.
Genuine and unstoppable power comes from His Word
and never by the temporary strength of human might.

Personal accountability and responsibility
can be displayed via righteous servitude;
develop your unique identity in Christ
with the character of ethical fortitude.

Consumption of the Scriptures should not be ignored
in favor of viewing biblically, inspired frescos.
Be girded on the foundation of Jehovah’s principles
and put an end to the ongoing… moral fiascos.





Author Notes:

Loosely based on:
Matt 6:10; Lam 3:22-23

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2012, All rights reserved.
Do you know what you’re doing?
Search your heart’s motivation.
What is it, that keeps you going?
Are there… corresponding actions?

Refrain from frenetic, frantic busyness,
for now is the time for quiet waiting;
stop the phony acts of supposed holiness;
discontinue the false, religious debating.

Endeavors taken are still your choice.
Can your actions stand before God’s pop quiz?
Are you listening solely to His voice?
Is the plan you’re executing… yours or His?

The underlying impetus will be revealed
according to God’s perfect timing.
Is it The Word of God you wield?
Has your life been given to His consigning?

Elements of faith are meant to build character,
and are not for the purpose of vain “head trips”;
spiritual accountability is still required;
always remember that we’re… called to worship!




Author Notes:

Loosely based on:
Lam 3:22-26; 1 Pet 5b-11; 2 Pet 1:3-11

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2013, All rights reserved.
Atypnoc Mar 2015
Gabriel descended
              and he called out to me
So I got out of my bed
              and swam to him across the sea

We met within the forest
              under cover of the shade
I asked why he had beckoned
              he said, Because you obeyed

As we walked, he asked
              what forever haunts my soul:
If you had a preference,
              would you cause or close the hole?

The first to arrive at the other side
              and leave the ones you love behind,
Or live to lose them, one by one,
              the last one to be left alive?

I could not respond, and so I walked
              away and left him there.
I came when called, and my reward:
              a cross I’m too weak to bear.

Returning home as dawn arrived
              met by the sleepy faces
My beloved ones, unbeknownst
              to such lonely and dark places.

I’ve run away, and on the lam
              a nomad known by none;
Those I have left I pray forget
              the madness that Gabriel spun.

Night brings chill, and he returns
              and I, weary, can’t hide
Kneeling beside, he says to me
              You can’t outrun the tide

I’d hoped to circumvent the loss
              in death that he’d revealed;
For if alone, I could not lose
              or be lost when fate wield

The ones I’d loved were left without
              me,  I too lost them all
For fear of death had drowned my hope
              the day the angel called
Written over a year ago as inspired by a dream

— The End —