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Alyssa Underwood Nov 2015
There's a peculiar kind of beauty that can only be experienced
with the innate knowledge that the moment is fleeting
and the most intense beauty can only be seen in
the presence of both light and shadows.
For it’s often in the loss of a thing
that its worth to us becomes
most precious and by
letting it go with
grace we can
best savor
its purest
delights.
Realizing
that the pain
runs so deep only
because the beauty ran
so deep and that without
it having once touched us we
wouldn't now know the emptiness
of its loss, our grief will eventually turn to
thankfulness that it ever touched us at all, and
we will be left awed by the mystery of its haunting.
***
Alyssa Underwood Nov 2015
I would not know that wounded hearts will never bend
Except it's by the gentlest wind
Had You not blown Your love on me

I did not know that arrows sprung with poisoned darts
Could be dislodged from human hearts
Till You began to set me free

How should I know that crushing loss can by its pain
Yield intimacy's most treasured gain
Unless You gave Your Word to me?

I could not know that failures worse than greatest fears
Might actually bless through staining tears
This soul undone by Your decree

But now I know that Love's own touch
Brings untold joy which healeth much
From One Who cleaves so faithfully
Alyssa Underwood Nov 2015
We're awakened to our insatiable longing for heaven
through both beauty and the painful marring of it.
For beauty hints to us of that for which we are truly made,
and its marring shouts that we are truly not meant to find it here.

We can be eternally grateful for beauty lost when we realize
that it's one of the great secret-tellers of the universe.
Still we fear it so and often fear even to hope for the beauty itself,
though they are a necessary cycle that fuels us on and drives us home.

We cannot deny or diminish our intense longing for beauty--
to see it and have it and be it, and we cannot pretend that its
dreadful loss does not press down upon us like a crushing weight.
We must let it crush us until our ache for heaven is excruciating.
Alyssa Underwood Dec 2015
When all of worldly beauty's lost
When form and face have borne the cost
Of life's sojourn upon this earth
A greater glory then springs forth

When vanity is cast aside
With long-dashed dreams and fallen pride
At last a better hope I see
One anchored in eternity

When no one gives a second glance
Or offers promise of romance
I know the One whose love is true
Who looks beyond what most men do

When wit and charm have fled from thought
And company's no longer sought
There's still One friend who longs to hear
My every word, desire and fear

When awkwardness is more the rule
Than competence and being cool
His words I hear so gently spoken,
"Come, poor in spirit and all who are broken."

When those around me criticize
With disapproval in their eyes
He spreads His arms with full embrace
And wears acceptance on His face

When kindred spirit can't be found
And understanding's wayward bound
The One who knows me best will be
Thinking precious thoughts toward me

When foot is slipping, mind astray
From trying to fix things my own way
He rescues me with hourly grace
And sets me in a spacious place

When all my naught attempts at fame
Lie crushed beneath a weight of shame
I seek the fame of Him instead
Who calls my name and lifts my head

When youth and vigor fade away
And triumph seems an ancient day
My strength can rest in One who brings
Fresh power to soar on eagle's wings

When my last breath some day I take
Death's shadowed crossing, hence, to make
Upon Christ's nail-scarred feet I'll fall
To kiss that One who is my ALL
"Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary,
but what is unseen is eternal."
2 Corinthians 4:16-18

~~~

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gtzAciGlgKE&spfreload=5
Ilion gray Dec 2017
Tonight I am unfamiliar
With loneliness
I am here
And you are not...
And yet
I will never forget
walking from the park..our son swinging from planet to planet,
Traveling time,
Tiny threads of minutes
Are also infinite..
Indelible, you captured us between your God-like hands ...making each second endless,
And still,
They will never die..though they stand,
In the midst of 10,000 dying memories.
Each of his tiny hands in one of ours headed
west down Malcolm x
toward Broadway,
Feeding ourselves to the starvation of day..

                             (Part 2)

In the chamber of unspoken words,
Where cold truths often hide
whose doors oft go unopened,
Both of us, knowing stories of lovers past whose love,
surely died from  
the fire.
two losing lovers joust
in  a house of hope and life..
yet they light
That house afire
and watch it
burn down in flames
Of desire and shame,
And although it
Rained many seasons since,
And the winds come in
stronger than any seamans hands,
I can still smell the dank musk of dying cedar
It enters me,
With every breath,
......tonight I am unfamiliar with being human
Because from what I've heard...I have seen everything..
Humans are lonely....
I have never been alone...
And when the darkest of the ancient infinite emptiness embraces me....
Even there,
  in that unfathomable space, 
where neither silence,
nor Angels have traveled.....
I will not be alone.
I once existed,
Just as cloud
Always leaving
Never arriving,
As a
stone I was ....
I was a tree , watching days
Walk silently across time.
I have forgotten loneliness
And longevity,
as "humans" are prone
To fear the days raging on....
These days, I
Cannot be human....
I am the cloud,
I am the tree and it's leaves,
Losing through seasons,
Yet my roots are fingers I have driven
down deep below the skin
Of the breathing earth..
Aging willingly
A tree, giving
It's leaves, hoping
To be crumbled
and shattered beneath the back
Of some child playing
under rays of sun,
That were never mine or yours..to hold...or, to own,
Knowing how our lives
as well we borrowed,
both mine and yours,
a face in an infinite crowd...
Only knowing what comes before tomorrow ,
I am a cloud,
I am the stone beneath the cloud,
I am also the tree beside the stone..
And as long as there is this
Infinite ending always at the feet
Of silence,
I will never be alone.
Jay Jun 2018
I'M MAKING nachos in your toaster oven. The chips fall in the pan without a problem. Beans, evenly distributed (if I do say so myself.) Salsa- good to go. Then the cheese. Generic brand shredded cheese blend. I dangle my (washed) fingers into the zip-lock bag, grab a generous pinch and rain mild cheddar down on my gourmet meal. And I feel the tears building. "No," my conscious scolds, "you will not cry over shredded cheese." I add another pinch for flavor, then another to assert dominance. I slide the pan into the tiny oven- triumphant! But the next task breaks me. I freeze when I try to adjust the heat setting. I hear your voice so clearly, like you're still calling from the next room: "you have to press the TOAST button, it cooks much faster."  The tears start to roll. I think about how excited you were when cheese bubbled perfectly- "just a little brown, ever so slightly crispy." We would joke about your persnickety preferences, likely a product of your superior taste. Of course, you would have appreciated anything I made for you, but it was always better when the dish matched the idea in your head...when I made it like you would have made it (if you were only well enough to cook for yourself again.) In the present, I poke the TOAST button and flee the kitchen as to not cry in front of the smothered chips. I sit on the sofa and break down, gasping in childish sobs. "I miss her," I wail to an empty house. Warm tears coat my cheeks in the air-conditioned room. I feel so small. I feel so foolish for crying over ******, little things. I feel so... so... A bell dings in the kitchen. I wipe my sleeve across my face and traipse back to the toaster. Hand into oven mitt, mitt onto pan, pan onto table. I grab the plastic tubs of sour cream and guacamole from the fridge and a spoon from the drawer that sticks a little when you try to open it. I pick the non-wilted bits off the head of lettuce and rinse them under the faucet. I finish the recipe. I pull out a chair. I sit down to nachos for one.
Grief is such a strange emotion/process.

*Oh my! Thank you all so much for your support! I wrote this back in June when I needed to get it out of my head and had no idea it was chosen as a daily until I just logged back on and thought there was a glitch with my notifications number. I was slightly mortified that a piece of my mourning got exposure but after reading your comments I'm glad that I documented something many of you identified with. I've since journeyed a bit farther in my grief- slowly overcoming my initial instinct of trying to instantaneously analyze every feeling to determine whether I'm "allowed" to have it. I went to a group bereavement meeting offered by the hospital that treated the loved one in this poem and the nurse running the session made a good point- no one can fully understand another person's relationship with an individual who's passed on. Interpersonal relationships are unique and so is grieving. Being gentle with yourself (especially in times of struggle) is woefully underrated. And with that, I send love, gratitude, and positive vibes to this wonderful community
Hannah W Oct 2014
Surely it isn't healthy
to be this attached to someone
who has only ever called me beautiful
when his mind was soaked in alcohol

-h.w.
Why won't you love me?
Alyssa Underwood Nov 2015
It is not the nature of things or people to satisfy us
but rather to awaken in us the desire to be satisfied.
When we seek our hearts' pleasures in temporal affairs
our joy easily fades for only delight in the Eternal
cannot be tarnished, broken, stolen or lost.

If we fail to learn the secrets of uncovering joy in loss
then we risk being driven to despair or bitterness or insanity
in this world which is so full of sorrow.

For all of this Earth’s wonder and beauty and blessings
it's only meant to serve as a great cosmic magnet pulling us to our Source.
One true glimpse of Him would cause us to never cast another glance
at any created thing and think it might satisfy.

Lord Jesus, give us eyes to see that You Yourself and You alone
are the bread and water which our souls so desperately crave.
Teach us to hungrily partake from Your own hand, O God.
May every scent and song, every shadow and sorrow
only call us closer to You.
~~~
Syv Elena Aug 2018
I like to play horror games
Amnesia was the first one I played
The monsters were scary
The envoirement was eerie
But if I'd call the monster Steven
Instead of scared I'd be merry

Steven was such a funny guy
He looked funny
He walked weirdly
Nothing of him would terrify

The only time he'd scare me was when I'd open the door
Sometimes the jumpscare would make me fall to the floor

Many years I have played these games
Even though I was scared, in the end I'd be okay

That was until I stood next to my brother
He was not yet in his grave
This experience was like no other
It crashed on me like a giant wave

I'd never seen him lay so still
It was hard but I wanted to try
Though I knew it could only go downhill
I wanted to touch his hand one last time

I lowered my body and reached out my hand
I was pretty sure he would scare me right then & there
But my brother didnt move, not even a hair

And I realized at that moment how much I wanted that jumpscare
I lost my brother back in February to suicide. Back then I didn't have the words to say what happened when I stood in that room with my best friend. I told her when I lowered my body that I was waiting for a jumpscare I knew would never happen.

It were very tough times.
To be honest, I still can't handle it.
Steve Jun 2018
And the days following, life is supposed to be normal again
Except some of you is missing
But time gets you past it
As you’ve been told.

And you do, or at least you do in part, get normal again
But the bit that’s missing
You learn to control it
And you grow old.

And all the days from then with a broken jig saw to complete  
You are the bit that’s missing
Nothing can change that
Hearts grow cold.

Then there comes a time when the thought of you brings only a smile
And though you’re missing,
Nothing changes that
Memories are gold.
A poor attempt to describe the process following a major loss.
Alyssa Underwood Nov 2015
O Prize of heaven, Treasure of my heart
Let me suffer, if only I may seek Thee
Let me fail, if only I may find Thee
Let me give up all, if only I may gain Thee
For Thou and Thou alone art the Prize
"I want to know Christ and the power of His resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in His sufferings, becoming like Him in His death, and so, somehow, to attain to the resurrection from the dead.  Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. Brothers, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus."
-Philippians 3:10-14
Daisy Marrow Apr 2014
We were once kids.
We were once wild.
We were once soldiers.
In the dead of winter, you greeted death.
You fell from my grip and into the darkness,
and now a hundred years have rotted away and I have never felt so alone.
I ran from the winter because war was to attached to it.
I close my eyes and I see you there on the front line.
Young and drained, you were just a body rotting away.
Full of life so you hung on with everything you had.
bang
bang
It was such an awful sound.
Only if I had taken your place.
If only you would have run the other way.
Just how unfair is our luck.

Someday I'll teach myself to learn and live alone.
I'll teach myself that death was not the enemy.
But the winter storm rages on and I'm still having trouble breathing.
Don't be alarmed.
I march on.
Like the soldier I once was.
Don't be alarmed.
I've seen many winter storms
and I have miraculously survived them all.

Can't you see that I don't want to move on?
Don't bring tomorrow because I can't take another.
My eyes are too fogged to see the light.
My minds too cluttered to think right.
I've tasted my own tears
and faced all my fears.
So here I am.
Laying on the floor.
So here we are.
Together once more.
Steve Rogers & Bucky Barnes
Captain America: The Winter Soldier
writerReader Mar 2015
the flowers that we grew together have died now
that you've been away so
long
i find myself talking to your creaky rocking chair
and sometimes i
swear that
it sings
ChrisE Jan 2018
If the ache in the core of my being stops
If my eyes stop flooding dry land
If my mind stops gasping for air
If my sleep becomes tranquil
If I stop thinking your going to walk into my room
speaking the word I longed to hear
"I never left Chris, I'd never leave you"
does that mean its getting better
or does that mean I'm going crazy.
emilee haman May 2017
i was going to write you a poem listing
all of the things i wasn't for you; things
that i know you'll find in some other girl.
but i couldn't find the words.

i hope the next girl you love is someone
you can't begin to describe because she is
everything you never knew you wanted.

i hope she's everything and more.
all my love,
the girl that wishes she was
Emma Jul 2018
She was never sure it was what she wanted,
arguing with a man who wanted her to carry a piece of them both.
But sure enough a small bump formed,
and from the first heartbeat she fell in love.

Everything from then on was tiny socks in tiny shoes,
fluffy cribs in shades of pink and blue.
Excitement and worry and fierce protection,
arms curling on top of her belly in intense affection.

But when the time came, something went horribly wrong,
when there was no screeching and crying to break the calm.
A child, still and unusually peaceful and serene,
she held the tiny shell where her baby should have been.

Everything in her life reminded her of her pain,
and nothing inside her could ever be the same.
Not even he could understand,
how she was stranded in her ****** wasteland.

Clothes and toys quickly packed in a box,
her body still creating milk for a being that would never grow.
she'd have to find a way to move on, living with the constant ache,
of the loss of a person she would never know.
Ilion gray Dec 2014
I have been here
Existing where there is only chaos
Of the angry days unbound
I beheld everything
Trudging through the ghetto,
Waist deep in dreams,
No one is asleep,
But, all of the eyelids
have been sewn shut.
There will be no revolution
For the blind;
I roar revelations,
out From the secret places
Earth has hidden,
The earth rages on
Unaware of the weight Mankind
Doesnt know how the worst years
Are the slowest
And most years are the worst;
the endless bones disseminated 
Of the weight of man
And  I am weary I, human.

The way we’re just barely breathing children,
Of the plastic invasion.
That cannot stop changing faces,

The cat is still missing
Of the days like faces of the endless ancient
I will regret this always
That I will never see the ****** rainfall
Of my fathers fury
I will not be found in the wake of leviathan
The holiest tears to wash me down
Of the time indefinite
I am no longer here
Existing where there is only chaos
After reading the poem, read again only this time read the last line first
and then read the first line, then the second to the last followed by the second line and  so forth and so on the last line should be "the way we're just barely breathing children", this poem style is something i came up with its called "juliane" feel free to give it a try. i would love to see what others can do with the form.
Jennifer P Dec 2014
I would sit in the same spot for hours,
trying to piece together what I wanted to convey.
Would it have hurt you more to see me shattered,
or to see me stronger than ever?
I spent so much time wondering what to say
when I wasn't even sure you were listening.

I was always shouting into the wind.
Steve Page Mar 2017
I miss my mother most
when I'm in her frenetic company.
Such an angry fragile woman
in the shadow of the mum
she used to be.
Lost and alone, wanting a way home,
one woman against the world
with no old friends
only fresh new foes.

She can identify every shifting lie
sitting scared with no escape
from a hundred shifty eyes.
Stalkers criticise every mistake
watching her practice looping moves
cornering her as if to prove
that we're all conspiring
each trying to rob her
when the screaming truth here
is that her fleeting thoughts
have already gone where
we can never walk
not even in our tears.
Dementia is a slow killer.
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