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"reignited" poems
I keep forgetting The weight that was lifted When you let me go I keep forgetting The light in my eyes That reignited I keep forgetting That I am whole again All on my own But I won’t forget What I’ve learned From being hurt
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Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 10:22 AM UTC
Forgetting
Dad’s blood vessels wrap around my ankles. His numbing sclerosis infects my toes. Mom and Dad sing I alone love you in an octave with the front-man on stage. They cry together, subdued through flickered smiles, and I understand what it is to be devoted in the way a fire fights to cling with candlewick. I can feel it coming back again, he whispers near her ear lobe. The arches of his feet tingle as mom’s veins tangle with dad’s, his spine reignited by the warmth of their flame.
0
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 4:05 PM UTC
Love by Candlelight at a LIVE Concert
A lantern can only go so high before it must come down. A smile can only last so long until it becomes a frown. Happiness eventually turns to sadness. But the opposite is true too. A frown can only last so long till it becomes a smile. A lantern can be reignited. and it's only a matter of time until you see that lantern floating high in the sky.
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May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 8:05 AM UTC
Lantern
Somewhere constant I count my blessings   and submit to nature Sacrificing my physical self to the soul of summering Fall Mother Nature on menopause whisking out hot flashes with a cold shoulder turned on innocence The trails here wind me back in time A place for believing in a higher self without the stigma of belief Some mystical "nonsense" you'd have to see to believe Stranger than the fiction we lived before Autumn turned to ashes to embers and reignited hearts with an amalgam of inspiration Grace is the only constant The unheard rhythm We lose our minds trying to find in the chaos The thrill in the chase to drop the four-on-the-floor somewhere on the journey Hope perpetuates in rhythm Everything here is coming together for my highest good Or That's how my mantra overrides my manic imagination Subliminally stuttering steps A path to within From only out here I walk back to the graves of trees where I parked my car over Hollowed out and haunting my attachment to the Earth Grounded by ghosts The echos in the silence of Singing Hills *This is my worship. This is my tribute.*
0
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 6:46 PM UTC
Singing Hills
LOVE COMES IN ALL SHAPES AND DIMENSIONS LOVE KEEPS YOUR HEART BEATING AND LEAVES YOUR SOUL IN SUSPENSION THROUGH THE LOVING LIGHT OUR SPARK CAN BE REIGNITED THROUGH THE LOVING LIGHT OUR SOULS WILL BE REUNITED THINK OF THOSE YOU LOVE DEEPLY NOW GIVE OUT THAT LOVE TO EVERYONE FREELY THEN YOU UNDERSTAND YOU UNDERSTAND COMPLETELY THROUGH THE LOVING LIGHT OUR SPARK CAN BE REIGNITED THROUGH THE LOVING LIGHT OUR SOULS WILL BE REUNITED
0
Sep 15, 2018
Sep 15, 2018 at 3:51 PM UTC
LOVE
Oh look, you've finally said it But what took you so long ? After all this time crying, I'm hurt enough to write a song. Why couldn't you just say it before, Before I changed my mind, Is that only an excuse for leaving, Or do I have to consider it like a sign ? Is this some kind of grudge You've been holding onto ? Or are you being honest, And you want me back with you ? I don't quite understand how You can pour those feelings out now I'm burning from the inside, You make me feel so down. In my mind there's that fire, That just wouldn't go out I don't believe you really know What you're talking about And now I'll just burn, burn, burn, Burn from the inside The flames are reignited I'm just seeing the downsides You're making me burn again, Starting from where you left me Coming back for another round, I'm ready for it don't you worry.
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Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 1:59 PM UTC
Burn
I reignited the spark, reconnected to the hearth reconnected to the heart in me it was dark, cold, and scary I was mocked, bold, and contrary to my own beliefs, seeds I could never reap due to the fact I was running miles in an attempt to protect my inner child from the incoming tsunami, the bottled up tears the resurfacing adolescent fears brought me to prayers but I reignited my spark, I embarked on a new start where my path is filled with purple roses a new beginning as the circle closes its the circle of life, its the purpose of life I reignited my spark, extinguished my strife
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Feb 4, 2022
Feb 4, 2022 at 10:46 AM UTC
Reignited
Not so much of a poem as just a quick thank you. To all of you who have read and shown such love and support. This past week I have had my passion reignited for writing and poetry. No rhyme or verse, nor any thing else that I can conceive of. can show the smallest portion of gratitude I have for everyone here! Hopefully, I can in some way repay a bit of the kindness that I've gotten from you. Much love and caring, Skip
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Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 8:12 AM UTC
one week anniversary aka thanks Melz
<In Memoriam: Joel M Frye> we spoke perhaps twice by antiquated conveyance, actually exchanging voices, real words, not ionized, we knew so little, so much of other, in modern ways, where you can feel without touch, see with eyes closed, scenting tthrough a wire, hearing the voices whenever inhaling each’s poems, tonguing, tasting the words aloud nonetheless, ‘tis nonsensical, that his earthly disappearance should defect my affectations, with the chested sensational of loss, deprivation,, that I am missing a poet, his insights, his way of saying the same thing yet so differently which is exactly what we do here daily, reheating upon rehearing each others verbal notions of rue, worry, love lost, abandoned faith, momentarily reignited, wondering instantly and perpetually do words matter, just before we, with excited sighs we pick up the unique utensil fluidity that allows this communication of spirit; now it strikes me hard, it is his spirited humorous man-n’ere,in everything, that became has attached to me, consciously and consciencely, humanizing me by his good graces that cannot now be refreshed until I reread him one time more
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Jul 5, 2023
Jul 5, 2023 at 7:22 AM UTC
What We Do Here Daily - The Atmospheric Touching,
I stood waiting for her I was told she would come I stood waiting cold and numb Numbed by the pain, tablets and lotions Numbed by the hope of a notion A notion that said I might find a cure A cure that would let me lead a life I could finally endure For my life has been one of repeated pain Pain from the physical, emotional, where there is no gain A life that is lived in between, of darkness and then sparkle A life that is to my own heart no more than a debacle I was told If I met her she could help me create My own alchemy, a precious recipe that would make A remedy that would soothe my soul allow it to rest Allow my physical body to stop undergoing this continual test I heard movement come through the blackness Towards me to meet, a beautiful figure, dazzling and complete Her beauty was breathtaking her adornment a delight She illuminated my world at once and reignited my own light She has a familiarity that my body recognizes, a bejeweled Being who lights up my world with her smile and surprises Even me as I watch and stare as she moves through the darkness With such knowledge and without care I follow her light down passageways and past keeps And notice parts of my body awakening like from a sleep A body that wants to talk to me and say That authenticity is the alchemy from which you have strayed Your body has such wisdom its waiting to be read. This is the alchemy you search for, its that voice in your head It is an illuminated manuscript gilded with the finest gold, gold of your own making your life experience is the beauty you need to hold. The magic is in your intuition, that you hold deep within yourself You follow this beautiful lady and yet she is a mirror of your own self She came because you finally called her and she sits in front of you now Administering her balms that lingers on your skin, it caresses the pain you feel and smoothes you from within. But this is a balm of your own making , made out of all your own pain It sparkles with the light you have been seeking it is your own beauty, Hopelessness and pain. So look no longer for the alchemists hand, behold what you see in the mirror and be glad that you stand, for you are a beauty to behold, a life to be treasured, a life that is lived in, a life that can be measured.
0
Apr 5, 2012
Apr 5, 2012 at 9:26 AM UTC
Alchemy
I stood waiting for her I was told she would come I stood waiting cold and numb Numbed by the pain, tablets and lotions Numbed by the hope of a notion A notion that said I might find a cure A cure that would let me lead a life I could finally endure For my life has been one of repeated pain Pain from the physical, emotional, where there is no gain A life that is lived in between, of darkness and then sparkle A life that is to my own heart no more than a debacle I was told If I met her she could help me create My own alchemy, a precious recipe that would make A remedy that would soothe my soul allow it to rest Allow my physical body to stop undergoing this continual test I heard movement come through the blackness Towards me to meet, a beautiful figure, dazzling and complete Her beauty was breathtaking her adornment a delight She illuminated my world at once and reignited my own light She has a familiarity that my body recognizes, a bejeweled Being who lights up my world with her smile and surprises Even me as I watch and stare as she moves through the darkness With such knowledge and without care I follow her light down passageways and past keeps And notice parts of my body awakening like from a sleep A body that wants to talk to me and say That authenticity is the alchemy from which you have strayed Your body has such wisdom its waiting to be read. This is the alchemy you search for, its that voice in your head It is an illuminated manuscript gilded with the finest gold, gold of your own making your life experience is the beauty you need to hold. The magic is in your intuition, that you hold deep within yourself You follow this beautiful lady and yet she is a mirror of your own self She came because you finally called her and she sits in front of you now Administering her balms that lingers on your skin, it caresses the pain you feel and smoothes you from within. But this is a balm of your own making , made out of all your own pain It sparkles with the light you have been seeking it is your own beauty, Hopelessness and pain. So look no longer for the alchemists hand, behold what you see in the mirror and be glad that you stand, for you are a beauty to behold, a life to be treasured, a life that is lived in, a life that can be measured.
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41
You tell me repeatedly that I am wasting away, that my arms are too slim, my waist too cinched, and my chest too boney, but the only thing I hear is your insecurity making me its mirror, and in actuality I have never been more proud of my progress. Instead of concern for my well-being, all I feel when that sentence slips from your lips into the stale air that creeps into my ears is a knife in my gut. I am not wasting away, I have already wasted. I wasted away my breathlessness when he told me he cheated on me. I wasted away the utopian idea of who I ached to be and what I strived to look like. I wasted away the pressures I gave into when he wanted to force himself on me. I wasted away the insecurities and trust issues I harbored for five years. I wasted away his manipulations, his deceit, his pathological lies, his slander for my name, and the guilt I felt for cutting him out and clawing my way back in. I wasted away the anger and depression that almost consumed me. I wasted away my lack of knowledge toward myself. I wasted away my blank path, and I wasted away my restlessness for the next chapter, because I am the next chapter. So, the next time you feel the need to tell me that I am wasting away, The next time you think it's okay to say something like that to me, I want you to not look at me, but see me. I want you to feel the curve on my hips and the stretch marks on my thighs that I am okay with having. I want you to look into my eyes and see the fire I reignited in my soul to warm the blood that pumps through these deep vessels which carry each piece of the shattered self that I put back together like the mouth of the river that flows straight into the heart of the ocean. No, I am not wasting away. I’m not wasting another day.
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Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 10:31 PM UTC
Wasting Away
You tell me repeatedly that I am wasting away, that my arms are too slim, my waist too cinched, and my chest too boney, but the only thing I hear is your insecurity making me its mirror, and in actuality I have never been more proud of my progress. Instead of concern for my well-being, all I feel when that sentence slips from your lips into the stale air that creeps into my ears is a knife in my gut. I am not wasting away, I have already wasted. I wasted away my breathlessness when he told me he cheated on me. I wasted away the utopian idea of who I ached to be and what I strived to look like. I wasted away the pressures I gave into when he wanted to force himself on me. I wasted away the insecurities and trust issues I harbored for five years. I wasted away his manipulations, his deceit, his pathological lies, his slander for my name, and the guilt I felt for cutting him out and clawing my way back in. I wasted away the anger and depression that almost consumed me. I wasted away my lack of knowledge toward myself. I wasted away my blank path, and I wasted away my restlessness for the next chapter, because I am the next chapter. So, the next time you feel the need to tell me that I am wasting away, The next time you think it's okay to say something like that to me, I want you to not look at me, but see me. I want you to feel the curve on my hips and the stretch marks on my thighs that I am okay with having. I want you to look into my eyes and see the fire I reignited in my soul to warm the blood that pumps through these deep vessels which carry each piece of the shattered self that I put back together like the mouth of the river that flows straight into the heart of the ocean. No, I am not wasting away. I’m not wasting another day.
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44
A voice now forgotten, your memories displaced, What once was warm and tender, beneath the ice encased. Bluntly reignited, defenseless your voice entreats, Searching for the source, finding treachery, deceit. Endlessly tortured, by the ghosts that haunt this place. An attempt to cope, to mask this bitter taste, My mind stoicly vacant, then demanded by your face. Gazing into the distance, catch a flash of golden hair, Desperate to find you, but into emptiness I stare. Foiled again, by your ghosts that haunt this place. Habits I must repattern, and footsteps to retrace Dispose of lingering tokens, never to replace. Trying to redeem, the time I have lost with you, And the time that I have squandered, I never will renew, By chasing your ghosts that haunt this place.
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Jun 18, 2012
Jun 18, 2012 at 11:32 AM UTC
Ghost Town
There’s a tremor That ripples through This pocket of air, The electric aura That surrounds my hair, The sounds are melodic, Like the cries of scared Spirits, calling Mladic To make an appearance In the lake of fire He sent them to swim in, But missing the point, Missing the part of life With a purpose, Wishing to rise back up To the surface And start the slide all over again, Start the decline down to A black abyss where Doors exist Just too keep you in, Where laws are ******** And the good guy never wins, And I’m pretty sure He never did, I’ve never seen the good guy win, Cuz if the good guy could Catch a break, There’d be no lie to trap us in, But either way there’s no way to escape, Cuz the good guy never wins And the good girl always gets ***** So I’ll keep holding my sanity loosely, And keep taking heed to her song, That “every secret is juicy, Whether it’s Ricky cheating on Lucy, Or the world controlled by Ancient snakes, Either way you don’t get to say How high the stakes of truth be,” You don’t get paid For being truthful, It’s ruthless action That’s truly Beautiful, Or maybe her face is too, The one I saw peering in Through a snow-rimmed window, Buried in a fur-lined hood With cheeks red with the Sea of blood Shifting just under Paper skin, The storm spawned By the walk Sending waves of colour And life and vivacity And ****** perfection Crashing into The softest cheeks To ever brush mine, The very ones I’ve wished to destroy As the breath quickened, The tempo rose, And the sweat poured Onto summer sheets In a bed to small And weak To hold the tremendous weight Of love deferred And reignited By a shared passion For hurting and getting hurt. The face in the window Was flushed with heat, Yet colder than the parents That sent her out into the night, Hoping she wouldn’t find something to eat, And isn’t it funny how she still found me? Ready and willing To be ripped apart And devoured For the deflowering Of a misconceived heart. I opened the door and let her in So I could begin being born again.
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Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 11:14 PM UTC
--Circles In The Air--
There’s a tremor That ripples through This pocket of air, The electric aura That surrounds my hair, The sounds are melodic, Like the cries of scared Spirits, calling Mladic To make an appearance In the lake of fire He sent them to swim in, But missing the point, Missing the part of life With a purpose, Wishing to rise back up To the surface And start the slide all over again, Start the decline down to A black abyss where Doors exist Just too keep you in, Where laws are ******** And the good guy never wins, And I’m pretty sure He never did, I’ve never seen the good guy win, Cuz if the good guy could Catch a break, There’d be no lie to trap us in, But either way there’s no way to escape, Cuz the good guy never wins And the good girl always gets ***** So I’ll keep holding my sanity loosely, And keep taking heed to her song, That “every secret is juicy, Whether it’s Ricky cheating on Lucy, Or the world controlled by Ancient snakes, Either way you don’t get to say How high the stakes of truth be,” You don’t get paid For being truthful, It’s ruthless action That’s truly Beautiful, Or maybe her face is too, The one I saw peering in Through a snow-rimmed window, Buried in a fur-lined hood With cheeks red with the Sea of blood Shifting just under Paper skin, The storm spawned By the walk Sending waves of colour And life and vivacity And ****** perfection Crashing into The softest cheeks To ever brush mine, The very ones I’ve wished to destroy As the breath quickened, The tempo rose, And the sweat poured Onto summer sheets In a bed to small And weak To hold the tremendous weight Of love deferred And reignited By a shared passion For hurting and getting hurt. The face in the window Was flushed with heat, Yet colder than the parents That sent her out into the night, Hoping she wouldn’t find something to eat, And isn’t it funny how she still found me? Ready and willing To be ripped apart And devoured For the deflowering Of a misconceived heart. I opened the door and let her in So I could begin being born again.
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86
i am holding on too tightly let me fall. let me let go, let me feel let me hurt i want that ache again love ****** im a slave to heartbreak, i wanna seek out those kisses that leave my lips burning want that fire reignited deep in my chest again there's just a shell now built up like a cage protect me from harm, so i thought, but no it's not letting anything out it's not letting anything in and im done im done with that i need to feel again i need to be alive again my heart needs to beat again. love ****** slave to comfort, too afraid of passion, of losing control so here i am, heart beats in a cage, needles in my arms, anesthetized, clinging on too tight to what my life was let me fall into the unknown now before i push myself off this ledge it's been no fun at all let me feel let me fall
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May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 12:55 AM UTC
******
Hazel eyes hold untold sorrow, Dreams of sleep without tomorrow. A hopeless mind without a future, A soup bowl born of shattered pewter. Hidden away in a heart of ice, Reignited and snuffed out twice, A junkyard soul devoid of joy, Another woman's one night toy.
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Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 10:28 AM UTC
Nightstand
"gravity has taken better men than me just keep me where the light is"...John Clayton Mayer where the light is... this lyric gets carried from midnight to midnight next, from troubled sleep to the bus stop, to and from work, onto, back to, the homebound bus stop once again, from solitary man to father to grandfather and cycles back to once again a troubled sleeper poem writer, who just wants to know, John, when I find it, will, does the light fill, complete and heal the cracks...when I find that light... in the city, starlight been banished by street lamps pointed downward, far too often it is believable that the whole world has been wrapped in white crinkled, filmy, wax paper, then, how will the light know where it is needed most, how will it find the empty chest cavity that writes these lines there is real and artificial they say, nature vs. man made, sun upon the face that heals for but an eight minute bandaid summer ferry crossing, the fluorescent that says here, here is the bus stop, tarry, sit and rest, while you wait for answer unscheduled, on a bench beneath to the street light that illuminates a small swatch of street between the dark spots on the x-ray of this patient patient's soul awaiting, are either of those the light I need John? no worries man, I'm just teasing, well knowing, neither of us, tables turned, know where the light is, up high, down low, if it is yellow or gold, if light is real or imagined, only the sensation of the curettage needed to be healed when the chest drained and the light supplants the drained fluids, when it interferes, interpolates, how it found me or I it, how I recognized it, how it reignited the home fire, and I'll drop you line how light, lightly to find or be heavy found, how light supersedes, defeats, the gravity of daily tugging, and how what happens afterwards is golightly up to us 2:10am **** it
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Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 2:21 AM UTC
where the light is...(when I find it, John)
"gravity has taken better men than me just keep me where the light is"...John Clayton Mayer where the light is... this lyric gets carried from midnight to midnight next, from troubled sleep to the bus stop, to and from work, onto, back to, the homebound bus stop once again, from solitary man to father to grandfather and cycles back to once again a troubled sleeper poem writer, who just wants to know, John, when I find it, will, does the light fill, complete and heal the cracks...when I find that light... in the city, starlight been banished by street lamps pointed downward, far too often it is believable that the whole world has been wrapped in white crinkled, filmy, wax paper, then, how will the light know where it is needed most, how will it find the empty chest cavity that writes these lines there is real and artificial they say, nature vs. man made, sun upon the face that heals for but an eight minute bandaid summer ferry crossing, the fluorescent that says here, here is the bus stop, tarry, sit and rest, while you wait for answer unscheduled, on a bench beneath to the street light that illuminates a small swatch of street between the dark spots on the x-ray of this patient patient's soul awaiting, are either of those the light I need John? no worries man, I'm just teasing, well knowing, neither of us, tables turned, know where the light is, up high, down low, if it is yellow or gold, if light is real or imagined, only the sensation of the curettage needed to be healed when the chest drained and the light supplants the drained fluids, when it interferes, interpolates, how it found me or I it, how I recognized it, how it reignited the home fire, and I'll drop you line how light, lightly to find or be heavy found, how light supersedes, defeats, the gravity of daily tugging, and how what happens afterwards is golightly up to us 2:10am **** it
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34
Reignited haven of peaceful wonder far away place of once upon a time Begins and ends with happy ever after
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Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 2:55 PM UTC
Childhood Idealist
*A Magnetic Dream Conceived Of Timeless Perfections, With Telekinetic Screams & Flawless Imperfections, Programmed To Transmits Her Prismatic Light, Inflamed, She Emits An Axiomatic Delight, Her Lilac Senses Filled With An Eternal Slumber, With Insomniac Pretenses Sobbing Into A Nocturnal November, With An Ensnared Avidity & Reunited Blues, Flared With Frames Of Her Reignited Hues, Tattered As She Respires Into An Abysmal Disguise, Her Motionless Shadows Reprise Into A Dismal Surprise, - 03:57*
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Jul 1, 2017
Jul 1, 2017 at 6:38 PM UTC
Lilac Senses
I have rebuilt the temple. I sense its arches supporting my weight, Grace and power surging through my core. I have rebuilt the temple, A holy of holies resides in my soul, A place of prayer as it unfolds-- I pray for Him to lend me sight through open ears. I have rebuilt the temple, Reignited each sacrifice of old-- No longer severed grace gone to waste, No longer inside me a contradiction of faiths, Freedom and beauty rise now from my flames. I have rebuilt the temple, Though its shell still stands-- A strip of land, Desolate and serene. I have rebuilt the temple, For it had to be burned, It had to be cleansed, It had to be purged. Its gold's destiny was to ignite And it indeed was set alight, Its flames, long extinguished, Consume my mind in fright. I rebuilt the temple, Its sacrifices' horns stood sentinel, While we awaited their blast And paid cold cash in exchange for soiled souls. I have rebuilt the temple, Adorning it with bands of faith And simple beauty and lights with which To guide in sunny nights. I have rebuilt the temple, I break bread in its empty halls And drink immortal wine And answer the angel when he calls, In the midst of his eternal watch Over a box of long- forgotten treasures. We have rebuilt our temples, Woman to woman, keep my words, Let none flow from your lips To reach undeserving ears, For a woman's wisdom is her might. I have rebuilt this temple in my heart, Its incense fills the corners of my soul, The holy altar stands ***** within my mind, And when I die it still will stand and does forever glory.
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Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 4:43 AM UTC
The Third Temple
I have rebuilt the temple. I sense its arches supporting my weight, Grace and power surging through my core. I have rebuilt the temple, A holy of holies resides in my soul, A place of prayer as it unfolds-- I pray for Him to lend me sight through open ears. I have rebuilt the temple, Reignited each sacrifice of old-- No longer severed grace gone to waste, No longer inside me a contradiction of faiths, Freedom and beauty rise now from my flames. I have rebuilt the temple, Though its shell still stands-- A strip of land, Desolate and serene. I have rebuilt the temple, For it had to be burned, It had to be cleansed, It had to be purged. Its gold's destiny was to ignite And it indeed was set alight, Its flames, long extinguished, Consume my mind in fright. I rebuilt the temple, Its sacrifices' horns stood sentinel, While we awaited their blast And paid cold cash in exchange for soiled souls. I have rebuilt the temple, Adorning it with bands of faith And simple beauty and lights with which To guide in sunny nights. I have rebuilt the temple, I break bread in its empty halls And drink immortal wine And answer the angel when he calls, In the midst of his eternal watch Over a box of long- forgotten treasures. We have rebuilt our temples, Woman to woman, keep my words, Let none flow from your lips To reach undeserving ears, For a woman's wisdom is her might. I have rebuilt this temple in my heart, Its incense fills the corners of my soul, The holy altar stands ***** within my mind, And when I die it still will stand and does forever glory.
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47
my lips parted humbled by your resplendence enchanted by the mystery of your beauty so i spoke the words of promise forged on an anvil of insanity fashioned by a trembling tongue the fire of fearful fidelity a passion extinguished by acceptance reborn from the sated ashes of embrace reignited with the kindle of emotion the inferno in the flame of your breath                   © Qwey.ku
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Nov 21, 2016
Nov 21, 2016 at 12:58 AM UTC
Hebron
"For your heart's sake, avoid to drink of the love poison, you can not control the damage and its proportion" There was an angel's voice singing it loud in my ears and telling me a revenge way to scare all my fears I walked through a journey profoundly made of scars while above my sky there were plenty of shining stars... Lights there reignited so bright, it even risks to get me blind As a fact, I never stepped on dopamine's trail since believing in true love, gave me a badly fail While my consciousness told me "to be careful" as a reply I was falling in desire for every stranger with a clouded eye You were my windy rain, pouring of happiness with every gain But if I survived during all of my dreary life why wouldn't I cicatricize my coming lonely night?
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Feb 8, 2018
Feb 8, 2018 at 9:55 PM UTC
Journey Made of Scars
Just when I felt lost, trying to forget her, you were there to guide me. When I thought I'd never get that feeling again, you gave it to me. You reignited a spark in a broken heart. Made me feel whole again. It took three years since you knew of the way I felt, I began to doubt the possibility of anything ever coming from it. Yet I am glad it waited until now, the time we needed it most; our last chance. We were finally honest with one other. Not with our words but with our actions. They expressed what I'd been dying to say for a long time. What I could never muster the courage to speak. What I hoped deep inside you wished to tell me as well. You are a best friend, a sister, and a longtime crush. And you found a way to fix me. Far more than you can imagine. With a kiss. With a touch. Two scarred hearts are now at peace.
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Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 2:02 AM UTC
In Perfect Time
passing the torch of love from one heart to another touching each in very different ways witnessing the shrinking of the flame before each passing having it reignited by a new hand dimming when the new becomes old and always searching endlessly for the eternal fuel.
0
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 6:50 PM UTC
light my fire
At a music festival Among sixty thousand others I managed to spot you We both knew the other Would be here, But figured there'd be Too many people, Too large of a crowd And not enough cell phone Service to go around, To bother trying to find the other Especially since we haven't spoken Since, well, you know But here you are. Eight rows of people ahead Through the most perfectly spaced gap I spot your face Turned slightly to the right Of where I am standing I watch you laugh at what A friend behind you said You cut your hair just the way I like it And your smile still Makes me go weak at the knees It's this moment that people write books about, paint pictures of, this moment filmmakers write whole screenplays revolving around Where two people make eye contact from across a crowd, and instantly the spark is ignited, or reignited, and their fate is written, the opening to their love story that, without their control, is set in stone, perfectly planned out stepping stones that lead to happily ever after But you never turned my way And we never made eye contact And my text that said I see you! :) Didn't go through until Hours later I guess this wasn't our moment. our relapse our love story. I guess this means we really are not m e a n t t o b e
0
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 1:33 AM UTC
Closure