"rebuilds" poems
The snows are fled away, leaves on the shaws
And grasses in the mead renew their birth,
The river to the river-bed withdraws,
And altered is the fashion of the earth.
The Nymphs and Graces three put off their fear
And unapparelled in the woodland play.
The swift hour and the brief prime of the year
Say to the soul, Thou wast not born for aye.
Thaw follows frost; hard on the heel of spring
Treads summer sure to die, for hard on hers
Comes autumn with his apples scattering;
Then back to wintertide, when nothing stirs.
But oh, whate'er the sky-led seasons mar,
Moon upon moon rebuilds it with her beams;
Come we where Tullus and where Ancus are
And good Aeneas, we are dust and dreams.
Torquatus, if the gods in heaven shall add
The morrow to the day, what tongue has told?
Feast then thy heart, for what thy heart has had
The fingers of no heir will ever hold.
When thou descendest once the shades among,
The stern assize and equal judgment o'er,
Not thy long lineage nor thy golden tongue,
No, nor thy righteousness, shall friend thee more.
Night holds Hippolytus the pure of stain,
Diana steads him nothing, he must stay;
And Theseus leaves Pirithous in the chain
The love of comrades cannot take away.
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Imagine 💭
I had a dream where my mother mustered the courage to own her truth; unabashedly and unapologetically. In that parallel universe, she owned her own identity, and not being defined as someone's wife or daughter. She never fell for anyone where she was obliged to stay, rather she dared to leave. Pursuing her dreams and travels to places she has never been before, chasing sunsets and dreams. Like the Phoenix from the ashes, she rebuilds her life from the scratch.
In another life, I don't wish to be born so that my mother can reap the benefit to live, laugh and love.
~RitzWrites 🥀
Jul 18, 2024
Jul 18, 2024 at 4:10 PM UTC
.
The forced tangent of life
became an adventure that lost
and so this shell sits on air
reflecting a balance of the cost.
There was an instant in time
where the physical held its sway,
pushing back the dark of years
and emerging into a sunny day.
But the blush of an eye moment
rebuilds a visage of ancients.
The turbulence of discord asserts
the demise and sin of patience.
© Pagan Paul (02/02/18)
Feb 2, 2018
Feb 2, 2018 at 12:12 PM UTC
many days that memory lane rebuilds
for the matchstick, gas, and striker addict
itching for his fixture of crash-and-burn
where fire and brimstone safely heals
anxious hearts in rites of passage
carrying a dream that most hands deter
I’ll start an ember beneath the surface
and forget the reign of disdaining thrill
step firm through flames as memory lane tilts..
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 11:14 PM UTC
There are
Conclusions
Beginning made in my head
And no one sees how
They twist and bend into
Every crevice of
My
*Poor
Demented
Head*
But that's okay
With every shifting
Thought,
My empire rebuilds
And there will be
nothing
Any of you
Could do to
Stop me...
Not even the
Parts of me that know how
WRONG
This is...
They've come out to play
And this time
Darkness
(Or light, which they fear)
Will not creep
Along the edges of
The pages.
Black and white.
No grey.
I'm either in or out.
And being out hurts
***too
****
much...***
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 8:39 PM UTC
It does not take a good photograph
i would never frame such a thing
because it's beauty is not in it's looks
it does not caress your eyes
or invoke sweet words
the beauty is in the feeling
that takes your breath away
sneaks up and suffocates your heart
breaks you and rebuilds you
better
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 12:14 AM UTC
Worlds shaking
Hearts breaking
Iniquity razing
our reality
The castle with
lonely halls
desperate calls
for holy hands
Frustration breaks
your stained glass
pieces of beauty
forever despised
As worlds shake
and hearts break
forgiveness rebuilds
the castle stands still
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 2:47 AM UTC
Tonight is the night we all dread and fear,
because of the tensions arisen by them.
Who will be next and who will see me in the
the mirror of the dungeon...
Who breaks it down and rebuilds
when it ends with the sound of a clatter?
We speak of the danger and peril of fate to
decide on life. Who wants to know the
meaning of sounds, the
meaning of love, the
meaning of hate.
Who can pretend to know;
when pretending ends with a clatter...
Send the village a card addressed to Bill.
He knows the feeling I speak of.
The peace in my mind,
the love in my heart
the spirituality that,
ends with a clatter...
No one can tell a person in distress;
one who feels with emotion and
confusion.
Confusion of what?
I wish and oppose to know.
I want and I fear the knowledge.
I receive and I squander the thought of love.
But as always fate shows the upper hand;
and by the fury of all mankind,
ends with a clatter....
May 19, 2011
May 19, 2011 at 9:51 AM UTC
All the words to my heart they bind,
The chemicals are out of sync,
Chopped down broken link,
Stopping all my flow and show,
The poetic words fight into the pen they go,
All being smoothing to one tone,
Facade of stone,
A genius drone,
Emotion built bone,
Cold mountain air that's dead,
Foundation crashing down like lead,
The tower has seen is day,
The castle rebuilds in order to stay,
The colours flash in a magnificent array,
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 11:12 AM UTC
I daydream for multiverse.
The entirety in reverse.
All the enimety,
rebuilds into intimacy.
A place equal to Paradise,
occupied by people with faces less than that of a dice.
Where maybe I wasn't invisible to you.
Where my existence was a little less blue.
A place where you'd love me,
and I could love me too.
Aug 18, 2020
Aug 18, 2020 at 1:41 AM UTC
That’s why I love him!
Because he makes me calm down,
Gives me hope, and rebuilds my faith.
He carries me up a mountain to let me breathe
The clean air, and shows me that life itself
Can be that same clean air – its metaphor!
He closes my eyes and awakens me
To a new life, and tells me that
Everything will be alright.
He’s the blood that runs through my veins
And makes my heart pumps loud and hard;
Food for life – its metaphor!
That’s why I love him!
Because he puts me first, never second
And for sure never last; that was in my past.
I’m the one he adores – its metaphor!
He knows that I love him, never doubts it
Because I always tell him when I’m calmed down,
Have hope, my faith is rebuilt, when my air is clean,
I wake up to new life, everything is alright, when my
Heart pumps loud and hard, food for life –
It’s all about metaphor!
Creative Writings - Reina J. Morris
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 12:40 PM UTC
I will grasp the will to write,
To search my finite vision's span
And find some words for our delight.
Using energy to fight
My body's battles, when I can
I will grasp the will to write.
Shining darkness into light,
Spirit raises up a man
To find some words for our delight.
Simple structure's levered might
Rebuilds a level place to stand.
I will grasp the will to write.
Poems don't bring all things aright,
Just perspective and a plan
To find some words for our delight.
My search for beauty, glowing bright
Will not be taken from these hands.
I will grasp the will to write
And find some words for our delight.
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 4:14 PM UTC
Even the weakest among us
will somehow survive
strength even thin as a straw is not to be scoffed at
it builds up to a critical mass with time--- to strive
and not to yield transforms
the most ordinary men into heroes
though unknown they thrive
and stand up to life's loneliest sorrows--
the strong have been too complacent
self-indulgence has weakened their spirit
they struggle to hold their own but sadly
they have lost their vigour and wit--
man is not born to despair
whatever the adversity be
amidst the ruins and misery
he rebuilds and triumphs in his fullest nobility.
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 12:58 AM UTC
Who am I?
Seems like lately I've had to ask myself that way too much
Why is that?
Hell I don't even know
Who am I?
I know who I was before
I know who I was during
I know who I was after
But now I, I just don't know
I know who I'd like to be:
The me before but less naive,
The me during but with my feet on the ground so I don't hurt
The me after but happier, more hopeful, more alive
Anything would be better than the numbness
I've done things the true me wouldn't be able to do
I've done things I shouldn't have yet I don't feel remorse or guilt
Who am I?
Now that I'm able to smile from my soul once again
Now that I find moments of peace and lightness
Now that I'm not miserable, not stuck in the past
Now that I feel the sun shine and warm my soul
Now, I search and grab for anything and everything
I can to resurrect some of that beauty and grace
Who am I?
Well for now I'm still trying to figure that one out
As my heart rebuilds, I will try to not break all of my morals
I'll try and try; I've failed more than once already
I still continually ask:
Who am I?
Who am I?
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 7:35 PM UTC
as the darkness of the
dreadful nights storm
fades into early morning
the City lays before me in ruins
trees lay sullen and forlorn
like fallen soldiers,
never to see their families again
glass from feeble house's
scatter the ground like dangerous seeds
catching in the bottom of my feet
small whips of winds push back
my soft red hair, as I stand and stare
as the city rebuilds
from the darkness back into the light
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 10:57 PM UTC
Brahma, Vishnu, Shiva -
sit eternally on lotuses.
Shiva loves to destroy the universe.
He has as many arms as it takes.
Plus one, to hold a mirror.
Brahma rebuilds it all as needed.
He has four heads and four arms.
That seems about right.
Sitting between Big Bang and Big Finish
is blue Vishnu,
who symbolizes energy.
Iris and Murray Klughart of Yonkers
don't symbolize anything.
Neither do their children.
All their marriage the Klugharts have saved
for a trip to the Taj Mahal.
Each one secretly fears
the other will be disappointed.
They pray their kids will have more.
Iris lights up the place when anyone calls.
Murray lights up a dreadful cigar,
sits back like a living room ornithologist,
and fully hears her song.
The creature is in full cackle.
He'll tell her about his bad MRI -
tomorrow.
They are no one,
and their aching backs
prop up every axis,
atom,
and out-of-work deity.
Iris cries when she reads Emily Dickinson.
Iris laughs in her sleep.
Iris.
The Klugharts loved the Taj so much,
Shiva dropped his mirror.
Mar 1, 2018
Mar 1, 2018 at 12:56 PM UTC
The problem with being 18 is
simple.
The thing is we feel too much,
too deeply, too suddenly.
Our anger is an earth-splitting motion,
Sadness a thousand and one rain
clouds dragging down
And happiness is the flight of the
new born bird
Love is the wonder of finding
a buried Easter egg.
Each day, anger strikes, sadness
rains and, on good days,
love rebuilds.
We live on shorelines ravaged
Daily and salvage
fiercely.
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 12:07 PM UTC
Your skin
touching mine
your flesh
pressed against me
the rush of your blood
and the curve of your
spine
and arch of your back
and the motion of your hips
and the crook of your neck
is where my lips connect
to your skin
and your flesh
and your heart is b-b-beating against
my ch-ch-chest
and your hands wander
and my mind wonders.
and I can feel you growing ever the warmer,
almost achingly feverish
where my thighs connect to my loving and lustful hunger.
and the world crashes and rebuild and crashes and rebuilds and crashes and falls and rebuilds and then we reach a type of beautiful and extravagant crescendo and the world slowly rebuilds piece by piece
as I collapse and crash with your lips on my skin
and I've never felt more at peace.
Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 8:32 PM UTC
*You walk through fires,
hot as Hades for the ones you hate
and swim through oceans,
cold as ice for the ones you love.
But when you're stuck at a cliff
and the only way back is a broken bridge
who rebuilds it for you?*
Feb 14, 2017
Feb 14, 2017 at 4:43 PM UTC
The thing about Love is that it swallows you whole,
rather than taking bits and pieces at a time.
It does not ask permission,
it does not knock and wait for you to answer.
Love does not ask if you are ready,
or come at the right time;
it does not settle for
"maybe," or "almost."
Love does not rest, or
soften its grip.
It is not patient.
The thing about Love is that it
crashes through you like a wave;
it fills your lungs, breaks your bones and
drowns the cage around your heart.
Love destroys and rebuilds at once,
and I'm not sure whether to smile
or ache.
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 11:15 AM UTC
a city is now renewed
(like a small child taking its first steps towards a redeemed life,
humble and beautiful in its vulnerability)
this city, this late-blooming flower, known to all as one worthy of the highest
praise
praise to the creator of firey orange skies
praise to the ferocity of a beating heart
praise to the quiet sounds of our people rising up,
because the ruins are coming to life
now watch, as He rebuilds.
restores
renews
rectifies
revives.
but.. for something to be revived mustn't it first be dead?
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 3:58 AM UTC
To find, to keep the one you love
Is not an easy feat, you see.
Tis difficult to locate one
Particularly suited to thee
For though thy love be pure and true
And supposed to last you all your days
Time often shapes a different plan
Forcing lovers to part in ways
Like leaves tossed in the winter wind
So will your heart pieces fly
Revisiting the bitter, barren past
Each touch, each kiss, each sigh
Until the wind doth settle down
And the frost rebuilds what was destroyed
Until thine heart is whole again
Ice filling in each crack and void
So frozen in this time is place
You’ll find your hardened self to be
You’ll miss the coming spring
And ignore each heart stretched out to thee
To find, to keep the one you love
Is not as easy feat, you see.
Tis difficult to give a broken gift
To one who means so much to thee.
Feb 9, 2012
Feb 9, 2012 at 5:22 PM UTC
Morning sunshine mourns of an old age
A past time that lurks in the shadows
of his bewildered heart, trapped in a cage
The light sets upon the empty bottles
Darkening the depths of his gaunt less rage
Dripping through the window ceil,
the light glows upon the purple sage
The dust casts the lining of her
As his tears bleed along the page
The past rebuilds itself as if it were
Yesterday
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 1:52 AM UTC
She is home,
four wheels
initials in the back
the boys call her home
she has always been there
the one thing they've always had
the eldest rebuilds her,
calls her baby
the younger falls asleep in her passenger seat
the impala is his home
she has seen the boys at their best
and their worst
And she will be there when it's over.
Dec 29, 2016
Dec 29, 2016 at 12:08 AM UTC
I love things you dislike about
yourself.
you are more beautiful to me
now than ever.
I watch your details.
discover something new about
your laugh daily.
angles, lighting, a line revealed,
a curve.
collecting every little imperfection,
seeing their whole as
perfection.
your voice soothes me.
your touch rebuilds my
confidence.
any movement you make now,
is dance.
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 11:47 PM UTC