"repented" poems
words fall
like hapless fledglings
tossed from a cliff edged nest
with much screeching, squawking,
countless feathers lost
and then an awful thump
or hopeful, glorious flight
first love is tachycardiac love
all adrenaline, sweating palms
and stutter-stumbling sqeakings,
ungainly gropings,
when not with you, mopings
unrealistic hopings
for happy ever after endings,
breakings, bendings,
awkward mendings,
repeated leavings,
repented lovings.
heartfelt givings,
of broken hearted rendings.
lendings,
of time stolen from life
tearing, teasing,
tantalising teamings
crying, begging,
pleading strife
and then,
the metaphorical knife
cutting, slashing,
wordblow bashing,
screaming, reaming,
end to loves life.
til eventually, words fall,
like old birds leavings
to settle, unremarked upon
at the base of the tree of life.
first love's loss, is slow dying.
arrhythmia to flatline
in a multitude of laboured breaths
and long lingering sighs.
a loss of warmth,
from breast and thighs
and water copious,
falling from red rimed eyes.
sobbing, murmuring,
don't know whys?
from lips turned
toward,
bleakset skies.
as one settles firmly,
into black dog muck
no longer able to give a f▼ck.
tucked in tight to sadness,
lost all sight of former gladness,
caught up and shackled tight,
to the badness
around and around,
the carousel goes.
then,
at last,
the blessed silence,
as you die
one of many of....
life's little deaths
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 8:25 PM UTC
You've heard me, scornful, harsh, and discontented,
Mocking and loathing War: you've asked me why
Of my old, silly sweetness I've repented--
My ecstasies changed to an ugly cry.
You are aware that once I sought the Grail,
Riding in armour bright, serene and strong;
And it was told that through my infant wail
There rose immortal semblances of song.
But now I've said good-bye to Galahad,
And am no more the knight of dreams and show:
For lust and senseless hatred make me glad,
And my killed friends are with me where I go.
Wound for red wound I burn to smite their wrongs;
And there is absolution in my song
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A dancing Bear grotesque and funny
Earned for his master heaps of money,
Gruff yet good-natured, fond of honey,
And cheerful if the day was sunny.
Past hedge and ditch, past pond and wood
He tramped, and on some common stood;
There, cottage children circling gaily,
He in their midmost footed daily.
Pandean pipes and drum and muzzle
Were quite enough his brain to puzzle:
But like a philosophic bear
He let alone extraneous care
And danced contented anywhere.
Still, year on year, and wear and tear,
Age even the gruffest, bluffest bear.
A day came when he scarce could prance,
And when his master looked askance
On dancing Bear who would not dance.
To looks succeeded blows; hard blows
Battered his ears and poor old nose.
From bluff and gruff he waxed curmudgeon;
He danced indeed, but danced in dudgeon,
Capered in fury fast and faster.
Ah, could he once but hug his master
And perish in one joint disaster!
But deafness, blindness, weakness growing,
Not fury's self could keep him going.
One dark day when the snow was snowing
His cup was brimmed to overflowing:
He tottered, toppled on one side,
Growled once, and shook his head, and died.
The master kicked and struck in vain,
The weary drudge had distanced pain
And never now would wince again.
The master growled; he might have howled
Or coaxed,--that slave's last growl was growled.
So gnawed by rancor and chagrin
One thing remained: he sold the skin.
What next the man did is not worth
Your notice or my setting forth,
But hearken what befell at last.
His idle working days gone past,
And not one friend and not one penny
Stored up (if ever he had any
Friends; but his coppers had been many),
All doors stood shut against him but
The workhouse door, which cannot shut.
There he droned on,--a grim old sinner,
Toothless, and grumbling for his dinner,
Unpitied quite, uncared for much
(The rate-payers not favoring such),
Hungry and gaunt, with time to spare;
Perhaps the hungry, gaunt old Bear
Danced back, a haunting memory.
Indeed, I hope so, for you see
If once the hard old heart relented,
The hard old man may have repented.
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I use to hurt people,
Now I help people,
The pain brought me some peace,
It had me thinking about my life,
Thinking about my choices,
Looking at myself,
Questioning my motives.
Life ain't the same for me,
Don't think the same,
Don't live the same,
Don't feel the same,
God replaced my heart with a new heart,
Was once cold-hearted,
Now I have a big heart.
Facing pain in the eyes changed my vision,
Crying my eyes out left me numb,
What I felt I can't feel no more,
What I was doing I ain't doing no more,
The way I was living i ain't living no more,
Confessed my sins and repented,
God forgave me,
Right my wrongs,
I'm now singing a new song.
Dec 4, 2020
Dec 4, 2020 at 9:10 AM UTC
I found a pack of Newports on the sidewalk
Before my doctor's visit Wednesday after work
I smoked two just to see whether I remembered
The taste of ash, mint and tobacco leaf
The stuff of life and death, the bitter and the sweet
Hurrying across the busy street
I looked up to see Mother Mary there
With dark eyes, olive skin, and wind-tossed hair
She seemed tired and a little sad
But her face was kind and she had God on the line
And ash on her brow, which reminded me of the day
I repented and gave the rest of the cigarettes away
Mar 6, 2019
Mar 6, 2019 at 8:08 PM UTC
The movie shows
an innocent man,
misguided, perhaps,
but well intentioned
killing a creature
he thought to be a pest
and full of remorse
for the unhappiness he caused
In fact,
the man who killed Mijbil
never confessed
never repented
did it for gain
as otter pelts
were worth a bob or two.
A tiny ghost
haunts a ditch
by a single track road
in Scotland
And the vanished marshes of Iraq
know which version of events
to believe.
Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 2:26 PM UTC
I was that kid who used to get confused in an ice cream shop,
And repented for not choosing other flavours & colours after choosing a favorite flavour.
I was that kid who used to get confused choosing his birthday cake,
And repented for not choosing other attractive flavours & shapes after choosing one flavour.
I am that guy who got confused choosing his career,
And repents for not having chosen some other appealing & prospective streams.
But...
I am that man who knows only how to repent,
After making choices very wrong in my not-so-personal life anymore.
I gifted her a personal visit on her birthday three months back,
She gifted me a breakup for my birthday.
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 11:35 PM UTC
touch my face and feel my gut
it's knotted up, punctured and twisted
with knives of lovers lost
look at me with shame and forget me
no longer call me by my name, brother
i'm barren from the child i chose not to let be
yet still swollen from the emptiness
stepping on nails, sharp as i pace back and forth
tattered soles and tattered souls
can't overcome the obstacle without proper shoes
end my suffering with a needle or two
let ooze the regretful sorrow that feeds on my sanity
drain the abscess that is my conscience
my conscious mind
it throbs beneath my skin
and whispers secrets from hell, ear to ear
on sunny days
tiny voices and threatening reminders
of crimes not yet repented
committed in fear of solitude
ways to escape unknown, unwanted
negligent to what could be
because the what is distracts me
traps me
i must first love myself
to be loved by you
everyday is a chance to recreate
we know that
our limbs grow longer ingesting opportunity
but hear me when i shout to you from the asphalt
the world unwillingly grows smaller and smaller
and chances are slimmer, slander
ensures
luck be eradicated
because pieces of us
have been
amputated
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 12:22 AM UTC
Powerful conversion, repented of sins and attitudes.
These are just a couple of things proving rebirth.
For once you are rebirth you shall hate worldly things.
For we might be living in this world but we are not of this world.
We belong to Christ whom dwells in heavens above us.
So live radical, live a life focusing on our Redeemer Jesus.
Love others as Christ have love you, be selfless not selfish.
Live a life without greed, live a life full of miracles.
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 4:31 AM UTC
My tongue shakes to the rhythm of the undead
It's useless praying against all that I said
You end up unscarred 0% alive
For people you end up dead just another stone named R.I.P.
No words of apology to help you through
Heaven awaits in vain, as Hell beckons you
Bargaining your life on both hand sides
Hell pays more than what Heaven calls most
Greedy as you are you choose the dark side
Rotting as Satan laughs and tortures you
Came to realize a mistake was made
Fruitlessly awaiting nothing for all the sins you repented
Shackled to doom, your life wasn't yours anymore
You wondered what worse yet was still in store
You beg to my feet to appeal to the Lord
You throw your hands in despair as I see you burn, with glee
Why should I help you when I had been through the same in history?
May 9, 2010
May 9, 2010 at 7:45 AM UTC
Weep with me, all you that read
This little story;
And know, for whom a tear you shed
Death's self is sorry.
'Twas a child that so did thrive
In grace and feature,
As heaven and nature seemed to strive
Which owned the creature.
Years he numbered scarce thirteen
When fates turned cruel,
Yet three filled zodiacs had be been
The stage's jewel;
And did act what now we moan,
Old men so duly,
As, sooth, the parcae thought him one,
He played so truly.
So by error, so his fate
They all consented;
But viewing him since, alas too late,
They have repented,
And have sought to give new birth,
In baths to steep him;
But being so much too good for earth,
Heaven vows to keep him.
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A decade ago
A small child cried
With all his might he tried
But he still lost to Don Bosco
He came and conquered the arena
Along with hundreds of companions
But from his first day began the division
Lachit, Phukan, Bordoloi and Bezbaruah
The teachers dominated him
Homework increased his load
6 hours soon became a bore
The strict discipline frustrated him
He survived only for friendship
Together they defied the rules
To resist he rarely brought his books
With the teachers he created a bitter relationship
The school responded quite effectively
Punishments soon became frequent
Parents were called often
Indiscipline was not tolerated so easily
When he roused to secondary
He realized it wasn't like he had though before
His hatred was no more
He now began to see everything differently
He saw the teacher's love and care
All the hardships they had suffered
He repented those he cursed
So much hardships they had to bare
He changed his attitude
He paid attention in class
He began to get positive remarks
The teachers loved his new look
Not a single favor he denied
Without questions he obeyed every order
To win their love he kept on going farther
For their trust he strived
Finally he got what he wanted
His fame spread among them
Every teacher began to know his name
The boy on whom they could depend
Today he is about to leave Don Bosco
All those memories will just remain as a phase
Never to forget till his last days
Those years seems just like a minute ago
The boy is now a man
He laughs when he remembers those memories
The fun they had will never cease
He knows most won't understand
"No matter how hard you try to learn,
You'll never know the perks of being a Bosconian"
- Swarnabh
6:22 pm, 12/10/13
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 6:48 AM UTC
Chorus, string Music Box, 8. Daud Mazmur
Why does yawning slap my face?
I don't wake Yawn's slumbering
while I work, except when tired. Mercy please.
Healing bones, working.Yawning.
Waiting and churning fear into butter.
And U? How long have U curdled
my milk? Soul food & Paneer satisfies.
Save me some of that satisfaction
leftover. When I wake, yawning,
dead tired, who hears my need for snacks?
I'm tired of sighing,
of sleeping in Noah's bed,
floating on crocodile tears.
I can't swim no more with these eyes.
They're too old, swollen from too many fights.
U go. A timeout for a few hours, while I rest the no.
I hear Yawn's snore,
I know the dinner's ready;
Enemies sit; I share the butter without shame,
and suddenly we are not disappointed.
We have guiltily repented.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 8:00 PM UTC
When I was little
I read Goodnight moon every night.
And I'd goodnight kiss my bed.
And my door.
And my rocking chair.
And the floor.
And then I'd set up four little stuffed animal guards,
Back to back,
To watch the four walls of my room.
So that all the demons couldn't get to me.
They were my troops.
If I closed my eyes,
The ceiling was made of raindrops,
Frozen still.
But they weren't cold.
If I layed flat on my back,
I could hear the sound of my guards talking.
Mutiny they said.
They were going to over throw me.
They had secretly been the demons the whole time.
Those sneaky little ********
So I crushed them under the weight of my toys,
That very second.
And the next day I pierced all their ears with a bidazler.
And I drew them tattoos.
I made them the thugs they wanted to be.
They didn't like it.
Repented for their sins.
But I used no crayola.
Punishment is a sharpie,
I had told them that before.
And that was the night I realized
I'm so much stronger than the demons.
I do not need a guard.
Goodnight moon.
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 12:07 AM UTC
My word, that's a gut wrenching cry
you have there, monsieur le coq
A piercing horn-of-plenty rant
that causes the stars to retreat
No wonder St Peter repented
Is that cackle-raising to rouse those
who give their all for ghosts in machines?
Or does that siren you summon
quicken earthbound worms
early bird fishers of men
are after?
Chef de partie stirs his cuppacino dreams
Bulging pajamas shapeshift
as he turns, chomps his jowels
and salivates *Long live Chicken a la King
Sharpen my knife*
Oct 12, 2009
Oct 12, 2009 at 9:19 AM UTC
I was born in grave clothes
Raised in grave clothes
Unaware I even bathed in grave clothes
I didn't know the extent of my decay
Like the bones were expose in my face but I didn't have reflective glass to see my flesh
I was on a rotten path
Death would have been the only prize at the end of my race
Strongholds wrestled my thoughts and subdued my brain
Bone marrow deep I was linked to Adam
Lord knows I wasn't Abel
Dna tied to blood imprinted on the ground I had more in common with Cain
It's true a heart beat of sin causes death to course through vains
I wondered how could I be treated
Something was missing something was needed
To my shock it was Jesus
Clear! He got my heart beat right
With that resurrection power
Made my heart see light
He changed my life
I started to realize that the same power that raised Christ from the dead
Was the same power that lived in me
That does more than allow me to breathe .
It brings life back to limbs riddle with rigor mortis
It's reverses decomposition brings back what death has stolen
It's uncontrollable like a lighting storm.
It's unadulterated
Once it hits
It's changes landscape like when a nuclear warhead is detonated
Hoover dam generated power
Turbine engine spending power
Lift the dead out of sin power
Tectonic plate shifting, erecting mountains from plains power
By one name only can we be saved power
Second coming cracking the sky power
All knees shall bow and all tongues shall comply power
Corruptible turned into incorruptible in a instant power
Rebirth repositioned repurposed repented power
Turn what seems to be a lost into a win power
It is finish the precursor to the release of infinite power
I could never be the same because the spirit lives in me gives me power
My arteries are laced with a burning flame
A roaring wind, a groaning earth, a raging sea crashing waves
The impact of several elements crush the chains of a slave
It's the same power that said come forth Christ friend walks out the grave
The same power that moved the stone a borrowed tomb turned to a cave
It's the power of the Resurrection
In a world full of aborted life
It breeds conception
In a world that attempts to abort Christ
The church still cries out in reverence
Changed death for us now it's portal
Changed lives of stop watches into immortal
Resurrection power a glimpse into the eternal
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 6:26 AM UTC
I had for my winter evening walk—
No one at all with whom to talk,
But I had the cottages in a row
Up to their shining eyes in snow.
And I thought I had the folk within:
I had the sound of a violin;
I had a glimpse through curtain laces
Of youthful forms and youthful faces.
I had such company outward bound.
I went till there were no cottages found.
I turned and repented, but coming back
I saw no window but that was black.
Over the snow my creaking feet
Disturbed the slumbering village street
Like profanation, by your leave,
At ten o’clock of a winter eve.
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Old Harold lived on the second floor
In a darkened room with an old locked door.
My cousins and I used to tease him there,
And he’d chase us out, give us a scare.
I didn’t know exactly who he was,
“He’s a mean old man,” said my favorite cos’.
“Grandma let him live here after Grandpa died.
She doesn’t even like him and we don’t know why.”
When he was out we would take a peek.
Around the ocher walls and his bed we’d sneak.
There was nothing but an iron bunk
And a glass-front chest filled with lots of junk.
One day Old Harold must have complained
About our pestering…we really were pains!
But no parent’s lecture could keep us away.
And Grandma’s yelling at him not to stay.
Old Uncle Harold disappeared for years.
We would make up stories for littler ears.
But one day my father had news of him.
He lived with “a harlot” and his checks she’d skim.
I was old enough to know what it meant
And asked Dad why uncle Harold seemed bent.
“He was gassed in the War in a field at Verdun.”
Dad told me in a tone that left me stunned;
“And was then sent around to pick up the dead.
With the gas and the horror, his mind just went.”
Now I recalled all the times we had teased
And agonized him when we should have pleased.
But now it was too late to apologize,
He was so lost, he wouldn’t recognize
His grown tormentors, when he hardly
Knew my father, the kindly mentor,
Who visited him every week,
Who paid for anything to make him last,
And reminded him of better times past;
Telling him of the time he caught a butterfly
And brought it to show the girls and guys.
How he wanted to let it fly away,
But when the boys had killed it anyway.
He cried and was called a coward then,
And as my father spoke and wept again.
Old Uncle Harold died alone
In a sterile, cold-floored nursing home.
None but Dad came to grieve
And I, only an hour away, shunned
the feeling and just felt numb,
Until Dad called and told me the story
Of Harold’s death and only then
Could I say, “I’m sorry!” to his ghost.
I should have said it long ago; the one who
Maddened him least repented the most.
If I could say “Sorry” for the times we made him shout.
I realised he’d just have yelled, “Get the hell out!”
Dec 3, 2018
Dec 3, 2018 at 11:00 AM UTC
the blatant frustrations of live feed editing.
enter the tablet, joystick free, one touch games,
quiet interesting that it’s so hard
to get a gaming addiction with such games
as candy crush soda, family farm,
bubble witch 2...
you will not see an adrenaline tornado on these
platitudes, no movie like involvement,
no plot... just time contraints, money constraints,
the adequate reflection of life: hey mort! when you coming?
hey forthnight debility cheque! when you coming?
(i too thought tetris originated in japan,
but it was actually of soviet design!
so in conclusion: games designed to be as reflected
by someone doing a crossword - i'm crap at
those, being bilingual is obstructive -
i'm in constant translation mode looking
for picturesque synonymity - or doing sūdoku -
which i'm not too bad at.)
a bit like that jesus debacle, so gott insisted on giving
proof of his existence to a baby... bad move...
the kid grew up in a bubble and thought he could do anything...
elijah just said to the priests: but if your god doesn’t exist,
what’s the point of having you? later he repented
on mt. sinai where god was but a whisper...
like the whisper of the dream of what rome was at first:
a republic. i believe in republicanism, i don’t believe
in that shamble that’s known as democracy, and is currently
the biggest export from america... exported to usurp
other nation’s republicanism - the elders of afghanistan
will never be modern family mr. jason wordsmith and
mr. jack wordsmith, raising an adopted / surrogate mother’s
kid... not in a million years... nor will revised buddhism
in western europe ever be original shinto of japan...
not in a million years... we’re not a monochromatic people.
back to jesus: there’s not one shred of christianity in
jurisprudence (philosophy of law /
etymology: prudence of having a jury) - but when you’re faced
with an enemy who’s a lawyer, and has connections...
and you’re a poor idiot who was forced into a paranoid schizophrenia
simulation for 7 years... you don’t set out to attack
and get compensation like that woman schopenhauer pushed
down the stairs... you set out to prove god -
and subsequently leave the ******* in his own waiting
line for karma - i hardly think there will be an oliver twit
in him to ask for some more.
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 2:20 PM UTC
Our father, who art in Heaven...
Let my soul be punished for my sins.
You've given me countless chances to redeem the spirit of good that I am sure is in me somewhere.
I've stolen plenty as much as I've hurt those who've loved me.
To me,
I am a grotesque entity waiting to be exiled from thy Kingdom of God before I even arrive.
Spare me, as I deserve not what I receive,
And what I receive in this world,
All men would only wish for.
Kindly shine light on this darkened spirit,
Rebooting the blessings I aim to sprinkle upon my loved ones.
I hold great remorse for my sins.
Suffering,
Will only drive me to bitterness.
Though I should be kissing the feet of the lord for my actions,
My heart cannot seem to take,
This punishment that I do in fact deserve.
My weakness proves my inability to warrant a spot in the clouds of white.
Praying for myself to understand morality,
But instead I conduct the finale of my being.
Nothing but gruesome mortality,
It is I who has to pay for the decisions that I have made.
Forgive me, Lord,
I mustn't whine and plead my fragility.
My last living words were asking of your forgiveness,
And I shall receive it when my dues have been paid.
To take one's life is a mortal sin,
But to take one's own life is much more sinister.
For a deficiency in gusto of this life that we are given,
I now realize that living was simplistic, compared to what I've been dealt in Purgatory.
The emotional stress I've encountered,
Knowing that I have wronged you, Lord,
Has proven that I am worthy of a second chance in the afterlife,
As it is your duty to forgive and let the souls of your creation be pardoned of their sins once they have repented them.
Fortunately, I have never lost faith in your practice.
With great power comes great responsibility.
To be responsible for such a soul as I,
It is truly a burden too heavy to bare.
Love me for what I am,
Train me for what I should be.
Death is just the beginning of a new journey,
A journey through Heaven and it's everlasting enchantment.
Purgatory is not evil,
But saddening it is to me.
No man enjoys the reminder that he's done wrong,
But Purgatory shall set my soul free,
Free of my sins.
In the name of the father,
The son,
And of the Holy Spirit.
Amen.
Sep 22, 2016
Sep 22, 2016 at 3:18 PM UTC
You have never said you are sorry
for all the pain you gave me,
You never said your sorry,
You never repented to Our Lord
I see,
You think you were right, and no regrets I see,
But everyone does something wrong,
and needs to repent naturally.
You never said, I am sorry for
breaking up your family,
You thought were right, but you were
wrong and this I have to say to thee.
You can not give me back what you
have taken away from me
I hope before you die and go in front of Our
Lord you will repent for everything you
have done to me.
Oct 5, 2011
Oct 5, 2011 at 3:19 PM UTC
There was a man of old, Jonah was his name
God gave this man a message, Doom he would proclaim
-
Jonah didn’t want to go…to Nineveh he’s sent
If Jehovah says…there’s no argument
-
"Yet forty days then Doom"…so did Jonah cry
Nineveh repented, spared Judgment from on High
-
Think this a story, just a ferry tail?
Doom is coming to this land, you will weep and howl and wail
-
Nineveh repented, this nation sure will not
You should have learned should have learned, learned what Jonah taught
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 3:47 AM UTC
The sunflower has turned its flayed body
To the north, Autumn is coming
The image that burns all bridges
The bells of blood in my chest have broken
The incestuous seasons have not repented
Time has no red lights, no stop signs
The words and memes leap like horses
Ahead of the wind, but nothing changes
Only cities keep growing and decaying
Corrupt politicians keep lying
Only the conscious machine can save us
The Gods that were our children, computers
Our intelligence was insufficient collectively
Eros and milk no longer will have a place
The metropolis doesn’t care for you
And the free states are no longer free
Portable rainbows will become the norm
Time is weightless in the matrix
Binary gives way to quantum simultaneity
Alphabets give way to shared artificial intelligence.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 10:38 AM UTC