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Jacob Giggey Mar 2015
Back Down, I say.
My own voice struggles for strength and footing
against the tide of lies.
Stop It Now, I say.
I know the truth, I know I shouldn't,
feeding the voices isn't wise.
But it's so easy,
to get lost in the words,
like an addiction,
I hate the need,
I hate the urge,
I hate the truth,
I love the hate.
But then, sometimes, out of nowhere, I arise.
Lifting off the icy stone floor of which I often fall,
I feel myself begin to crawl, I ****** up and rise again,
standing tall I breathe in the light, no longer feeling quite so small,
I find a door that leads me down an endless hall,
Unknown urgency flares within and I start to run,
to where it all began,
I retrace the steps that must have brought me here.
Until suddenly I'm back to a younger me,
watching from above
I see how I was,
Happy, kind, loving, innocent, careless, carefree,
I was alive.
I stay and watch as years go by,
slowly at first I see a change,
quicker the images pass,
now I'm able to see,
the invisible chains that snuck up and captured me.
I re-watch my struggles,
I rehear my pleas.
Countless times I'd cried out for me not to be me.
Fear and pain became a cage
prison bars,
holding,
enclosing,
smaller and smaller,
squeezing tighter and tighter,
isolating from the happy world outside.
But..
Wait.
What's this?
A mirror?
An escape?
Taking the slender ornate handle,
the fragile oval of glass,
incapable of untruth,
I cautiously peer into me.
Expecting nothingness,
a single tear gathers,
as it falls it triggers an onslaught of followers.
A shocked laughed bursts forth like a gasp,
they quicken until I'm laughing like I've not in years
fueling joyful tears,
they wet my aching smiling cheeks.
It wasn't nothing,
that I saw in my own eyes.
...
It was love.
It was, always has been,
always will be,
love.
Safana Mar 2022
I begin with a Praise
To praise the Praiser
He who praised Bless
And the bless Blest...
A Man with a Mind
To avoid the wrong
And  Friend to right
He Who talk to pure
And He said, no fear
To Those Who rehear
The sound they hear
A Man who had Print
On His Sole a Footprint
For the tracers to trace.

— The End —