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"pinnicle" poems
Once I soared with eagles my guardian angel by my side. Walking tall with confidence caused my foes to run and hide. I chose my battles carefully; I picked the place and time. If any son dared cross me I knew his *** was mine. I remember ocassional setbacks; times when the going got rough, but the things that should only helped to make me tough. I guess I thought there was a God. I prayed once in a while, but I knew I didn't need his help to go an extra mile. I rebelled against authority; took all the freedom I could get. I could not allow myself to lose a fight; my *** ain't been kicked yet. Needing victory in every duel became my prison cell. As I leaned hard against the wind my soul set sail for Hell. I didn't know it left me; I didn't see it stray Fighting one last battle, it would just get in my way. This battle was the hardest; it took five years to win. Revenge and anger were my weopens; I wore them like a grin. When the fight was nearly over and victory was near, I prayed to God," return my soul" but He didn't seem to hear. I'd look for without Him; this heart that I had lost. I'd win it back all by myself no matter what the cost. Now standing on the pinnicle, I fearfully looked around. My soul would not have come up here; it's too far from hallowed ground. Starting back down along the path; frought with struggle and with strife, I found I was decending through the wreckage of my life. While pawing through the ashes of the bridges I had burned, I found the charred remains of all the lessons I had learned. Confused and battle weary; I could not tell wrong from right, but I prayed that at the freefalls end there might be truth and light. Now I'm lying in the smoke and fire at the crash site of my soul peering out through Godless eyes as a snake peers from his hole. I should have had some warning; a shot across my bow but my spirit spiraled down and down and look where I am now. Like a marble in a funnel, my soul spun 'round and down. With a lack of positive energy it finnaly hit the ground. Now I'm at the bottom With no way to go but up. God, please give me the strength to feed my soul; your sacred wine to fill my cup. This was the first poem I was ever able to right. At age 56 it came to me in a dream and I got up and wrote it down.
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Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 12:17 PM UTC
lyle-laflesh
Climbing to the Bottom
Once I soared with eagles my guardian angel by my side. Walking tall with confidence caused my foes to run and hide. I chose my battles carefully; I picked the place and time. If any son dared cross me I knew his *** was mine. I remember ocassional setbacks; times when the going got rough, but the things that should only helped to make me tough. I guess I thought there was a God. I prayed once in a while, but I knew I didn't need his help to go an extra mile. I rebelled against authority; took all the freedom I could get. I could not allow myself to lose a fight; my *** ain't been kicked yet. Needing victory in every duel became my prison cell. As I leaned hard against the wind my soul set sail for Hell. I didn't know it left me; I didn't see it stray Fighting one last battle, it would just get in my way. This battle was the hardest; it took five years to win. Revenge and anger were my weopens; I wore them like a grin. When the fight was nearly over and victory was near, I prayed to God," return my soul" but He didn't seem to hear. I'd look for without Him; this heart that I had lost. I'd win it back all by myself no matter what the cost. Now standing on the pinnicle, I fearfully looked around. My soul would not have come up here; it's too far from hallowed ground. Starting back down along the path; frought with struggle and with strife, I found I was decending through the wreckage of my life. While pawing through the ashes of the bridges I had burned, I found the charred remains of all the lessons I had learned. Confused and battle weary; I could not tell wrong from right, but I prayed that at the freefalls end there might be truth and light. Now I'm lying in the smoke and fire at the crash site of my soul peering out through Godless eyes as a snake peers from his hole. I should have had some warning; a shot across my bow but my spirit spiraled down and down and look where I am now. Like a marble in a funnel, my soul spun 'round and down. With a lack of positive energy it finnaly hit the ground. Now I'm at the bottom With no way to go but up. God, please give me the strength to feed my soul; your sacred wine to fill my cup. This was the first poem I was ever able to right. At age 56 it came to me in a dream and I got up and wrote it down.
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