"slicing" poems
It happened in the dead of night while I was slicing bread for a guilty snack.
My attention was caught by the scuttering of a raccoon outside my window.
That was, I believe, the first time I noticed my strange tendencies as an unusual
human.
I gave the raccoon a piece of bread, my subconscious well aware of the consequences.
Well aware that a raccoon that is fed will always come back for more.
The enticing beauty of my cutting knife was the symptom.
The bread, my hungry curiosity.
The raccoon, an urge.
The moon increments its phase and reflects that much more light off of my cutting
knife.
The very same light that glistens in the eyes of my raccoon friend.
I slice the bread, fresh and soft. The raccoon becomes excited.
or perhaps I'm merely projecting my emotions onto the newly-satisfied animal.
The raccoon has taken to following me.
You could say that we've gotten quite used to each other.
The raccoon becomes hungry more and more frequently, so my bread is always handy.
Every time I brandish my cutting knife the raccoon shows me its excitement.
A rush of blood. Classic Pavlovian conditioning. I slice the bread.
And I feed myself again.
Mar 13, 2019
Mar 13, 2019 at 5:44 PM UTC
"Tomorrow's Swan"
beautiful and proud
reflecting on nights water
is tomorrow's swan
"Motionless"
Gently flowing
the liquid mirrored quiet
motionless I cry
"Beautiful Swan"
a beautiful swan
the river makes no sound
in a timeless space
"Her Wings"
whistles of her wings
slicing through the cool waves
stillness of the swan
"Swan Attack"
I watch from the shore
her struggle to stay afloat
an attacking swan
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 5:00 PM UTC
Some days, it feels like the only thing I need in life is a cellphone.
With a cellphone, I can spend my time flinging birds into pigs,
Slicing fruit, and collecting coins,
Never stopping until I get the high score.
I can swipe, poke, drag my finger
Across a screen of light,
Letting the thrill of technology override my soul.
With a cellphone, I can write lol a million times,
Without a single chuckle escaping from my lips,
And mask my life with a fake profile,
And an artificial smile,
And a status update every once in a while,
To show the World Wide Web my embellished life style.
With a cellphone, I don’t need to stop and smell the roses,
When there’s an app for that.
Why would I lay back and watch the vibrant colors of the sunset,
When it can be downloaded off the Internet?
Why would anyone bother to take risks,
To laugh with friends,
To cry alone,
To feel alive…
When there’s a cellphone in your back pocket?
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 8:09 PM UTC
in the hospitals and jails
it's the worst
in madhouses
it's the worst
in penthouses
it's the worst
in skid row flophouses
it's the worst
at poetry readings
at rock concerts
at benefits for the disabled
it's the worst
at funerals
at weddings
it's the worst
at parades
at skating rinks
at ****** ******
it's the worst
at midnight
at 3 a.m.
at 5:45 p.m.
it's the worst
falling through the sky
firing squads
that's the best
thinking of India
looking at popcorn stands
watching the bull get the matador
that's the best
boxed lightbulbs
an old dog scratching
peanuts in a celluloid bag
that's the best
spraying roaches
a clean pair of stockings
natural guts defeating natural talent
that's the best
in front of firing squads
throwing crusts to seagulls
slicing tomatoes
that's the best
rugs with cigarette burns
cracks in sidewalks
waitresses still sane
that's the best
my hands dead
my heart dead
silence
adagio of rocks
the world ablaze
that's the best
for me.
13.8k
yesterday i saw dolphins
i swam with dolphins
their black knife jackknife dorsal-whatevers
slicing the water, scalpels into flesh,
disappearing, reappearing, disappearing,
reappearing
a herd of silent Lamborghini cracking jokes at my expense
(looks plural to me)
yesterday i saw dolphins
i chatted with an old man
who said they're laughing all the time, diving for *******
"Oh yeah, we get dolphins here,"
he might as well tell me Jesus lives there, too
or some kind of black magic came through
making these creatures appear
his nonchalance is weird
yesterday i swam with dolphins
well, saw, not swam, viewed, not caressed
but
all i want to do is see them
all i want to do is breathe with them
all i want to do is float in the same sea with them
my heart ripped to pieces in appreciation
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 11:29 AM UTC
2 men,
that's it.
2 men
have known me,
inside, they fit.
Doped out
of my mind;
it's hard to recall.
Bits and pieces,
flashes of memory.
I was a living rag doll.
Barely breathing,
he takes me from behind.
Pulls my hair,
and says,
"I'm gonna make you mine!"
I think it happened
three times,
but who really knows?
When your brain's
as high as mine goes.
I can't call it ****
I was a willing participant.
Numb to the bones,
so with it I went.
When it all fell apart;
my secrets exposed,
he wrote me something
that was no longer prose.
His words were razor blades,
slicing the skin with ease.
I kept myself in my own prison;
over, my heart began to freeze.
"A willing **** victim",
is what he called me.
Sick to my stomach
for allowing him in,
I lay my head on the pillow
to cry for a 5 year old sin.
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 12:02 AM UTC
Light train chugging, working to outrun
Over exerting, pulling along your freight
Sand is running out under the diminishing sun
Fastidiously you tug on your enormous weight
Segmented equal in seven hulking proportions
Weaving between sleeping rocky giants
Assertion in your drive gifted from the high heavens
Borne of light your cargo load of tenants
Silver blurred rays glinting back as reply
As you power your way through
Defying seconds, before the last rays should die
Against odds, delivering what is due
Questing to alleviate my inflicted darkness
Spear of brilliance slicing through my mind
Illuminating the farthest and tiniest of crevices
Nook and crannies that willed me blind
Careful manoeuvring to keep your balance
Through scenic views fraught with treachery
Furiously working to keep your cadence
Hopeful of unloading the load you carry
What lies dormant in that cargo of yours?
What sleeps easy within those boxcars?
What stokes the fire to diligently run your course?
What promises you bear, travelling near and far?
Bales of hope and crates of strength
Supplies of kindness and self-worth
Reside within your immense length
Intact and lay quiet within your formidable girth
Reliant on the light that fuels and feeds
Your axles seem tireless guiding forth those wheels
Thundering over land with the power of a thousand steeds
Armed to your teeth with alloys and steels
Expelling grit and dirt as you pummelled across
Grey-white fumes, shoot up to the sky
Flag flogged by wind, billow and toss
Blaring your whistle as you race on by
Propelling forward, horizon up ahead
There it is...in all its tenebrous glory
Darkened locomotive seething mad with dread
Brace for the clash and the loads the two carry
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 8:03 AM UTC
Do you want a slice of cake,
might keep you going just for now.
But as you are not used to eating,
you have the hooves we'll keep the cow.
The modern world is dying younger,
unlike those in the poorer east.
Who die through lack of food and water,
we're dying because we're obese.
In this modern city arena,
it seems our portion is the more
free health and overwhelming safety
but we save that small slice for the poor.
The waste is massive, over burdened,
tons of food are chucked away.
As we stick to our sell by clearance
just think for what so many pray.
Do we need such a massive slice,
even half would fill our needs.
The west gets fat the east is wanting
scrubbing around for scraps and seeds.
So next time when feasting in McDonalds,
and washing down with large milkshake.
Try and see your own reflexion
and you'll see whom eats all the cake.
Before you leave that busy food-hall,
just have a quick look in the bin
and you will see the unholy waste,
perhaps you'll also see the sin.
The slicing of this planets cake
seems to be divided wrong.
So cut it into a fairer slices
and send it to where it belongs.
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 2:54 PM UTC
That metaphorical
knife?
Cuts Deep,
So very Sharp
and painful
slicing into my soul
I wish you'd taken it
with you
when you said you had
to go...
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 10:39 AM UTC
A tree stands still just outside,
Cast by sunlight through glass windows,
A silhouette reflected on a white wall,
An amorphous imprint of the tree on the wall.
Much like my memories,
Reflected through thoughts,
The abstract outlines of a figure like undefined edges of the shadow,
The changing colors of the background merging into a haze,
The shadows of movement cast by light from unexplained sources,
Define the silhouette of my memory.
I touch the silhouette,
My hand meets the wall,
I cannot touch the tree at all,
Like my memories reflected through feelings,
The tickles from an embrace of leaves that gather and play,
The bits of laughter bouncing off branches, it fades
The comfort of a voice as it echoes upward lost in tangles of branches and twigs
The hurt and then the tears like sap running through a cut,
Are intangible memories of feelings, a silhouette.
The silhouette of the tree,
There is mystery, there is beauty,
A wind that blows,
The branches sway and the silhouette morphs,
Within loss, a freedom that dances and twirls the shadow,
Within anger, a passion runs wild like leaves slicing through a breeze,
Within pain, a compassion that gives and branches forth,
And within my memories,
From the silhouette, from the reflection,
I see reality as vibrant as the tree.
Jul 21, 2016
Jul 21, 2016 at 11:10 PM UTC
My life is like a river
winding down unto the sea
and if you sail my waters
then you can get a look at me
I may not be the greatest
of the rivers which have been
but you'll never find a body
that is more proud or genuine
Starting at my source
My family and home
filling me with substance
as I flow off on my own
my water, crystal-clear
alive with plant and fish
and to always be that way
is the one thing that I wish
Friends contribute water
and it helps me as I grow
Flowing ever deeper
running faster as I go
Some would irrigate me
but i'll never be contained
others hope to **** me
but I cannot be restrained
Raging with my water
sometimes my borders overflow
as I give back the sediment
thad borrowed long ago
my water moving mountains
slicing channels through the land
I may not be the greatest
but my canyons have been grand
When I wished to merge
another river I did find
and at once our separate waters
had forever been combined
Our banks were overflowing
from the substance that we shared
and so we pass it on
into the rivers we did bear
Meandering through life
My river not as deep
My water not as clear
and my angle not as steep
But my inside still is living
and that's how I will always be
Until my waters do depart me
when I flow into the sea.
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 1:18 AM UTC
I’m sorry I’m sorry
I said, Stepping in
The mental hospital
I’m not right in the head
I’ve been constantly slicing
Cutting through skin
To escape myself
To survive my hell
I wish to see your face
when they finally let me free.
I wish you would write
or call me just once
But for now, just visions of you
While I’m drowning
In my own crimson blood
Tearing
Splitting
Ripping
Searching for the key
To this mental prison
The nurse walks away
After haven given
Me some medication
Something to calm me
The straight jacket now
Holding me firm
They put me down
I Sit there an empty stare
They filled me up with drugs
keeping my head in narcotic haze.
Pill after pill all day, every day
I am broken and defeated
Paralyzed
Broken
Alone
Sitting here in a mental home.
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 11:44 PM UTC
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pin rest; snug as a gun.
Under my window, a clean rasping sound
When the ***** sinks into gravelly ground:
My father, digging. I look down
Till his straining **** among the flowerbeds
Bends low, comes up twenty years away
Stooping in rhythm through potato drills
Where he was digging.
The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft
Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep
To scatter new potatoes that we picked,
Loving their cool hardness in our hands.
By God, the old man could handle a *****
Just like his old man.
My grandfather cut more turf in a day
Than any other man on Toner's bog.
Once I carried him milk in a bottle
Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up
To drink it, then fell to right away
Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods
Over his shoulder, going down and down
For the good turf. Digging.
The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap
Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge
Through living roots awaken in my head.
But I've no ***** to follow men like them.
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I'll dig with it.
6.6k
Feelings passed and hours are gone.
Distracted by these demons
Of right and wrong.
Anxiety now at its prime
Id wince and cry
Or count the hours to the time I'd die.
Alone I feel, within this space.
Slicing my arms in disgrace.
Her face still stuck in my mind.
Her eyes, her hair, her lips which I find...
So tempting.
But I am only wasting my breath.
Shaking hands with ideas of death.
Hoping this pathetic pain will subside.
Till then this heartache is by my side.
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 11:20 AM UTC
I am tired of my grades determining my worth
I am tired of negativity stealing my happiness
I am tired of ******** slicing through my inner peace
I am tired of fixing something when someone always messing with it
I am tired of thinking but still asking
I am tired of looking but still searching
I am tired of sleeping but still dreaming
I am tired of reminiscing but still remembering
I am tired of loving but still wondering
I am tired of admiring but still idolizing
I am tired of everything but still hoping
I am tired of expecting but still waiting
I am tired of living but afraid of dying
I am tired of crying
I am tired of yelling
I am tired of being sad
I am tired of pretending
I am tired of being alone
I am tired of feeling crazy
I am tired of feeling stuck
I am tired of needing help
I am tired of missing things
I am tired of being different
I am tired of missing people
I am tired of feeling worthless
I am tired of feeling empty inside
I am tired of not being able to just let go
I am tired of wishing i could start all over
I am tired of dreaming of a life i will never have
I'm tired of it
I'm so tired
but most of all
I'm just tired of being tired
I know i'm tired
I know i'm physically and emotionally drained
but I have to keep going
Jul 22, 2017
Jul 22, 2017 at 1:17 PM UTC
People say they want to live in a small town,
but when I look out my window
all I see is
Zero.
I look out my left window,
Zero.
I glance out my right window,
Zero.
The daily routines,
an Act Without Words.
We go through the motions in a small town,
get up, smile at people we hate,
hope for something more,
repeat.
In a small town
you bite your tongue,
just to keep the peace.
Did you bleed today?
There’s no point in asking
how someone is
because we already know.
Each new piece of gossip
strings us along,
Beckons
teases.
The small town will hold
anything over your head.
It will dangle a divorce
suspend a separation
and hang up a hook up.
In a small town,
the space between people’s teeth
revealed by their fake smiles
serve as cre-
Nells
People rave about the
fields of grass, and the trees.
In each patch of green
lies un lucky Clov-
ers
The fresh air is fetid.
The stink of the town’s
***** laundry is
enough to make
any argument for the town Null.
Zero.
It’s almost genetic,
the little Nagg-
lings in the school yard,
slicing, dividing, cutting
people like cake.
Settling for small town life,
is a fate worse than Hamm-
lets think about it.
No excitement.
No privacy.
No trust.
Zero.
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 3:35 PM UTC
We are each our own moon.
Charismatic souls reflecting sunlight,
As if to illuminate a room,
We glow against black, void; an endless night.
Like a caterpillar to a butterfly, emerging from a tight knit cocoon,
Spreading each wing, confidently slicing the evening air…taking flight.
Or even a flower freshly bloomed on a midsummer’s afternoon.
The moon: a flower, silently smiling despite the plight.
Aside from what each day shuffles in; each night simmers out
No matter how often we feel we have lost ourselves…
Or leave way to fill our heads with doubt.
With recurring assumptions of a worldwide redemption:omnipotent stealth.
Needn't some take longer than others to sprout?
Staring blankly into a mirror, or a moonless night sky: hungry for answers, yet facing an empty shelf.
However, that doesn't infer we embark on a divergent route.
Simply due to lack of clarity, lack of reasoning behind each card dealt.
With that in mind,
Just as the moon,true colors may dwindle…they may fade, yet in essence are always there.
Even on a cloudy day, or when the sunshine is at its peak…and just as well for the blind.
Full moon, half moon, new moon…waxing, waning: dynamic phases the night sky shares.
Moon phases;moody faces…natures way of emphasizing personality defined.
Notwithstanding the dark side, each moon may wear.
Like a guilty pleasure manifesting in a secret shrine,
We all suppress a certain side; to pompous to face reality genuinely bare.
Fragments of our faces may always be hidden,
But there’s one thing that will never absorb into the eclipse: emotion.
Some figure each phase, each wave of vibes … simply fate already written.
Devils advocate begs to differ… let your mind emit all distraction and harmonize with the ocean.
Effervescent rays,warm barrels in which emotions, old and new, have ridden.
Chaotically contradicting thoughts, pulling and pushing, creating the paradox of serene commotion.
A world of words from each moon face: a beautiful encryption.
We are each our own moon, written in the waves, compelled by life’s devotion.
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 1:13 AM UTC
......was a freezing morning.
no rooster woke me....i opened
my eyes at first light of dawn,
sipped hot coffee....my thoughts,
recalling....traveling, with the swirling steam...
turkey wasn't done yet,
but, hours before, table was already set...
while awaiting guests,
I leant on the counter...my head, to rest,
i looked outside the small window
and was greeted by a full moon, aglow...
there was so much food on the table...weariness
was healed by laughter...conversations touched
on weather, politics, food...they refused to end,
glasses sparkled with bubbly wine....sliced meat
was arranged on a big tray...baked sweet potato
with caramel smelled, tasted good...broccoli rave
was green and spicy...i didn't know potato salad
could taste good without meat!....coffee and pies
came next.....the dogs, communicated with their
eyes and paws...socializing, too, like their masters,
i saw what was left, after slicing the plump roasted
fowl...a skeleton, still with thick strands of meat, and
the palatable stuffing made with onions and prunes.
dishes were washed, kitchen was back in order,
after showering....everyone rushed to their beds,
yet, i had to peep out the window, one last time...
the full moon, still was upon us...confirming its
presence....a long time witness to the moments
we celebrate........encouraging our moods,
our thoughts.....our hearts.......even when
it's not a thanksgiving night..
Sally
Copyright Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
November 23, 2018
Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 10:38 AM UTC
There's an item that's truly essential
Of a roughly cylindrical frame
It's a marvel of modern invention
And a legend it duly became
It surpasses the birth of electric
And eclipses the slicing of bread
If it wasn't for this innovation
Then I think I would surely be dead
Oh, Gaffer-tape, Gaffer-tape
Stick with me
Fix my wardrobe
Effortlessly
Hold up the curtains
Wax my thighs
Gaffer-tape Gaffer-tape
Improvise
It's useful for picking up hamsters
And it serves as a passable tie
As a gag for a amateur gangster
Or the crust of a blueberry pie
For a mite of podiatry pleasure
You can use it for mending your socks
If Pandora had come up against it
Then she'd never have opened her box
Oh, Gaffer-tape, Gaffer-tape
Holding fast
Adhesive savior
Unsurpassed
Smooth as mirror glass
Diamond tough
Gaffer-tape, Gaffer-tape
Marvelous stuff
It's bringing our nations together
And it's holding them firmly in place
You can use it to pull back your wrinkles
For a genuine Hollywood face
It'd surely have saved the Titanic
And they took seven rolls to the moon
Keep it near and be calm in a crisis
And predicaments inopportune
Oh, Gaffer-tape, Gaffer-tape
Mending sails
If you're tired
Of hammering nails
Buy some now
It's a thing to behold
Gaffer-tape, Gaffer-tape
Solid gold
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 7:57 PM UTC
petals.
petals everywhere.
flower petals.
they flood my stomach, overfill into my throat, and spill out of my mouth.
i wretch.
i heave.
i grip the skin on my legs for purchase.
the petals just don't stop.
petals.
petals everywhere.
in the morning, when i first wake up, petals.
in the evening, when i'm settling in and feeling lonely, petals.
at night, when i'm alone in the dark with my thoughts, petals.
more wretching and heaving.
the petals just won't stop.
petals.
petals everywhere.
when i see your face, petals fly out of my mouth.
out of my mouth and onto the cold, unforgiving concrete.
my knees buckle.
you whisper in a soft voice that could lull me into a blissful slumber.
"are you alright?"
i wretch.
i heave.
why won't these petals go away?
petals.
petals everywhere.
my stomach has become a garden.
has become your garden.
your smile blooms inside of me.
your voice blossoms like a morning glory.
i could get the surgery.
i could get it and forget about you.
about the wretching.
about the heaving.
the petals could go away.
slicing.
dicing.
dissecting.
petals.
petals nowhere.
petals no longer litter the ground i walk.
the bed i sleep in.
the clothes that itch my dry skin.
the sight of your face is now a reminder to me.
a reminder that you are a person.
a person who never appreciated gardening in the first place.
no more wretching.
no more heaving.
no more petals.
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 3:19 AM UTC
Peaches
We used to pick them fresh,
Right off the branch,
From the tree in the front yard
And place them in a basket
To take inside and taste and devour.
You’d wash them for me,
Me too tiny to reach the sink,
Then take the knife
And carve, swiftly,
Slicing off a smiling slice
For me to eat.
Now your twirled fingers
And paper skin can carve
Only lopsided smiles,
Gnarled and unfamiliar.
Let me take the knife
And dig into peaches
For you to enjoy.
Nov 8, 2011
Nov 8, 2011 at 6:51 PM UTC
practicing mental gymnastics
insipid memories
seeping their way past
defensive buffers
remembering repressed poisons
as a catalyst for making
wiser decisions
lackadaisical reactions to
sharply defined parallaxes
warrant an immediate shift
fractal spectacles
the labyrinth of my innards
inhale the cosmological smoke of suggestion
words become meaningless
when repeated exhaustively
semantic satiation
slicing away at true intentions
paving the way to
false inventiveness
shallow river beds are loud
prouder than their counterparts
insecurity overshadows
a lack of faith in the faint of heart
everything worthwhile
falls apart
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 1:38 AM UTC
Orcas in Puget Sound
Along the road, abandoned wild apple trees bend
with their heavy loads, dusty skirts of blackberry bushes
purpling fingers, piercing flesh
mouths ringed with berry juice, vampires all.
Along San Juan Island salmon leap clear
out of the briny water, just yards ahead of their predators,
Orcas, dorsal fins curving shiny black, sluicing and slicing
the surface like sharpened knives
They have bred with one another for 10,000 years
trolled these waters through famine, earthquakes, world wars
through shifting continents, glacial avalanches,
through the extinction of whole civilizations.
Standing on a cliff, my daughter and I
watch the Orcas churning the water - studies in grace
the largest gem on the necklace of a great food chain
and when we sleep we too chase
the great King Salmon of our deepest dreams,
the fathers we lost, the currents that bear along children
Translucent jellyfish, palm sized, breath below
sideways exhale, convulsive inhale
umbrellas opening and closing a thousand years or more
sliding through forests of brown kelp where mollusks cling
We have clung like this to one another, with my body
thrown over hers for protection and her exhaling away from me
If Mama Orca keeps her young close, so will I
If there are salmon to chase and harbor seals to command, so we will
Arcing in the late August sky
slapping and parting the surface, over and over
the whales, lords of the Sound, swim in our brains as we sleep
sparkle against blackening waters
You are of my body from my body cleaving there for 10,000 years
Whatever quarrels there are on land vaporize
In the presence of these creatures,
arcing against all that is temporal, vicious, small,
studies in power and grace
The tide pulls out, skimming across rocks and oysters in their muddy beds
But this need to care for you remains as big as an Orca
your appetite for adventure as voracious
and I watch you, my child, disappearing with summer
into high school, into womanhood, into
the salty, light-dappled ocean
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 4:15 PM UTC
I walk along a path
I do not know
But falter left nor right,
And, welcoming the light
Of birches, still and white
As sleeping snow,
A raven, coat that shimmers
Soft as coal,
Beside me flutters square
And, drawn like to a snare,
Alights upon the air
As on a knoll.
A ripened chestnut, trapped
Within his maw
And hard as ancient ice,
Is tightened by the vise
And shatters at the slicing
Of his jaw
To crumble into dust,
Which quick cascades
And settles, as it slows,
To carefully compose
The shape of raven toes
Where he parades.
The raven flies ahead
And, with a stamp,
His talons take a grip
Atop a wooden tip
Of birches, dead and stripped
To form a ramp.
I stumble after, fixed
Through field of black
As in a telescope,
And, clawing at the slope,
I climb it with a hope
To touch his back
And ****** a hand ahead
Just as he slumps,
Both limp but stiff, to lie
Upon his side and die.
I meet his cloudy eye
Upon the stump,
Then lift my head to find
A willow sprig,
A tendril hanging free
For me to grip. Indeed,
I climb the strip of tree,
The little twig,
And swivel in the air,
As if by choice.
I hear a humming, low,
Resounding from below—
The raven’s eyes, aglow
With Odin’s voice.
Like lightbulbs flicker, dim
with yellow light,
They sharpen with the tones
That bellow from his bones—
This god and poet moans
His heavy spite:
He damns me to the lifetime
of a bird.
My sin, I do not know
But bear the bitter woe
And close my eyes to focus
On this word:
Saṃsāra. So I feel my
Senses spill
Upon the ground
And flood out all around
And swallow every sound
Till all is still.
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 5:50 PM UTC
If you feel you have no reason to forgive someone,
Consider this one - forgive because you deserve peace of mind.
Holding a grudge is like making your worst enemy the center of your life,
Don't give such authority to anyone,
A grudge only hurts you,so what's the point of holding it?
Its like holding a really sharp edged knife hoping it'll slice your enemys fingers when in the actual sense its slicing your own.
We all wish grudges could hurt the ones we hold them against but sadly they only hurt us.
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 10:04 AM UTC