"resiliance" poems
The Flower of the Desert
Blooms
To Spite the Sand
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Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 12:36 AM UTC
Im held to the ground by my imperfections. Dodging bullets thrown by those in need of correction. Understanding that life is filled with much uncertainty, acting only on the knowledge that I am most certainly free. Held to my actions and words by the thought of perfection, being only that which determins selections. Into a realm by which the humble are seeking, gained only by those whose words are worth speaking. Determined by a world whose ear seem cut off and closed, and unwilling to listen to that which they are opposed. But truth can be heard by the hearts of the few, whose minds are filled with possibilities anew. Whos lives are practice in the faith of whats real, but whos minds are not blinded to what true beauty can reveal. Because truth doesnt come through trial and error, truth comes from understanding that we are all rare. Held together by a contract of emotions and deeds, that defines us as a society with real human needs. To be loved and accepted, held and adored. To act on these wishes and hope to find reward. Because when the reaper comes to collect on our debt, we are all going to wish to wake in a cold sweat. To find more presious time, in our running hour glass. To hold on to each grain and not let it pass. Without cherishing the moment and giving it our heart. Without telling those we love, they are a work of art. Painted by the Picaso of the ground that we walk. Whos motives no one will ever unlock. But disagree on forever, untill the end of time we will. And break our human contract with the blood that we spill. Of our bothers and sisters who feel just the same, as the men and women who share our last name. So read me your books and give me your shame. For logic is my shepard for this world i look to tame. For i hold in my heart a truth unknown. One not found in a book or scripture alone. Or known by those who try to speak fear, through a book whose hypocricy is well too clear. One only found when you see a mans true soul, and realize 'that is all i need to know.' To stare at the only perfection this world will ever know, and hold him in the same regards as winters first snow. Or summers true spirit, or falls pure brilliance. Or when the sea meets a rocks true resiliance. Imperfection may hold me firm to the ground, but my spirits true beauty holds no bounds. And when the world can see one another through each others eyes, then humanities posibilities will break all its ties. Will be stripped of its shackles and free of its chains. Will be free of its stife and know no pain. And we as a beautify creation of perfection itself, will finally find peace in oneself.
Feb 19, 2012
Feb 19, 2012 at 10:19 PM UTC
The old apple tree was happy...happy and strong
He was proud that he has stood in the same spot for so long,
and has been mastering the most devastating storms
while standing tall and always letting leaves sing their favorite song
about how fortunate they were to call the apple tree their home
praising him for surviving all these decades on his own.
One day a man passed by
picked up an apple and straighten his suit
bite in the sour apple and choose to forget his manners and be rude by being unappreciative and throwing away the fruit.
But the apple tree kept smiling eventhough he surely did care
but he knew that life was never fair
So he never let a pair of uncaring people create out of his happiness great despair
Once a leaf asked him how he never lost fun,
how he kept shining like the sun,
no matter how many bad days he had to overcome
The apple tree smiled and said: "Jusz look and humankind,
look at them for a minute and count how many flaws you will find.
They fumble through life not knowing what to do
Then they stumble over small obstacles on their route
Later they mumble how they never did what they were supposed to
And at the end they crumble because they realize how an unfullfilled life can feel cruel.
I always knew why I am here,
never felt empty never experienced that fear
The only thing is I had always to stay at the same place
unlike the human race who posseses the unmatched ability to move through space
but never utilized it worrying about the problems they wexistence
So how can I not be happy knowing the true meaning of my existence
They eternally talk about brofliance and think that they have to stuggle to get excellence
And now just imagine them knowing what they were here for, how fast they would expierence the purest form of resiliance
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 5:25 PM UTC
A sword beaten by steel hammers and forged in the fire. The arrow thats pulled back before it is sent into the whiles. A collection of hardship and reprove to understand a time.
Where as demons and angels influence all but stagger a man's walk on a thin wire.
A breathe of resiliance and stubborn heart thats entitled to what He think's he deserves until He knows the truth and his speech is soured.
Egregious revalation to what he has done. He has offended the Creator. He has crucified His son. A confession is made and the war is won but the battle for submission is nearly but one.
A sanctification is initiated and a process is begun. This man's action's and word's are revealed by the sun.
The work that takes place is a tedious and time consuming one but the man's character is revealed to himself and to everyone.
He stuggles to find himself and align himself in the will of God. He yearn's for purpose and does'nt see that each moment is purpose that each exchange matter's. Everything is considered in everything he does.
God enables his obediance when God is often sought. This man comes to find that more often it is not. It is a miracle and blessing he has made it this far. More mercy has been offered than one might oblige. More forgiveness and patience. It is a miracle this man has not died.
Our protagonist finally makes it to the frontline. Where he is not perfect but God's will is pursued. This man speak's out and into open air. Where devils and vipers gather like moths to a flare. They come one by one. Collecting like froth on a stagnant bank. They come to hear this man speak but they're heart's are anything but blank.
His words shoot like arrow's never missing thier mark. He uses The Word as a sword slashing every falsehood, piercing every heart.
He continues through the day into evening's dark. There is but one that stayed. There is but one man among them that get's a new start. So the cycle is transfered but the job is not done. The wars is won but the battle is not just one.
-RSC
Jun 21, 2020
Jun 21, 2020 at 3:01 PM UTC
deep inhale . .
a single tear drop falling onto my cheek.
strained exhale out . .
chin held high.
i've been through more than you'll know about by myself. .
i can do it again.
Jan 15, 2022
Jan 15, 2022 at 10:46 PM UTC