"orgin" poems
I am told,
You think I am too old,
I am more precious than gold.
If you listen to me,
I will take you to a wonderful world;
I'm supposed to be oral,
speaking
of
myths,
legends,
fantasy,
and the supernatural.
When you listen to me,
Then you'll know,
How I become young,
How I live so long.
I am who I am.
Everyone knows me
and
all
the children love me.
I am not a lie,
In me you can find the truth,
That roots
you
To
Your Past
and
To
The Orgin
Because,
It's me, the oxygen,
That
Cultures breath,
And
The nitrogen,
With which THEY fly
Deep
In a blue sea,
Like a White Dove,
Like a Magical Butterfly,
And
With which They dive
High
in a Blue Sky
Like an Incredible fish,
Like a Blue Whale,
in a Fairytale.
I have no specific author,
You can be my author.
I have no specific time,
For all times are mine.
I had lived in your Heart
An Art.
I had had only listeners
Until I was put in a Book.
I was Invisible,
But
Now you can see me if you look,
Or
GUESS what?
I am Unseen,
Though you think that's me on that screen.
That's not me,
For I have always been...
A Mystery,
That speaks
Of
Happiness
And
Misery,
Of
Kindness
And
Treachery,
Of
Poverty
And
Luxury,
Of
Honesty
And
Trickery,
Of
Freedom
And
Slavery,
So
please,
Hurry
And
Listen to me,
Before you go to any cinema or library.
For I am
The oldest Teacher
And
The honest Preacher.
I think you know me well now,
So ask Grandma how?
When you wish to MEET me.
I can be for you a guide
And take you to another side,
I can make your world wide.
If you follow me, Child!
I can take you to the Woods,
I can take you to the wild.
In which
Animals
Talk
And
Trees
Walk.
And
In which
A Witch
Has
Hooves ,
And
An Ant
Wears
Gloves,
And
In Which
A Wolf
Sings,
And
A Horse
Has
Wings,
And
In Which
A kingdom,
And
Many other Bewitching Gems
Of
Wisdom.
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 10:48 PM UTC
I am told,
You think I am too old,
I am more precious than gold.
If you listen to me,
I will take you to a wonderful world;
I'm supposed to be oral,
speaking
of
myths,
legends,
fantasy,
and the supernatural.
When you listen to me,
Then you'll know,
How I become young,
How I live so long.
I am who I am.
Everyone knows me
and
all
the children love me.
I am not a lie,
In me you can find the truth,
That roots
you
To
Your Past
and
To
The Orgin
Because,
It's me, the oxygen,
That
Cultures breath,
And
The nitrogen,
With which THEY fly
Deep
In a blue sea,
Like a White Dove,
Like a Magical Butterfly,
And
With which They dive
High
in a Blue Sky
Like an Incredible fish,
Like a Blue Whale,
in a Fairytale.
I have no specific author,
You can be my author.
I have no specific time,
For all times are mine.
I had lived in your Heart
An Art.
I had had only listeners
Until I was put in a Book.
I was Invisible,
But
Now you can see me if you look,
Or
GUESS what?
I am Unseen,
Though you think that's me on that screen.
That's not me,
For I have always been...
A Mystery,
That speaks
Of
Happiness
And
Misery,
Of
Kindness
And
Treachery,
Of
Poverty
And
Luxury,
Of
Honesty
And
Trickery,
Of
Freedom
And
Slavery,
So
please,
Hurry
And
Listen to me,
Before you go to any cinema or library.
For I am
The oldest Teacher
And
The honest Preacher.
I think you know me well now,
So ask Grandma how?
When you wish to MEET me.
I can be for you a guide
And take you to another side,
I can make your world wide.
If you follow me, Child!
I can take you to the Woods,
I can take you to the wild.
In which
Animals
Talk
And
Trees
Walk.
And
In which
A Witch
Has
Hooves ,
And
An Ant
Wears
Gloves,
And
In Which
A Wolf
Sings,
And
A Horse
Has
Wings,
And
In Which
A kingdom,
And
Many other Bewitching Gems
Of
Wisdom.
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 10:51 PM UTC
In my game everything goes a little better
In my life victory taste a little bitter
Im far too cold to care about the weather
I guess god is right and i am just a sinner
I hope you leave so I can start to miss you
Fearing the world is a step too far
I like to live in a special place of solitude
I guess it helps to wonder where you are
When will the rain come and segrigate
The orgin and the man so intertwined
When did the hateful consumate
I guess i'll leave my identity in mind
And when the times comes
Dont get me wrong, i hope it does too
And when the last chime rings
Dont get me wrong, i hear them too
And when the lights start flickering
Dont misunderstand my state of mind
And when someone comes looking
I'll drag my nails acrost the chalkboard
So i can stay here forever, and create clever pictures
Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 1:54 AM UTC
Hello creator,
my mother, my father,
what have you gave me, asked this lonesome daughter.
You provided me foundation in which to stand,
mother you taught me morals in which I do not believe,
the pain I wallowed, the grief I seeked.
Do you remember when I would wander,
these streets of this town, the things i'd ponder.
Do you remember when I layed sleepless at night,
trying to forgive and forget the fight.
I do not blame for it is all that you've known,
but the burden is so deep, you and dad look as cold as stone.
I remember when I sought for love,
it was at the bottom of a bottle,
hidden in the smoke of a cigarette,
it was interwined with regret,
and it was burning out, golden red.
Oh mother, oh father I do not blame,
I forgive, I forget,
the orgin of this pain.
For years I'd lay sleepless, for years i'd wander inside this horror,
I know you never knew you hurt me,
but the pain you bleed seeps into my core.
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 11:18 PM UTC
Laxius log: 1215889----
This will be year 23 that i have been long adrift from an attack by an unknown enemy: I still have plenty of food and water to last another 23 years.. seems so very long ago that the attack took place: I have tried to repair my engines but to no avail: On this morning however i captured a transmission on my com-staion: the signal seem mixed at first but i was able to clear it: I then heard tones and strange voices: It was very beautiful: The tones created a sort of pattern while the voice would join in from time to time also trying to create a pattern in sync with the tones: From where ever this beautiful signal came from, I am showing that i am but 20 years away from its original orgin: Although adrift, I am still in route toward this signal: I can only wonder what sort of life could make such a beautiful beautiful signal: I do not know what to call it otherwise: But for its beauty in tones i will call it wish-dream..
Oct 7th 1969: Today I brought my son to work. I have worked for NASA for the last 10 years.. It was sort of a boring day until I took him into the research center.. I took him to one of our most powerful telescopes.. He wanted to stay there for hours just looking at the moon and stars.. He asked " Dad do you think there is life out there.?" I then took him to our transmissions building.. And I told him that we could send a signal out to space in hopes someone will hear it.. I told him we could send anything we want.. He decided to send "scarborough fair canticle" He decided on that song because that was his mom's favorite song.. I wish she was still here with us.. He then told me something very beautiful. " Dad maybe mom will hear this in heaven."
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 10:18 AM UTC
For a lot of people it is without a known source or trigger or point of orgin that depression will sit in. They may be fine one moment and then the next a dark cloud suffocates their heart and venomus thoughts stab into their minds. And all they can do is shut down, close themselves off, climb in to a dark hole and then mentally and emotionally abuse themselves. Afraid to say anything because we will call them crazy or too sensitive or worse completely ignore the problem and say something like "man up wuss" or "you're such a pretty girl, smile don't be sad"... We send alcoholics and junkies to rehab with love and well wishes but treat depression like its nothing more than a bad day out of life, here's a lollipop stop your crying. People are broken inside and lost and feel alone and very often it's because somewhere in their life they just cared and loved too much... And we repay their kindness and generosity with apathy and ignorance and half hearted sighs as we roll our eyes. No one stopping to imagine the unimaginable burden and darkness that is going on inside their hearts and souls. No one able to bare to try and feel for a moment how bad some one has to hurt where death is the better option than life... Let me repeat that... that death is the better option than life ...that the pain and hurt and thoughts have become so bad that they feel death is the better option. And too many caught in that moment, feel they have no one to turn to, no one willing to accept and belive them that they are depressed and that they just need at least one person to be there with them, that no one is willing to belive they hurt that bad... and then.... BANG ... their gone. And then for a split second we can all hear the silent monster and see the invisible disease, a second to late to help and a second many of us will wash clean from our eyes. Because its just to horrific to remember and we're afraid if we open ourselves up to the reality of depression we ourselves will end up another one of its victims.
Depression is real and it is real scary and those suffering need our acceptance and acknowledgement that they are suffering a horrific disease most of us couldn't cope with. When we know someone who has it so bad they can't get out of their hole, we need to climb down that hole and sit down in the dark with them. If they want silence we give them silence, if they want to talk we listen, if they want to cry we cry with them. We let them know we belive them, give them our compassion and love and empathy. Don't just be there for them, be there with them. If we just give them a ladder out, they might come up but then when were not there with them, they might just fall back in. You really have to let them know, I'm here with you, in or out of this hole, I'm with you, you're not alone. It's ok to be depressed, its ok to be you. Maybe you'll get better, maybe you won't, either way I'm here with you.
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 2:54 AM UTC
A myriad of reminders
he unto her life
Vivid, jaded memories
in turn would heft much strife.
Darkened, shady characters
amid her thoughts of him ~
Feelings untoward this woman
of his so soon turn dim.
Spiraling
down..
down...
down....
As a leaf which falls from a shakened tree
It
drifts..
drifts...
drifts....
Never returning to its orgin ~
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 8:44 PM UTC
She spoke to my heart in it's orgin native tongue.
Breaking barriers by communicating messages that uplifted my cardio vascular.
The vibrations of my soul. Speaking the old universal language love.
Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 6:46 PM UTC
Madness is a lot like love, it's orgin and depth often affect wether it ends on the pages of a tragedy or a beautiful ever after. I've always had to read it through to the end regardless of where it might take me. I find more comfort in dancing with monsters than living a life where one has to hide their demons just to get through the day.
And like love as well, it can be good or bad depending on whose hands it's left to. It takes a heart of great strength and delicacy to handle the fires and beauty and pain born from madness. Spilled, mishandled or broken... madness can do great harm to the pages of any story that its words are printed upon.
Read well, dance freely, embrace tragedy, and page after page may madness be part of the beautiful ever after.
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 9:14 AM UTC
This round, ripe fruit,
That I now hold,
Once fell from that tree,
Sitting in a grove.
it's tangy taste lasts on my tongue,
This free once bloomed with fervor,
It's branches sprawling out,
Greeting the morning sun.
Sep 18, 2017
Sep 18, 2017 at 1:13 PM UTC