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My heart have no brakes
Just on a ride with the winds
Pretending to be deaf to what they say
For they are pointless like his dreams.

I can imagine the busy nature of a busy bee
But my heart is busier indeed
Discussing the issues of life in a silent plead
Still no ears ever listened to him.

My heart, a beautifully shapeless engine of life
Travelling far and wide
Intruding without being noticed
Harming not, adventure, learning are his motives.

Daily arguing against nature
Often in his extreme corner fighting for the weak
Heart broken by the harsh policies of his nation
My fate is his only whip.
Danielle Suzanne Mar 2017
When I'd wake alone in bed at 4am
To find you passed out
on the couch
Too wasted to notice
the heart breaking in front of you
I tried every day
But you preferred synthetic hugs
and to hide in a place
where the expectations were low  
Escapes and excuses
more alluring than I could ever be
Through tears I would plead
'Why don't you want to sleep with me!?'
I shouldn't have taken it so personally

But nobody saw me cry
Especially not you
Blind to my tears
Large doses of denial dished out
Perhaps the most powerful drug of them all
My soul mate disappeared
each day
a little more

Maybe today will be different
The beautiful motivator
Maybe today
It will be me that you choose
Naively believing
that you had control
But then I woke
alone in bed at 4am
Manipulated and used
March 26th 2017
Sofia Von Dec 2011
Hidden from the burden of conversation, you graze your toe across a rock
-- slice.

Pain, creeping  
wrapping its hot oils up your calf
it hurts more

no one wants to share

who understands?
don't be silly!
you’re on your own now
no one will be calling your name

So desperate

for a box you search
to hide your grief, happiness, and doubts in

some are presented with one
a carved handmade one
with gold outlines
who knows how they got one

the unlucky stumble upon the rich boxes of others
smothering them with inpatient finger prints of hope
but why
why they plead
in their constant prayers

why must they have the ***** leftovers
the cups recycled
used in a previous place for ***** samples

too small even for three people

they clean it and make due
what else can they do

that’s what

But. Why?
are they not worthy?
already fortunate?

I guess that works

and most are happy with it
see it around them
everybody has a *** cup

but what happens when everyone gets lucky?

You hide Envy?

no ignorant ones

Shouting for longevity,
Slamming at the counterers…
- upon your dignified respite!
Would-be detractors without brevity,
Before the wine-dark Sea at night…
A pleading to philosophy of commonly renowned,
Beating sand and posturing, uncouth before a crown;

“Priam please!”

Sun and Moon,
two sons shall plead,
nay, -beg in tandem with the man;

“He serves the seas, trust him please, our father; this priest of Trojan-land!”


“Fear the Greeks, of mind I speak, approval by a van-i-ty; it surely is a death you seek!

An asp this horse, gift no more and tragedy in due remorse,

I beg of you my call to heed, wooden-burnt this crispy steed,

…alight in flame, glorified name; Poseidon shall endorse!”

Priests of Apollo

“Ridiculous! Worship we must, now bring it to the City thus!”


“The actions of accursed Kore,

Need I remind you all Paris caused this war?

For he mocked this god, the abyss it knows, with terror comes a deadly tide,

**** that fool and his fiddling pride!

Burn this beast we must with haste for Greeks they have a certain taste,

Their acts meant always to confound, wily, since they were unbound.

What harm may do, to rest at shore? Consult the stars of yester-yore.

Assign no chore, one heaven’s night, plus a day, to sit upon our princely shore?”

(read/spoken at the fastest pace the reader can go)

A horrid hiss above the wave as two doth slither from out the cave…

  The creatures from the darkest days, ancient spectacle for the knaves, bear witness to the punishment, commanded by a great trident, hearing screams of bannermen, for King and council a shocking twist, serpents ****** from out the mists, encircling priest and his kin, the howling they had done no sin, never be forgot-ten, as Typhon cried out merrily, serpents and the tragic sea; swallowed up all the three.


“Farewell dear Laocoon and two sons with thee!”
The name. "Laocoon," translates to, "Peoples knowledge," or "Knowledge of the peoples." This is a retelling of a section of the Iliad.
Mark Upright Aug 2018
|“lead into gold, good into dear, mortal into immortal”
(where poems come from)”

you charged me
with crimes three times three,
sorcery and witchcraft and doing god’s work

plead guilty three times three
not that I was successful,
but a complex, candied marvelous failure

not in my possession, the sorcerers spell,
my dross and wordy dregs all sit sidelined,
perchance perhaps,
if you search with a leaden patience inhuman,
you might just find a minuscule golden vein there’d unmined

turning good into dear, an “anyone can do it” miracle,
when you whisper with just one kiss those forever words,
don’t be afraid, say it low and slow, I love you,
“I only want to be with you”
and dare it to be become dear

mortal into immortal, an order tall, for one knows his
hiding places for all too human pockmarked weak,
but having been charged and found in guilt,
no one proffered evidence but they wanted a unambiguous
unanimous verdict and proof is such an old fashioned truth notion

happy accept your accusations and since confession is
the best soul medicine, with glee, here and now reveal
how immortality is achievable

breathe poems  constantly instantly throughout
the orifices in the skin cells and
pore’d orifices you were god given;
it is how we immortals communicate
with what cannot be seen,
yet drunken heard when spoke aloud

taste the poems in and on tongues you can’t comprehend,
the sounds fly skyward after infiltrating your eyes,
then you can see your own immortality anointed rising

all nonsense you plead,
only immortals truly cherish and envy the
human ability to create
nonsense, the place
where poems come from

Ww Oct 2017
mea culpa
mea culpa
mea maxima culpa

hear the song of the innocent

hung upon the cross
for the crime he has not commit

forced to plead guilty
by the precepts of society

whilst the crooked
stood at the base
shedding crocodile tears
eyes holding silent leers

feigning innocence
instigating chaos
taking into their advantage
dividedness, our ignorance.

here, the song of the innocent
nears its end
with his last, a doleful verse

"It is done"
not necessarily catholic but true enough I draw much of the inspiration from it.
Justan Rahming Feb 2013
[part 1 - The Depending of Rescue]

I've waited so long for you
to take me to the place where light came through
all this time I thought you would save me
But together we were stuck in this dark sea

Myself so lost in this tearing tide
only to find, I was not alone inside
fighting the waves to get free
growing powers grew deep down in me

[part 2 - Becoming Atlas]

Im out into the sky beyond the stars
looking down at the land so far
lost souls still trapped behind
I came back for you, I have to find

Spend my life searching and saving
to stop my heart from this painful raging
help those stand on the land I have found
your still lost in the black, quiet is the sound

I see your eyes, so bright as the brightest night star
Drifting away from my hand, floating so far
Ive spent my life so long to bring you to shore
I cannot stop its what I'm existing for

[part 3 - The Distraction]

In search for you I have saved so much
millions have felt my graceful touch
they plead for me to guide them away
So many I lead to see a new day

Shining light over their homes
making them feel the warmth in their souls
Starting a future that they can live in
But with all my power, I cannot find where you've been

bound by duties you slip away from me
away from view, and deeper into the sea
The older I grow the more of you I miss
but all these feelings I am forced to dismiss

[Part 4 - Atlas Relinquished]

Strength has raged within in my blood
my veins are dried while my emotions flood
away from my heart into the night
tired by the constant shine of light

Broken labored hands are laid to rest
after long years of might's test
exasperation falls over my will
want nothing more to forever be still

I can no longer help to build
I lay slowly upon the field
body and soul unable to lift
watching the world, still, it sits
Eric Pon Apr 2017
When I sleep dreams please take head
I’m not accustomed to this speed
spliced with music art and ****
this rhyme a warning and a plead:
Many men look back at me
their eyes memorize silently
I trade in who I used to be
degenerating empathy.
Friends no more are there as well
waving constantly farewell
who they are now I can’t tell
heavy water stains still dwell.
Though no longer what you were
your name a prayer spoken unsure
Instills the fact there is no cure
clear direction- violent blur;
I am a man and I’m a boy
both utensil and a toy
immoral morals, high decoy
let flirt with death, young cold and coy..
So please I beg you, dreams of pain
let sleep consume me, peace sustain
let night air fill my broken brain
through the wind myself retrain
        Let me wade in water deep,
    let my faith forwardly leap
worry sow and disdain reap

Troubled Poppies for Endless Sleep.
An asset she is for this you see
In those big brown eyes
Her dreams reveal
Her destiny unique
This I know you feel so
To you I plead
Be her voice until she is
Shout it out that which she is
So she knows she can be
As colorful as she dreams.

With all our fibre and being
Shout it out
An Asset she is!!!
So she is strong to
That which she dreams and thinks

©Belema .S. Ekine
I  want to write a book
I need to make you laugh.
designed  to capture the heart
So desperate
I will do anything it takes.
Please keep me in  mind.
Before my time is up.
Can't say  what the future holds.
I dare not miss the appointed time.
So I  plead my case before I loose my sanity
Poetemkin Jun 2018
Charles Wesley, pub. 1742

Arise, my soul, arise; shake off thy guilty fears;
The bleeding Sacrifice in my behalf appears:
Before the throne my surety stands,
Before the throne my surety stands,
My name is written on His hands.

He ever lives above, for me to intercede;
His all-redeeming love, His precious blood to plead:
His blood atoned for all our race,
His blood atoned for all our race,
And sprinkles now the throne of grace.

Five bleeding wounds He bears, received on Calvary;
They pour effectual prayers; they strongly plead for me:
“Forgive him! O, forgive!” they cry,
“Forgive him! O, forgive!” they cry,
“Nor let that ransomed sinner die!”

The Father hears Him pray, His dear anointed One;
He cannot turn away the presence of His Son;
His Spirit answers to the blood,
His Spirit answers to the blood,
And tells me I am born of God.

My God is reconciled; His pard’ning voice I hear;
He owns me for His child; I can no longer fear:
With confidence I now draw nigh,
With confidence I now draw nigh,
And “Father! Abba, Father!” cry.
The lines "His blood atoned for all our race" are to be understood as referring to the human race. I suggest "His blood atoned for ev'ry race" as an alternate reading for those who regard humanity to be composed of more than one race.
Kara Jean Jan 2018
The embellishement eradicated
The self served fate
Sneaking in with dinner plates,
never to give thanks
The word earn,
has now been burned
We only own
We need not to share
A world with no care
We need no proof
There is no truth,
when corruption is our plead
Don't mind the fumes
We are still living the dream
So come in, take a seat

The Spark that shines deep into the night
Oh, Lord, I hear the cries from my own bloodline,
the years of agony, while the one who weeded for me
I cried to make way but didn’t know how.

My Lord, you are the most humbled
you have seen it all, You heard the cries
of my own bloodline. I felt the pains,
I felt the shame, while others were giving blame.

The years felt way too long, The cries I heard
came from my older son, Oh, My Dear Lord,
I have given you my heart, I reclined upon your Spirit
asking for your help, But I didn’t understand My Lord
what was my son crying for?

I had cradled him with my own arms,
I prayed for him night and day
Yet, this pain didn’t go away,
I cried my heart out, I walked the town
It was raining so much pains, my tears just rolled on down.

I sung out my spirit to my loving son,
I pray that he felt me with him to ease his pains,
I looked but could never find,
I pray my Lord, My Loving God,
you listened to both our weepings.

I have shown so much tenderness
I showed my compassion about what a mother feels
when a child is hurt, I tried to reach out
But I got no words,
But soon I got contact and it only gave more pain.

I prayed for understanding,
A spark of a vision seeing abuse,
hearing words of pleading
Soon my son was no longer
Because he was hung…

Some say it was suicide,
But it was only a lie
Someone killed my son and made it look suicide.
I had let my lips rest while I write.

I rest upon your holy love
I speak to thee about everything I see
I kissed the hem Of my Lord
while my tears fall at the feet
Please, hear my cries for justice for my son.

My weeping spirit will not rest
Until you see this through,
I love you My God Jehovah,
I Love You My Lord Jesus Christ
and to you My own beloved Son,

I put you forever in my heart
I know justice will be served
I know God Jehovah seen it all
He hear you plead to be set free.

Poetic Judy Emery © 2018
Copyright © Judy Emery| Year Posted 2018
Najwa Kareem Jan 19
She chose to sit in the driver's seat

Marzieh Hashemi isn't afraid of the smoldering heat

nor is she like the rest that one should try to beat

Like a butterfly in the mountain's wind

she'll pick up speed and bounce to the end

and help those around her confidently amend

Insightful, optimistic, she'll make you think

distracted by her intelligence, you'll feel no need to blink

on a gathering day, she looked beautiful in pink

Safety, cheer, and comfort were well dished out

to more than her own, a Mother for all to draw to and pout

Our unforgettable journey is Marzieh Hashemi, an icon of strength to plead about

By: Najwa Kareem
The words of this poem were created in memory of a fun-filled day of adventure in Denver with Sr. Marzieh Hashemi who bravely drove some of our friends and me up to the top of Mount Evans, the highest paved mountain in North America in a van that while on our journey didn't operate well. Even though she was very nervous, our friends and me weren't in the least bit able to tell as she was so considerate of us not to show us her angst and did all she could to comfort and encourage us as she manuveured the van, as she steered the wheel of the van ever so carefully and managed to get us back down the mountain safely.

Sr. Marzieh Hashemi is a one of a kind mountain high strength full of life, God's light, peace, compassion, hospitality, intellect, dignity, warmth, and much more. Every person would wish to have a friend like her.

Marzieh Hashemi is a moral and law abiding citizen of America, of Iran, and of the world.


(Please check the above on Twitter to learn more and to support she and her family. Thank you.)
lifeonLSD Sep 2018
I long for the day I wake up
without the bitter taste

I plead for the day I wake up
without the sweet taste

and I beg for the day I wake up
without the taste
                                                               of your name still on my tongue.
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