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Dorothy A Jul 2010
Memoirs of a false god:

I've got to do more
I've got to be more
I hear the cracking of the whip
Work harder!
Work harder!

For starters, I am not good enough
And surely, I am not fast enough
Not pretty
Not perfect
I'll never amount to anything!

I will earn your love
I will do my best...
Only I always seem to fail you!

Make bricks without straw!?
Don't stop until it's right!?

Wait a minute!
Wait a minute!

Are you trying to **** me!?

You do not love me!
You do not care about me!

I cannot take it anymore!

Oh, no!
What was I saying!?
I am slipping further away...
until you're nearly

...........gone

Oh, god!
Help me!
Don't leave me!
I'll do better!

Slipping,
sliding,
shrinking
into a tiny, little, insignificant speck,
I am becoming.....

smaller...smaller...smaller

Dead silence

What is this?
Can I believe it?
You are gone!

Good!
You are gone!
I'll put you to rest,
a funeral and burial
because you are a false god!

To the Lord of second chances:

In the midst of my darkest hour,
like a beacon of light,
the gateway to freedom
still stands,
right where it always was
and always will be

Still scared out of my wits,
but I gain momentum
as I do a one-eighty
and stand before the cross

Weary
Weak
and worn,
but man,
it's good to be home
NitaAnn Oct 2013
This journey:
this path I’m on seems ever circular, bringing me back around to the same old lessons that for some strange reason I am just too dense to understand.
There is something I feel I should be learning – or something I need to let go of – or is it grasp? Maybe it’s both…. I don’t know.

I feel like I’m on a roller coaster –
                           one minute I’m strong –
                                              I really believe I can do this…
                                                           ­  the next, I am hiding again…
                                                                ­             allowing myself to be lost in shame and self-hate.

A few months ago, I felt like I took this huge leap forward...
self-care, healing, opening emotional pockets…
knowing full well that I needed to keep reminding myself about the lurking shadows...
the ones who provoke me and make me feel bad even in the midst of making strides forward.

So here I am, feeling those same old feelings of guilt and shame and hatred.
I suppose I know what the shadow is that lurks, but I just don’t know what to do with the shadow. How do I bring it into the light to stay?

My husband tries to use my “achievements” to bolster my confidence, help me shed this bone crushing feeling of self-defeat, but those achievements are a smokescreen – an elaborate, disguise, the stronger I seem, the less likely anyone is to guess what a coward I truly am.
I can fool others- but not myself.

The first time, I lost, it was to him
                      this time, it comes at my own hands….
                                       And that seems to be so much worse...

                                     I can feel myself backsliding …. So much up and down!
                                                           When does it does it stop?
                                                           ­            Does it stop?
The term “survivor” implies a certain level of triumph or victory. The term ‘victim’ carries connotation of guiltless submission. I am neither a survivor nor a victim. I am a fraud, a shell of a person hidden inside a carefully constructed facade. I have not triumphed over my past, and the damage it continues to cause is due to my own personal failure to set it aside. I have managed to surrender my whole identity because I lack the courage to claim my truth.

Healing is a lot like daylight savings time...
                        fall back, spring forward, over and over and over again.
                                                    It makes me dizzy, sick to my stomach and depressed...
                                                    ­                                                                a­ll of this back and forth.

                                                  Now I feel the path has once again ended
                                                           ­  and I am left standing alone.
John F McCullagh Feb 2013
I wonder how they dug the graves
and shoveled in their young.
When grass was your last supper
your reserves are clearly done.
My forebears wouldn't" take the soup",
they wouldn't sell their souls.
So perhaps determination, then,
gave them strength to dig those holes.
To starve in the midst of plenty
was the saddest sight on earth,
but to their London Landlords
Irish serfs held little worth.
It's known that a potato blight
was the famines primal cause,
but I still blame beef eating men
and the cold uncaring laws.
A poem about the Potato famine in Ireland circa 1848
PrttyBrd May 2010
The faded dreams roll in with the darkness

Like a whisper in the night

Transported to another time, another you

Surrounded by those who used to love you

By those you will always love

Heartbreak and odium upon awakening

Lost in the midst of then and now

Knowing what was meant to be is

Mourning all that wasn't

Preoccupied with the past, days seem heavy

Ridiculous waste of resources

Yet, it ebbs and flows like the tides

Creeping in, unwanted and unwelcome

Thankful always for innocent mistakes

Grateful that no one can read your mind

Missing bits of who you were

While trying to love who you grew into
52310
Meandering Words Mar 2024
a celestial body
lesser of age but
brighter in composition
was found to be
unexpectedly disarming
in its distorted form
unable to maintain
its expected shape
it was drawn in by
the voracious needs
of the other's gravity
a starry beckoning
that caused these
entities to draw forth
towards one another
this sharing of energies
a merger however
seemingly not unlike
those observed before

and yet something
about this pairing
steals the attention
of the experts and
the admirers alike
this rotation of one
about the other
guarding devotedly
from perils unseen
in the midst of
this stellar pirouette
there continues a chaos
pulling from all directions
both together and apart
defiant and undeniable
fluctuating with unknowns
eventually to become
Marshal Gebbie Jul 2011
For every leaf in Autumn’s fall
A child is lost without recall,
For every song that’s sung for love
A child is whipped by callous glove.
For every latte shared in joy
There’s *** abuse to some small boy,
Each million dollar haul of art
Starvation stills a child’s young heart.
When tears of joy cascade in breeze
A thousand homeless children freeze,
For every morning sunbeam clear
The cloud descends on some child’s fear.
For every excess we consume
Mass underprivelaged children loom,
Blond beauties all attired in red
Unwanted babies left for dead.
Massive plenty for the few
Dispossessed small children *******,
Privelaged cold concience clear
Little feet bequeathed the fear.
Global sympathy won’t change
‘Till effete thinking rearranged,
Sanity shall not transform
‘Till WOMAN leaders are the norm.

Marshalg
For the lost legions in our midst.
20 July 2011
Alyssa Underwood Jul 2017
It's delight which flows without measure
from the assurance that through every circumstance
and detail of my life God is ever beckoning and drawing me
into deeper intimacy with Himself, ever whispering to my heart,
“Come closer still.”

Joy in the midst of devastating loss, crushing disappointment,
unbearable pain or scourging heartache is about the discovery of
treasure so precious and rare that it never could have been found
had we not been forced to walk a path of affliction in the desert.

It's in the isolation and brutality of the wild that we come to know Him
in ways that transcend the span of human imagining or desiring,
and all the songs and all the poems and all the masterpieces
taken together cannot capture an estimable description
of the pleasures that might be unearthed there.

There lies before us in our afflictions a vast and wondrous beauty
yet undisclosed behind the fog, and like a theatrical curtain
slowly pulled back to reveal a perfectly set stage
He will sublimely unveil it in His own directed time.

And we shall be elated at the view,
for it's against a backdrop of struggle and darkness
that the best and most moving of stories have always unfolded.

Maybe nothing truly beautiful can ever take form on earth
without the shroud of mystery and brokenness surrounding it—
at least not the kind of beauty that takes our breath away
and leaves us yearning to possess it.
~~~

"You have made known to me the path of life; You will fill me with joy
in Your presence, with eternal pleasures at Your right hand."  
~ Psalm 16:11

"O God, You are my God, earnestly I seek You; my soul thirsts for You, my body longs for You, in a dry and weary land where there is no water. I have seen You in the sanctuary and beheld Your power and Your glory. Because Your love is better than life, my lips will glorify You. I will praise You as long as I live, and in Your name I will lift up my hands. My soul will be satisfied as with the richest of foods; with singing lips my mouth will praise You. On my bed I remember You; I think of You through the watches of the night. Because You are my help, I sing in the shadow of Your wings. My soul clings to You; Your right hand upholds me."  
~ Psalm 63:1-8

"It was good for me to be afflicted so that I might learn Your decrees. The law from Your mouth is more precious to me than thousands of pieces of silver and gold."  
~ Psalm 119:71-72

"'Therefore I am now going to allure her; I will lead her into the desert and speak tenderly to her. There I will give her back her vineyards, and will make the Valley of Achor a door of hope. There she will sing as in the days of her youth...'"
~ Hosea 2:14-15
Mike Bergeron Nov 2011
Moving shapes
Of hulking blackened
Highlighted shadows
They’re going
Every which way
Without the slightest
Clue as to
Which way
They’re going
Or coming from
And they’re painted
And draped
And covered in straps
Shreds
Trails of furs, leathers
Plastics of every sort
And it gets hard to sort
Them out,
The monsters
From
Their
Costumes.

How much depravity
Is enough or too much
For the depraved
Before the irony
Is too clean
To waste on themselves?

I’m standing in the
Midst
Of a mist
Of sweat and ****
And my jeans
Are soaked to the
Shins with *****
Or sweat
Or ****
Or hopefully blood
And I’m staring into
A shifting cloud
Of tall thin cold
Glasses of water
Waving skinny limbs
Twisting and flailing
As the show
Is put on for the
Other bony, ragged
Appendages by their
Androgynous semi-owners
Draped in furs
That are just as
Flea bitten as
Their desire to
Create substance
Through the flagrant
Display of debauchery
And purposeful
And tactfully
Tactless
Effort
To prove
A lack
Of substance.
110417

Come awake my soul
Come awake in love
I call You justice in hopelessness
Strong tower in the midst of roaring oceans.

There’re sleepless children on the street
Lying lips in abandonment
Redemption seems to have no beauty
Purpose in debris in the cellar of doubt.

One thirst, one pangs of hunger
Freedom has no speech
Oh come unto the Nations
Bring healing to the City of bones.

Our landmark is Your territory
As You left Your throne but You’re never dethroned
Sin and death were left with no pride
No chains of yesterday, today, and tomorrow.

Death has no beauty until Your blood was shed
Birth has no meaning until You conquered the grave
You tore away the veil of sickness
Everything You restore
Like nothing was stolen.

Your power assures me I am free
There’s no condemnation, I am loved by You
Filled in You, I am found in Your Truth
Drowning in grace,
You’re my Living Proof.

You break the chains
As we confess Your Name
Now, victory has a Name
Love has a Name
Jesus is His Name!
Nina Richardson May 2013
Take a picture.
Freeze the moment.
Catch it in a butterfly net and put it in a jar.
Snag the sunshine.
Hold it in your heart.
Keep it safe in a nest of forgotten daydreams.
Send a murmured song of contentment
Floating towards the horizon.
Let it catch the light just so-

Preserve the sun-dappled hills.
The sparkling brilliance of the
Ocean.
Caressing the shore,
A musical blue.

That lone bird
Soaring in the midst
Of an azure peace.

Frame the feeling of completion.
Of happiness.
Hold it close in the heart of the storm.
ochuko blaze May 2015
What a wonderful creature
That have made my world to look like gold in the midst of diamonds
Just like an apple tree among the trees of the forest.
Your hair is beautiful upon your cheeks and falls down along your neck like jewels.
You are like a drove that hides in the crevice of a rock with a lovely face and enchanting voice.
Your eyes are as beautiful as a dove by a flowing brook, which made me to keep running over the mountains,racing across the hills to meet you.
You are as graceful as a palm tree, and your breast are cluster of date.
The curve of your thighs is like the work of an artist, that all women look at you and sing your praise,queens,kings and concubines sing your praise.
Your cheek is as lovely as a garden full of herbs and spices,that your body could hold a king captive.
Your breath is like the fragrance of apples and your mouth is like the finest wine.
Oh my girl
Your love is as powerful as death.
Kewayne Wadley Sep 2016
In addition;
The sails flapped loosely in the wind
Committed to providing it's best chance searching the sky
Things not seen below the patter of crashing waves.
Adjusting each sail
The ship rising and falling
The throb of an intrigued chest
No longer tied at Port
Anchorage at the sides
The sail snaps
Growing tighter by the moment
The breeze spraying ocean mist
Of wild waves
Untamed
Stomach stood still
The scrubbing sound of latches rattle against the pole
Paranoid that we could go overboard at any moment slicing through the rickety waves
Teddering left then right
Shaken backward and forward
Humbly seeking God's grace
Seeking strength in the midst of storm
Ranting at the sky in a boat so small
This war was you
This sea your heart
Faith to see a brighter day
Following a cracked compass
W Delany Jan 2014
My baby’s mother
Term used to describe me
Classifying me, derogatively
Term used by a man
To whom on his own 2 feet he can’t stand
A man who despises his seed
Yet, continues to breed
Expecting me to remain in one place
Quickly yelling he needs space
Cause he needs to find himself
No time for us
But always makes time for anything else
Constantly hollering he feels left out
Don’t know what being a father is all about
No child support yet needing clothes for court
Depending on me to be in his corner
To his seed he’s a foreigner
My baby’s mother
A phrase used by a man
Who can’t seem to stand
The seed he produced
Who won’t reduce his love for the street life
Taking hoochies for his wife
Rather live trife
Rather be free and neglect his responsibility
Blaming me, shaming me, steadily smoking blow
Claiming he loves us; yet, it fails to show
Reducing me to nothing
Placing me in the midst of drama
Oh yeah, I’m just his baby’s mama
Tina Fish Oct 2011
My journey through love, inevitably,
seems to only bring about the destruction
of the ideal-love supremacy.
            At least it makes me write.
            I fight to express and capture the musings
                        of my sado-maso torture-ress;
                        In other words, myself.

                                    It’s that recurring love-hate thing.
                        The constant theme of opposites attract,
                        so to say, how can I love you if I don’t hate myself?
                        Or love myself if I can’t hate you?
                                    --A theory that just might, in theory, be true.

                        Since you love me once I’ve placed you on a pedestal
                        High and mighty, my love I grovel at your feet
                        Your satisfaction born when for you I weep.

                        And in parallel or paradox as well,
                        it is only after I grow this hard shell,
                        Oblivious to your whims,
                        Love for myself wins over love for you.
                        And no longer the need to be smothered
                        to calculate self worth.

But that understanding becomes so difficult to achieve,
            when immersed in love, lover’s validation is all you need.
It’s simply selfish greed playing at our core,
            as much as we have we still want more.

How much more?
            I’ve gotten down on all fours,
            and I’ve pleaded and I’ve begged,
            shared the most intimate corners of my bed,
            fed your ego with the submission of mine,
            predicted your orders and complied,
            gave sight to things that, logically, just can’t be seen
            accepted the ocean to be red, even though that murky day,
                                                it was green.

And you stand by your words
            because you know that it’s true
As your love takes their ground
            And throws the same argument back at you.
                        And as streams roll down your face
                                    And you don’t know how much more you could possibly bare…
The straw that breaks the camels back,
                        Is when they say how much they care,
                        How much love and emotion they feel,
                        your body shakes and you start to kneel,
                        like a Tsunami rising to drown you in its midst,
                        and you find yourself wishing that all this love would turn to hate.
Because you can’t wait to move on.
You can’t wait for another special someone.
You just can’t wait for another special song.
You can’t wait for it to end
                        --even though you always bend,
                                    dragging it on as long as you possibly can
                                                until, really, you’re drained from all
                                                            the love you can possibly spare
                                                                        and now hate is the only thing that’s there.

            -All this to know that indeed our heart does strive
            for a purpose higher than keeping us alive.

If I hate you it doesn’t mean my love was a lie,
                        on the contrary,
                                    it means you’re still stuck inside.
                        In truth a lover should be scared not of this,
                        the only thing to fear is indifference.
                                    -The cool façade and dreary glazed eyes
                                    happens to be the punishment I most despise.

I hold my breath and count to ten
before I puncture the love-hate thing with my pen,
before I puncture wishes, hopes, and dreams,
before I puncture year after year.
                        -I count to ten before I puncture the love between lover and you-
Because once that balloon has popped
With its loud obnoxious BANG
            I’ll need to hold my breath and count to ten once again,
            this time just to where I stand.
I find that the best metaphor that this phenomenon can take
is that it’s like I’m swimming in my own emotional wake,
an emotional block, if I had to define,
like someone took my love remote and pressed stop.
Left the room.
Then came back to press rewind-pause-fast forward-pause-slow motion-pause-play-could we have some director’s commentary…(in other words advice from friends)-
                        Ok…great movie…but when does it end?
                        Or how does it end? Who takes the scene?
                        And I am every character, both protagonist and antagonist lay in me.
Both victim and bully, depending on how angle is shot
both walked all over, and one without a heart.
                        --So drum roll please as I open the card
                        Hey! Look at that! For every Oscar I have an award!
                        What do you ask was my inspiration?
                        My thanks must go to the Love-Hate Sensation. (And God)

It’s funny you know? To come to that understanding,
            that not only through love do we grow, but hate as well,
                        it’s so easy to say don’t dwell on the past
                                    but the present doesn’t seem to get here.
And I fear what might happen if it does,
            since –despite the hate its grown-
                        I still would rather stay, thank you very much, in love.

Day after day it gets easier to get by.
I try and keep that stone in the pit of my stomach settled.
                        And it better stay there.
Remain unaware to your phantom presence,
                        this intense essence that wafts through mundane pleasures,
                                                            -like dating-
                                                                        waiting for it to go away.

And during the nights when there’s nothing to distract,
            I find myself actually believing you’re there,
            that your hair falls across my naked arms,
                        and you’re grasping me tight,
                                    your breathing and mine in unison.
                                                I wake up in alarm,
                                                            because I swear you were just there.
            My guts plunging because you’ve disappeared,
       &
Alan McClure May 2011
At 9:15 this morning
you hurt your brother and lied about it.
It was an accident!
He did it himself!

Every variation casting up a veil between us.

The victim, too young to lie,
brokenly identifies his tormentor
and I am speechless at the act
and the denial

But I remember.
I remember the impulse too well -
preserve yourself!
No-one saw, they can't be sure you did it.
The theatrical collapse into self pitying insistence.
I remember how easily
I could convince myself of my innocence
and the hopelessness of others' incredulity.
Ah, ugly times.

So I understand, but it still hurts.
Not because I can't trust you now.
Not because it seems like a moment ago
that you, like your victim,
had no inclination to deceive.
Not even because you must take me for a fool
to try it.

It hurts
because in the midst of the forest of wishes I have for you
one wish quietly crumbles:
the wish
that you
will be better than me.
- From Also Available Free
Ellie Geneve Sep 2017
Held my hand
In the midst
Of chaos
And recited
His confessions
Of loneliness

I never understood
The reason
Behind his tremor
I bet
His body
Was trying
To escape
Seline Mui May 2016
A conquer of my dreams, reality, perspective in hand and in whole
Was just yesterday when she stood tall
Against an evergreen mountain
The wind's whisps
leaving lashes on her face
At an elevation like this one could smell renewal a rejuvenating aroma
As her breath travel to her navel in one
Quick motion
A blissful feeling of longing she always
Put herself on the pedestal
Knowing the self rejoicing rigidness
Her self-worth shone to be
An everlasting fire planted a seed
In the midst of her heart
An unshakable clarity and belonging
Swarmed her body in one action
As her mind drifted into a seemingly everlasting relaxation
In one exhalation drawing hands to the chest one palm ontop the other
She finally understood
A gift larger than life so valuable
That can only be acquired through
Real acceptance, the unconditional expression of self-love
From depression to happiness
Aditi Uniyal Oct 2015
I still remember my young self
From years ago when I used
To fantasize about the
Friday nights I would spend
In a club with rebellious
Friends,getting drunk
On the dance floor and then
Run down the street with
An unknown man I would
Have just met in the midst
Of the dim,but flashy disco lights
And intoxicate myself
More and more
And find myself in yet another
Club with bottles of Scotch
All ensnaring my mind
And senses next Friday-
It seemed so right,
Years ago in my fantasies;
But with time, I realized
That Friday nights are much
Safer in the hands of a book,
Than in the guilty embrace
Of beer and whiskey
And much more beautiful
When you take in the essence
Of the pages that remind you
Of home,than in the hands
Of the pretty strangers
You find on Friday nights.
Ajani May 2013
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP.....Electronica*
Cloudy days bring me back to who I was.
Thinking about myself, cuz no one does.
Im a lone warrior walking silently in the midst.
Trying my best to live without a balled fist.
Dont take my spiritual innocence..from me.
I am not fascinated by the dream of money.*
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP.....Electronica
Take me to new dimensions.
I fly away without attention.
Theres a new world existing in my mind.
This new world is perfect..because the new world is mine.
No laws, no regulations, no taxes, no classes.
Just a place for good vibes for myself and the masses.

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP.....Electronica
Help me escape the cage.
Debanjana Saha Jul 2017
Go Dream
A long journey
Which made me wear out
From left, right, top n bottom.
I opened my eyes
And read- Welcome to the dream destination.
And all at once my weariness went away
leaving behind their vacation mail.


I know its a dream, a dream
Which I never want to wake up from,
With smiling faces here n there
unknown treasury all across.
from where I never would have
want to return on my own!

Saw a beach from far off
for the very first time
would touch the soul of the sea
chills, thrills all over my body
not knowing how to go about!

Went to meet God
in the church
and prayed
for the wonderful gift
to vacate my negativity
as a whole.

Then had fish
tenderly cooked
with coconut oil
good for health
tasting yummy
yum! yum!
which was like
music to my
mouth-watering
tongue.

Went for a long drive
to rest my soul.
Here and there
to wander all around.
In the midst of all,
fell in love.
A love with life
and You at once.

Then, went to feel the sea again.
A heart and its core
feeling on the sea-shore.
Waiting to be waved by the sea.
To play and roll
finding all the treasury
into my soul!

Cherishing every moment
while climbing a fort
until the sun has set
and night had its song.
A song of love
putting me into deep sleep,
caressing me
to dream a new dream,
which I never ever had,
To live once again
and to wake up again
and again.

A chirping song of the birds
Woke me up
Love, love me more.
Running back to the sea
and its shore
draw more
to learn the waves
showing us the importance
of impermanence
redefining every line
as an art of life
start anew
while the sea
prepares to erase.

Returned climbing to another fort
shifting our focus somehow
to a two birds
busy with their
chirping talks,
We are understanding nothing
Except the bond they had
Were strong.

Climbed down
collecting all my memories
packed everything
but
left behind us, our love
which might not accompany
Until the next destination.

Do you love me?
I never asked though
but only wished -
take me inside your soul.
We might return
from the destination.
But never from the strings
of our heart
which played the music
of our hearts all along.

Unpredictable dream,*
A dream of love,
life and living,
all at once
and  to dream a new dream
every now and then,

to just resume our living
as a whole.
A dream of love of places, people on the go as it may either be mine or never show up! Dilemma it leaves behind. Knowing not but just to enjoy the life given by God!
Tryst May 2014
In Autumn, when the velvet petals grow
Upon the roses, in their earthy bed
And burning sunsets blaze a fiery glow,
Enveloping the world in crimson red

In Winter, when the clouds unleash their snow
And cover o'er the land in silken hue;
When mountains shiver, midst the icy blow,
Of winds that billow violets, brightly blue

In Spring, when life emerges from the throe,
With new born foals, unsteady on their feet;
When farmers harvest sugar with the plough,
With buzzing bees, in search of something sweet

In Summer, when the hazy days pass slow,
And flowers glisten in the morning dew;
Through all the years, as seasons ebb and flow,
My days, my love, are filled with thoughts of you
The force of my sigh
Makes hundreds of tiny white fairies leave their home,
Carrying whispers spoken above them
They soar in the air,
Taken by wind gusts
Acting as messengers
As I indulge in a healing breath.
I imagine the paths they will take,
Some will falter and create new homes among the grass,
And others will
Continue on, by some miracle
To harbor my secret wish
And land in your midst,
Where they will whisper my words in your ear
Before their wings fail and drop them -
These dandelion fairies
Bearing my love.
MicMag Feb 2019
Midst the mountains, sitting so high
Gazing down at a turquoise sea
Nature recites love songs to me
As I release contented sighs
Crickets chirp, sparrows sing, my spirits rise
This is a world to be relished and prized
Midst the mountains

Imagine Earth in perfect harmony
Forgetting war, strife, victim's tortured cries
Escaping all life's pain and lies
Resting here where my heart is free
Midst the mountains
Trying out more poetic forms. This one is a Rondine.
https://www.writersdigest.com/whats-new/rondine-poetic-form

...
Well on closer review, I didn't actually follow the form correctly. But I still like this one so I'll just leave it as is.
Alienpoet Feb 2017
In the midst of midnight air,
stood a man who didn't care.
For he was a man who made world's collide
and every bit of earth bore his stride.
He was the key, the door to realities thick, slick and uncertain
beyond realities curtains
however there was one thing he didn't have and that was a wife
to free him from his darkness his strife.
He searched in coffee shops and in bars,
he looked for answers in the stars,
until he found his equal a woman beyond others,
Sophia the woman in the fire the object of his desire
her wisdom burned bright forged in fiery Stars of eternal unrest
with a beauty that cant be bested
but his love for her was yet untested.
She told him to win her heart he'd have to become mortal
and so would she for in mortality
you see there are lessons that can be learned.
Her heart burned for him so much in the transition
that it became a birth mark above her chest,
he would have to find her to pass the test.
However when they met for the first time
she had met him in a timeline before,
she warned him of tragedies of a life if he stood alone,
a king with a crown but an empty throne.
Although he hadn't put it together
what she was meaning that without her he'd be dead
but his mind had a needle but not a thread
and although he had a good heart he was easily led
so at 16 he lost his mind.
Believing in heavenly things rather than science
which all people believed to be true.
Sectioned under the mental health act 1983
Seeing into the distant reality,
he saw a girl lost her mascara ran down her face,
she was a girl who had lost her place in the scheme of life's dream,
her silence was a scream.
She told him things about his future but as he reached out for her she was taken away
for she was his Sophia and they both were going to pay,
for in making themselves mortal their only way out was to marry or love without doubt.
He had many doubts, that had found their way out and into his life.
While she was trying to save him through many lives lost,he was struggling with his own.
Returning home from the mental hospital he was told his life was a lie
he felt that the only way to heal was to cry
and cry he did amid his friends who lost patience with him in the end.
He could not pretend to be happy, everyday he looked for an answer to his unhappiness,
in fear there is no hope and he became broken.
One day though he was walking down the town he saw a girl she smiled it lit up his day.
So he asked her if it was ok to know her name?
She said it was Grace.
After chatting for awhile she said "you should have a coffee round my place"?
So he said "yes" and popped round there.
Soon after a few weeks he fell in love he felt like it was a answer from the gods of above
but soon doubts crept into his head whether he should settle down or find a career instead or first. He had made his life into a headache a curse
and much more complicated than it should be.
So he broke up with her, it felt like his spur to create the life he dreamed before it was too late.
So he had a car a house but no wife, no spouse.
Meanwhile he missed Grace missed her soft touch her face
after years of working hard, he found a woman crying in a builders yard,
he remembered who she was because of the birthmark above chest
and the smile to which she was blessed.
Grace now old and heartbroken she told him she had many lovers since him but none who could match.
He still loved her so they went to hers.
But that night electrics in the house caught fire there was a fault.
So they both awoke to the smell of burning with a jolt.
He tried to get her out but the place was full of smoke thick and dense.
Now a voice spoke "I am the fire your heart lies with me.
Do you choose to be with Grace and love her avidly or do you choose the path of fear,
to run away and leave her here with me".
Realising that Grace had passed out,
he lifted her over shoulder as the fire began to get worse he got her out.
But he collapsed a heart attack ripped through his chest,
he died they laid his body to rest.
But as he walked through the white door of heaven .
There stood Grace as Sophia his wife.
Every time you doubted,I lost you,
you see, every time you ran I loved thee,
for you have passed the test.
tori Jul 2015
The world has stopped.
Slowing down, movement by movement.
Hummingbird heartbeats turn into dull throbs;
And the rush of blood is nothing but hollow veins.
Minds that were once full are now empty;
And the color of the universe has faded to a simple grey.
In the midst of it all, you are there.
Heart beating fast.
Blood rushing.
Mind full.
Screaming color.
Barton D Smock Jul 2012
leaving the theatre, he tapped, twice, the hood of a parked police car, lifted lipstick from a drunken woman’s purse and squared himself in a store window before shooting himself with his hand.*

his first film, completed, by the time he was eighteen. roundly praised. from there, a many colored thing. russian women, guns under suits, and cameos of indians with indian names. at twenty three, nostalgic for twenty one, his seminal ‘my white father’ wherein a mute albino would be upstaged by mimes. further brilliance followed. mostly in quotes, such as “babies are full of grief”. women ate from his hand and their eating progressed. one woman in particular became trapped in a man’s body and he married her. a child they tried not to have soon arrived and brought with it a list of demands from the others. the woman divorced him and took with her the man. in the midst of attending to the list came the advent of black and white which added a much needed plot to his smoking. his peers double crossed each other in small houses. he himself was able to get away with punching a young girl for the right to drag a sled. his child began to accept talking toys in exchange for keeping quiet. in 1973, his doctors, grey from vietnam, convinced him to go under. his last film was silent, and many complained about the lighting. he cried, in his mansion, for the windows he did not put in. he would not often entertain tourists but when he did they asked about his mother, her ghost, and if the east wing was really haunted. he would on those late nights produce a letter his mother had sent him only yesterday.

he was in love with his sister, always had been. after she was mauled by the dogs he had set out for his father, he made walking his home. every now and then a hotel of running. last year, he caught a movie one had made of his life and though he missed the dedication he did not

the death row scene, the little saw his mother used for the cake, the mysterious basket moved from bike to bike.
Kurt LaVacque Sep 2014
In the midst of all the:
Falling
Crashing
Crawling
Smashing
Willing
Trying
Killing an­d
Dying
We find ourselves staring into an endless expanse of space within and around our minds
Falling to keep in the boundaries of time
Crashing the walls that keep those in line
Crawling between this ever increasing length seems tragic
Smashing for all those who think thoughts without magic
Willing for the chance to win before losing
Trying before life begins to be bruising
Killing is not what is believed to be brutal
Because
Dying is the truth that hides behind real
Still
But in the midst of all the
Falling
Crashing
Crawling
Smashing
Willing
Trying
Killing and
Dying
We must learn to live within the truth among lying
Are you willing to embrace the wonder that you find
Following your innermost feelings
Look deep inside, and come to know yourself
What you find, will send your senses reeling

Do you walk the path of life guided by your intuition
Attuned to the light in your heart
Refined not by logic, or what is known as common means
Proud to be different and stand apart

Do you search deeply in the midst for hidden undercurrents
That which is not obvious to the eye
Searching for the truth in what is not openly shown
Never hesitating, to ask the question why

If you walk this path of intuition lighted by your heart
Ever searching, for the living truth
You will find that your path is filled with bountiful wonder
Great curiosities will be staring back at you
Copyright *Neva Flores @2010
www.changefulstorm.blogspot.com
www.stumbleupon.com/stumbler/Changefulstorm
CharlesC Jan 2014
Such simplicity
midst clouds of
dispute and claim..
Despite all that
this solitary word
the Name for
many and one..
Each unique
arrival..
Never before
never again..
Containing
the fire..
Projected
Reflecting
Planted in
this garden
of time…
Im waiting for the sting.
For the gunshot that ends me.
Im waiting for you to give up on me.
Im scared that
In the midst of my happieness
You will come forth and mention your upmost sadness.
Im afraid you are gonna hurt me
(yes, guys get hurt and remember it too)
Im waiting for you to realize what a ****** i am.
I wait for the day you find someone better.
And though you tell me im the one,
I still have nightmares of abandonment.
Its not your fault.
Maybe i should just believe in love,
in you
But im scared
Cause ive put my faith in places before,
*and was met with overwhelmong dissapointment
Terry O'Leary Aug 2013
PROLOGUE

Umpteen billion years
Big Bang, supernova, gas
Brief eclipse of time

Gases swirling, fall
Sun and planets, water, goo
Brief eclipse of time

Another billion
life, amoeba, fishes swim
Brief eclipse of time

Movement, change and flux
slither, crawl, climb, walk and talk
Brief eclipse of time

Ra, Sol, Helios,
Mithra and the Mighty Eye
Brief eclipse of time

Life begins and ends
birth, joy, laugh, cry, death, and dust
Brief eclipse of time

Waves cleave seas, shores, skies
forever folding, pulsing
Brief eclipse of time


            
CHRONICLE

The Mighty Eye begins to slip and slowly sink,
(unfocused, stained, diffuse)
while frizzled waves imbibe her searing tears,
with salted languid lips.

The Mighty Eye, now weary, thin,
is gazing through the frozen cracks,
as sundry straying clouds,
bloated,
sidle feebly by
and wax their billowed tracks
upon the heated sky,
and cool the rush of rolling waves
beneath the blotted sky.

The waves
(impaled on time and space inside me),
gently tumbling aging pebbles
and lifeless shells across the shifting sands,
seem unaware
as they once again arise
to greet the Mighty Eye,
to close the Mighty Eye,
to ***** the Mighty Eye.

But then again,
perhaps the waves are well aware indeed,
yet simply unconcerned
and feel no need to care.

For, as the frazzled froth is rushing forward
madly towards the sandy shores beyond,
before retreating slowly,
then careening brashly forth ahead again,
eternally,
it matters little if the Mighty Eye will cast
her blazing glance from high above,
or else retire for the night,
kissed sweetly by the liquid lips
of distant faithless waves
in a brief eclipse of time.

The trees, they hang in time and space around me –
trees, which in time before had swayed,
so gently tugged by ocean breezes,
trees, which in time before were lightly lit
with emerald tinted leaves,
trees, which in time before had reached to space above
with twisted tangled fingers,
grasping fingers,
fingers drenched with golden tears
shed by the Mighty Eye.

The trees, they hang in space and time,
benumbed and frozen motionless around me
chilled with rooted premonitions of the void,
their branches clutching darkness  
and their leaves foreboding doom.

The muted winds begin to whisper tales
of many frightened things,
which, with mournful apprehension
have hunkered down behind the haze
and ceased their joyful play.

And all the while dank shadows gaily dance
a dismal dance,
for their time is soon to come.

The fitful shore lies suddenly still.

Unfeeling stones and hollow shells,
are paused a little,
stalled,
and dropped haphazardly,
midst their mindless random journey,
now abandoned by the sea,

for fickle waves have slipped away
to greet a falling prey.

And as the Mighty Eye droops lower,
laminated molten lips
are pursed and pucker higher,
******* in the sky.

Within a trice the Mighty Eye
submits and squints, distended red,
perhaps tormented by fantastic thoughts
of imminent demise,
or else of being lashed beneath a lid
of distant faithless waves.

And as her dying flash dissolves,
two lurid lips arise,
three ***** lips -
a thousand parted limpid lips
which asudden,
though with little haste,
consume the Mighty Eye.

                  
EPILOGUE**

The trees are now but lurking shades
amongst the murky shadows.

Relentless fog slips slowly by -
her floating tongues drip silence
as they slink like snakes in stealth nearby.

The lacerated faithless lips have once again returned
to kiss the vacant vapid shores
in a brief eclipse of time.
elias Jul 2012
i miss you
and find myself wondering
where and how and if you are
you are because we are
and you are part of we
but are you free?

i remember how you just hate anything
the least bit tainted by the supernatural
yet you believe in the good
and work for the peace
you are relentless
about the consequence of a thought.

perhaps that's why peaceful buddhists
beckoned you across the sea
and why you were happy in their place
i see you now again in their midst
in their bardo - awakening
where the sun is always setting
and souls are recycled

these folk gave you a great gift
for bardo is the proper in-between
to finally unwrap your sadness
and be pleased with all you are

but you were christian first and still
and have chased jesus all your life
you've met him often in his varying disguise
and so encouraged, uplifted us

i remember your lessons
your direct manner
the joy above your sorrow
the hope above your hurt
you always left a warm space after
you have left it again with us.
for a friend just passed, whose compassion and understanding were great, and whose sadness was ever present.

— The End —