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So many days  I've  waited for you
Still no answers to this puzzle
Why the silence?

I went through a war
Each day I awake
wishing to communicate
I'm turning to the stars

I'm stronger now
I'm stronger now
I'm stronger now

This has been going on too long
It's time to write my song
I am stronger now

Stronger now
Stronger now
Stronger now
It's time to write my song

Why the silence?
You left me no reasons
I'm still missing you in every season
I am stronger now

Stronger now
Stronger now
Stronger now

It's time to write my song
This has been going on to long
I am stronger now
Stronger now
Kisha Rivera Jan 2014
I am a lot stronger than pain may feel.
I am a lot stronger than people give me credit for. That's real!

I am a lot stronger than fear at its best.
I am a lot stronger than the secrets in my closet and the rest of the mess!

I am a lot stronger than what "they" say.
I am a lot stronger because my Heavenly Father created me this way.

I was built to last, not fail nor quit.
I am stronger than the wind, fire or the strongest hit.
Stronger in mind, body, and wit.
Stronger in strength, even in my weakest, I'm physically fit.

I thank God I have the ability to stand.
Through the toughest times, I'm able to still obey the commands.
God has blessed me. So I cannot allow life to sink like quicksand.
Bellie-boo Dec 2015
The further she strides from me,
the stronger my desire to die becomes.
The further she cares for me,
the stronger my regret becomes.
The further she leaves me,
the stronger I welcome my knife into my lungs.

The more I want to die,
The more I consider her,
The more I think of her,
The more I want to live.


The further she is from me,
the stronger my feelings of harm becomes.
The further she distances from me,
the stronger my loneliness becomes,
The further she thinks of my,
the stronger my guilt becomes.

For if I die,
How long will she cry?
Will she believe it a lie?
She will want to die,
I pray this falsify.


The further she strides from me,
the stronger my desire to die becomes.
The further she cares for me,
the stronger my regret becomes.
The further she leaves me,
the stronger I welcome my knife into my lungs.

The more I want to die,
The closer she draws to me,
The closer she is to me,
The less I want to die.


The further she is from me,
the stronger my crave for she becomes.
The further she delves into me,
the stronger my desire to breath becomes.
The further she surrounds me,
the stronger my will becomes.

Because,
I wake for her,
I dress for her,
I run for her,
I eat for her,
I breath for her,
I sing for her,
I live for her.

*But the further she walks away from me...
Elle Dougherty Nov 2010
a small thing, aged 6, has small knees
braced in terror against the wall and one small hand
gripping the towel rack above its small head
and there is someone stronger about - he hears the noises of the small thing
from far away and
he is annoyed.
because the small thing is misbehaving.
making a scene. it has to shut up or the neighbors will hear.
small thing, aged 6, hears heavy footsteps of someone stronger stalking the hallway,
searching for it,
flexing his broad, dark hands so
small thing, aged 6, tries to choke down its screams and
tries to cram itself into the farthest corner or
cover itself with its fine, blonde hair, but
someone stronger sniffs out the small thing’s small hand on the towel bar and
brings it down from the wall with one heavy gesture.
small thing, aged 6, is crying for forgiveness with small hiccups
but someone stronger has no patience for small things.
someone stronger is moving quickly, back into the hallway,
a small thing thrashing in his grip.
someone stronger likes to make noises with his hands and sometimes,
small things get in the way.
sometimes,
small thing’s small body hangs from its small arm
hanging from someone stronger’s horrible hands
floating up, away from the carpet (or tile or bed).
someone stronger likes to throw his weight around but sometimes,
his own is not enough so he uses the weight of a small thing, too.
someone stronger likes the sounds of snaps and cracks.
small thing, aged 6, once had a mother who loved it
but this time, the small thing’s mother is
downstairs where someone stronger left her, and she is
angry with everything and
putting her shoes on to drive to the doctor.
peter oram Dec 2011
AMBIGRAM VIII

Recto:

Yesterday was Christmas, and the days
already start to grow a little longer.
In our hand, the new year‘s fledgling, stronger
though more fragile too in many ways

than this bedraggled, aging crow, its song a
a sad, repeated phrase among the blackened
trees along a river. So sit back and
raise your glasses to it, do the conga,

auld lang syne, then hit the sack. And black and
white explode, a throng of rainbows—gaze!
You‘ll see it, wakened in  the morning haze,
ascending as the tethering s?tring is slackened:

Verso:

Yesterday was Christmas, and
the days already start to grow
a little longer. In our hand,

the new year‘s fledgling, stronger  though
more fragile too in many ways
than this bedraggled, aging crow,

its song a sad, repeated phrase
among the blackened trees along a
river. So sit back and raise

your glasses to it, do the conga,
auld lang syne, then hit the sack. And
And black and white explode, a throng of

rainbows—gaze! You‘ll see it, wakened
in the morning haze, ascend-
ing as the tethering string is slackened.






















































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AMBIGRAM
­
Recto:

Yesterday was Christmas, and the days
already start to grow a little longer.
In our hand, the new year‘s fledgling, stronger
though more fragile too in many ways

than this bedraggled, aging crow, its song a
a sad, repeated phrase among the blackened
trees along a river. So sit back and
raise your glasses to it, do the conga,

auld lang syne, then hit the sack. And black and
white explode, a throng of rainbows—gaze!
You‘ll see it, wakened in  the morning haze,
ascending as the tethering s?tring is slackened:

Verso:

Yesterday was Christmas, and
the days already start to grow
a little longer. In our hand,

the new year‘s fledgling, stronger  though
more fragile too in many ways
than this bedraggled, aging crow,

its song a sad, repeated phrase
among the blackened trees along a
river. So sit back and raise

your glasses to it, do the conga,
auld lang syne, then hit the sack. And
And black and white explode, a throng of

rainbows—gaze! You‘ll see it, wakened
in the morning haze, ascend-
ing as the tethering string is slackened.






















































­
































































­
































































­
































































­































































A­MBIGRAM

Recto:

Yesterday was Christmas, and the days
already start to grow a little longer.
In our hand, the new year‘s fledgling, stronger
though more fragile too in many ways

than this bedraggled, aging crow, its song a
a sad, repeated phrase among the blackened
trees along a river. So sit back and
raise your glasses to it, do the conga,

auld lang syne, then hit the sack. And black and
white explode, a throng of rainbows—gaze!
You‘ll see it, wakened in  the morning haze,
ascending as the tethering s?tring is slackened:

Verso:

Yesterday was Christmas, and
the days already start to grow
a little longer. In our hand,

the new year‘s fledgling, stronger  though
more fragile too in many ways
than this bedraggled, aging crow,

its song a sad, repeated phrase
among the blackened trees along a
river. So sit back and raise

your glasses to it, do the conga,
auld lang syne, then hit the sack. And
And black and white explode, a throng of

rainbows—gaze! You‘ll see it, wakened
in the morning haze, ascend-
ing as the tethering string is slackened.






















































­
































































­
































































­
































































­
































































­
































































­
































































­



























































AMBIG­RAM

Recto:

Yesterday was Christmas, and the days
already start to grow a little longer.
In our hand, the new year‘s fledgling, stronger
though more fragile too in many ways

than this bedraggled, aging crow, its song a
a sad, repeated phrase among the blackened
trees along a river. So sit back and
raise your glasses to it, do the conga,

auld lang syne, then hit the sack. And black and
white explode, a throng of rainbows—gaze!
You‘ll see it, wakened in  the morning haze,
ascending as the tethering s?tring is slackened:

Verso:

Yesterday was Christmas, and
the days already start to grow
a little longer. In our hand,

the new year‘s fledgling, stronger  though
more fragile too in many ways
than this bedraggled, aging crow,

its song a sad, repeated phrase
among the blackened trees along a
river. So sit back and raise

your glasses to it, do the conga,
auld lang syne, then hit the sack. And
And black and white explode, a throng of

rainbows—gaze! You‘ll see it, wakened
in the morning haze, ascend-
ing as the tethering string is slackened.
Jenny Jin Jan 2014
I was a child filled with wonder
filled with love and curiosity.
I was a child who loved questions
and to wander without anxiety.

Not even a year old
had my heart turned cold.

As a child,
I was relied on,
depended on,
beaten on.

As a child,
I only knew pain,
heartache
and how life
truly was.

Life wasn't fair
not even to a child.
Not to a child's heart
without a care.

Only a few rays of light
shed through the cracks
in the wall of my heart.

Not even an adult
had my eyes become
so old . . .so alone.

The only thought that remained
"Become stronger. Stronger.
No limitations, no excuses."
I had to be stronger for her.
So she wouldn't crumble.

I have become stronger
but I have become a stranger.

My strength leaves me though,
when he holds me tightly.
His arms become my home.
and his heart is my life.

This was my answer,
she has also grown stronger.
I have been on autopilot all along.
I should have just known.
I am Strong on my own.
But I am Stronger
with the friends I have found.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2016
from the simple email, to now a pitch-perfect complication
of the internet - no performance poetry found here -
performance meaning singing, meaning cascade of rhymes
to help you memorise sentences and shake your hands
about - ekphrasis (εκφρασις) - performance stand-up
but not stand-out - i'm not complaining, i'm just feeling
the fear and loathing too - or according to M. Schmidt (
no, not Martin Schmitt, the ski-jumper, but then again
the two seem almost indistinguishable when said -
counter e.g. gnome - 'nome and schmi'dt'dt'dt'tt stutter
at the end of words rather than at the beginning before
the dam gates open for the word to flow out from).
besides the point, can you imagine Kant using the phrase
a fortiori in his work that uses only a priori and
a posteriori? i only came across it today - but given
the big *** systematic approaches, you'd find it hard
to squeeze in a fortiori into the complex narrative -
an entire blackboard of mathematical proof concerning
disallowing the end product to be ∞: in philosophy that means
explaining something on a universal basis, the entire human
concern for things said, things done, things owned -
inserting the term a fortiori where once came a priori
would be a disaster for the Kantian narrative, he'd
have to write another critique all on its own to insert that phrase
among a complete systematisation of that phrase -
well the funny thing is, this expression goes in line with that
i observed about left and right, hands eyes whatever -
indefinite a- and the definite -the articles and then an ism -
i sometimes feel funny or at least embarrassed that i keep
repeating this notice from time to time -
but you would expect me to include gravity too,
or how i used to be a flower thief in spring bordering
on winter, plucking the eager flowers in the frost around
the countryside - well, i revived that practice today,
plucked two stalks of lavender (they were pinching my
nose when i walked past with a beer) and something
resembling lavender... google-moment... if only they
created apps that could tell you what flower it is you're
trying to identify, search engine impromptu -
well... it's either a coin-toss between
summersweet (clethra alnifolia) or butterfly bush
(buddleia davidii) - but it could be something else -
cigarette, beer and sniffing lavender, just my kind of night -
i swear to god i once drank a lavender-flavoured beer,
or cider... i can't remember -
but by definition, when i look at philosophy books i feel
they're much too bound to something said earlier
and followed by something to support it -
or in the case of a fortiori the expanded-upon basics,
i.e.: from a / the stronger (thing) - which means
it's a dual-carriage way of saying what you want to say:
from a stronger thing - from the stronger thing -
in real life that's like: what we get from a telescope,
or? what we get from a microscope -
stars aplenty - G-Rex 5571 in the Zodiac constellation,
U80802Z from the constellation of Poseidon -
i mean, flimsy answers - sky's the limit - then
the azure cage hovers over us during the day and
we turn to daydreams packing apples into crates -
telescope: oh airy-fairy, somewhere far far away -
microscope: got that needle and thread with you?
well, whatever we have, we know that our minds are
not build for the omni- affix when affixed to anything,
esp. god. Jews never bothered with it - there are just
as many necessary limitations of a deity as there are
as many unnecessary limitations of our freedoms -
that's how you move away from big ideas and narratives
of a Kant, with his chequers of analytic / synthetic
a priori / a posteriori and concern yourself with
knives (indefinite) and scissors (definite) articulation of
language - hell, we can go down the road much further
and say something about indirect and direct articles -
pronouns are the prime subscribers -
you wouldn't talk to a Jihadi directly as you'd talk about
him indirectly - i shared that curiosity with a local
stranger-mate in a park once walking his dog,
an ex-banker - those boom-bomb boys are being prescribed
the same thing that the Lufftwaffe pilots were prescribed
(pervitin) - but i doubt they got their hands on the pure
medical stuff, they're probably on amphetamines...
oh the R.A.F.? yeah, drunk like skunks.
but just imagine rewriting the Critique with a fortiori
and a infirmiori - disobeying "correct" definition,
as already mentioned the pronouns composed from
articles, as in condensed to indistinguishable parameters -
a fortiori - from something stronger            -
             a infirmiori - from something weaker -
(as already stated, the original definition of
  a fortiori was - from a / the stronger [thing]) -
so the articles disappear and couple themselves to the word
thing (word meaning, no grammatical classification is
really necessary, because if grammatically classified it would
be too obstructive) - but because of this lack of
grammatical classification of the word thing,
we are already associating the definitions via only the
indefinite pronoun - rather than a definite pronoun (i.e. nothing),
it would be pointless to write definitions using a definite
pronoun - well, up to a point, i suppose that
suggesting both a fortiori and a infirmiori to be defined
as: from nothing stronger and / or weaker we can create
a self-mechanistic-propeller, a way of self-overcoming that
in the end arrives as self-knowledge, obviously the
ultimate purpose - and this goes against all solipsistic despair,
as it also goes against making too many comparisons
with others, some who are weaker than us, and some who
are stronger than us - for the stronger will make light
of one set of propositions as the weaker will make light
of another set of propositions to suit their demands -
this can only be seen in light of Kantian-Darwinism,
survival of the fittest and what not -
Kant had in mind something simply said historically in
a condensed sphere of reality, Darwinism kinda did away
with historical realism, soon after the English Renaissance
after the second world war, Darwinism picked up again,
as a way to shut off the murk of the Holocaust -
Elvis did his bit, the Beatles too, but once the imagination
dried up, people decided they wanted to travel back
in time to 10,000 B.C. - and you think artistic expression
will end up a concept prog rock album, or a cute 3 minute
synthesizer song while M.T.V. turns into a 16 year old's
******* of a baby? i'm going keep the acronym, and instead
call it MORAL TELEVISION, or? how to buy a ******
or pull out early - but obviously i'd get a wisecrack comeback
from Juno - see a preacher man anywhere around here?
Kantian algebraic (big words, small people, Belgian waffles
too):                                                    ­              a. / s. after
                                           (event) x.
a. / s. prior
                                     what qualifies?
                                    - historical hindsight -
                                    - the current historical catalyst(s),
        THE BIG BANG... or as i like to call our current history,
an interchange on the words: BIG BANG BLACK HOLE...
BANG A ******* HOLE... get a BIG CLOCK...
******* HOLE... which is what it looks like at night...
two catalysts overall - and boy we're speeding
to Groundhog day - the biggest changes in history were
some celebrity's haircut - that's relative to
what happened when the Treaty of Versailles was signed;
BIG HOLE BLACK BANG (and that's thanks to dark matter) -
but to be honest, if i'm given only these two historical
vectors to work with... i'm not surprised so many
Islamic youths are disfranchised, choosing a third,
Jannah - it seems like a natural thinking process that
will never make it into popular media -
just thinking about it probably warms the heart,
obviously to an extremely violent end -
but this is gone way beyond the heliocentric and
geocentric arguments - because up there, where you
can see the earth where the hell is Copernican East
or Copernican West? it's nice to know that the earth
isn't flat... but that won't help you reaching the Panama
Canal from Portugal... will it?!
victor tripp Oct 2013
my love for you is stronger than a mighty ARMY on horse back with a thousand waving victory banners.much stronger than the sun daily kissing the revolving earth. stronger than a mighty riptide. stronger than age old trees rooted deep. stronger than the sky that hold the stars in place . stronger  than a decade old marriage that has stood the test of time.
Tea Feb 2012
I am stronger

A jungle grows inside of me, filled with hope and love

A mystery's inside of me, that flows in sky above

and branches reach for sun, but bound by dirt and earth

and roots all tangle deep with in, fighting for whats good

Beauty springing out from every new blooming flower

a hatred came to beat it down, to steal the dirt from the ground

frowns all placed on hatreds face, guilt its new grin

it beat me down, I bow my chin

shoulders fall in sadness, tear fogged vision in this crazy madness

trees tortured by blazing winds, breaking under pressure

sky's cloud up, gloom is a screaming disaster

Birds don't fill the air, there sweet song not heard anywhere

but sun beams break through the daze

forcing all hateful thoughts to hide away

this new faze, this new place

grows with satisfaction

I am stronger

I am stronger

I built a world just for me, filled with happy serenity

A confidence filled the walls, that had been made so tall

bliss built the roads i walked along, free from signs I knew the rules

and towers pierced the sky, and aimed for the stars

and fences ran around, to force me to stay in what I'd found

a angry shadow ripped it down, and in fear I looked around

outside this world I know not of, but to stay around   unheard of

forced to venture, pushed from home

at first I felt so alone

cold ran for me, but I found I was saved by my own breath

my warmth was beating inside my chest

I didn't need my strong built stone

I just needed to me, and to not be alone

so I ventured into the unknown. I stumbled on a new type of stome

I built, with no fences

I built a home not a prison

I am stronger

I am stronger

laughter it ran from me,and confusion struck mixed with inner conflict

I became a mixing ***, set down and forgot,boiling with emotions

I set on fire, burned a liar, stuck in a endless cycle

More then society puts on me, more then other battles I've been through

this one stopped me in my steps, I don't want this forever dread

rip this darkness from my head, blood a simple sacrifice

but there hurt is not right. I would never stop. but what a thought.

I fell. i hurt so bad, but there is nothing better, I'm glad i had

with the burn of pain follows with the wave of appreciation

of happy recognition, of simple smiles, content feeling

time to feel in a place of healing

I found laughter,i got up

I am stronger.
Dougie Simps Feb 2017
She...she sets the mood with her thigh high dress
She...she sets the tone with her mind on ***
But she thinks "resist"... for confusion, confusion sets in when lust becomes stronger than love.. oh, has lust become stronger than us?

For I...
I...have fallen for you
You have become my addiction..oh..
Have my heart in your conviction,
Lock me up...
Throw away the key,
A prisoner in your inconsistency...

For has lust become stronger than love...
Has lust become stronger than us?
I don't know...don't ask me if I care
Addicted to your eyes, please don't stop with your stares
Blood drippin down the stairs, from something shattered.
Buzzed off the mixture - of emotions and disaster.

Alone, alone in my room - oh
Where you set the tone...hm, set the tone
With your ***, with your mind
Only question is this time...
Did lust become stronger than love?
How did we forget...did we forget about us?
You can't choose who you love - which is true but it doesn't mean that it's good.
Melanie Shupe May 2015
We are a collection of our own experiences. A destruction of our own making, we undo ourselves with what we've learned, unlove ourselves with what we've learned.

I have looked in the mirror to a stranger too many times for my liking. The girl that I became mirrored back in agony to the girl she wanted to be. She wanted to be a poet, she wanted to be a portrait. She wanted to be stronger.

My experiences have become me. But I don't want to be defined by broken hearted and tormented by my dreams. I don't want to be defined by the dark circles under my eyes, the heart beat in my ears. I wanted to be stronger.

I have looked in the mirror too many times and seen stranger, seen liar, seen a girl who kept too much bottled up and my demons creep behind me like the horror movies I'm so akin to watching. They wave hello like they belong and I have to break my stare.

The poet in me says this is another experience, another lifeline, another tether to the earth that I love so much. An earth that I love so much that it broke me.

The poet in me says this experience will make me stronger.
Jimmy Herrighty Oct 2014
you were just one man.
jailed for infinity.
you never bent.
stronger than steel.

oppressed from day one.
segregated by your skin.
you were never broken.
stronger than steel.

the odds were against you.
against your entire race.
your faith never wavered.
stronger than steel.

i walked where you laid.
where you eat, where you ran.
your land gave me strength.
stronger than steel.

your love was so unending.
your hate, no where to be found.
you saved a who nation.
stronger than steel.

Madiba. Madiba.
Nelson Mandela
the original superman.
Stronger then Steel.
S R Mats Apr 2015
What doesn't **** you doesn't **** you.
It does not necessarily make you stronger.
Does a crack in the wall make it stronger?

The bone heals the fracture.  Stronger -
The pipefitter welds the pipe.  Stronger -
Only work on "the broken" can make it stronger.

Become stronger -
Philomena Dec 2018
I remember the first time I saw you
Simply a reflection in the mirror
You seemed so harmless
And soon you held me
You made me feel safe in a make-believe world
When the real world was looking grim

I suppose I like the idea of having something that cared
Even if you weren't real
Or at least I told myself you weren't
And at first you seemed that way
Something small, and easy to manage
You gave the appearance of being just a small fluke
But I think we both know that's wrong

You remained in your dormant state for a while
Up until I took another emotional battering
So you stood with me knee deep in snow under that window
And we watched it unfold
I know you could tell how shattered I was feeling
And that darkness inside me fueled you
You grew just a little bit taller
And a little bit stronger

Now no one could have stood by my side quite like you did
You were no longer a visitor in my life
You had become an expected guest
I was as sure to see you as the sun was sure to sink into the horizon

I'm sure you could tell I was falling apart
And all the time you grew taller and stronger
I didn't even notice how tall or how strong you had become
At least not until it was too late

I took another emotional blunder
Once again knee deep in snow but you stood in my way
Under that sickly old tree
And the hate in your eyes terrified me more than anything

I knew I could avoid you if I could avoid the dark
But you put up a fight
You filled my dreams with water
And you drown me out

You broke me
Told me I was worthless
And when the time came you let me swallow those little green pills
Those were awful
Dying without death was awful

And so it went on
You'd soften when I was broken
Yet you'd be relentless if I even dared to hope
The perfect balance
Push enough to keep my head down where you needed it
But don't break me

I learned to live with the nightmares
And I learned not to look into your fiery red eyes
And I tried to live my life the best I could
Despite the falling world around me
And you did you best to keep me in line

You relished in it all
Every drop of blood
Every broken sigh
Every fallen tear
And you sat there the whole time and took it in
Like I was a painting you were mesmerized with

After three years of your sick games I met someone
You probably remember him quite well
He was a friend when I needed one the most
And he understood me
He understood you

And you grew taller and stronger
You stopped hiding in shadows
Started making daytime appearances
And you became so hurtful
You filled my head with lies
And I believed them
Because you are an excellent liar
Best in the business
You were determined to put me back in my place

It hurt you know
When you'd pull my hair
When you would steal my breath with a single touch
When you would paralyze me in fear
Those kinds of things hurt more than you'd think

And all the time you were getting taller and stronger
And more and more willing to destroy me
Because if you couldn't have me no one could

So we began the dance of death
Cutting a little bit deeper and deeper every time
And soon I couldn't tell where I stopped and you began
Because I was stuck in this whole you had made me dig
So while you were tearing me limb from limb
Eating me alive
I just wanted to die
To be free from all the world had put on me

Maybe you're the reason I was never successful in freeing my soul
A dead host means a dead parasite
Or maybe god just took pity
I don't think either of us really know

But you're **** show came to an end with his betrayal
I lost my friend and you finally let up

I made my last attempt on my life that summer
And that following winter I made my last cut
I started to push you out
And though you fought
I fought too

So you made your last few meaningful experiences in a closet
Locked in the dark I sat though your rage
And I learned how to control you
Just like how you controlled me.
And though you grew taller and stronger as I refused your voice
Eventually you didn't grow at all

I wouldn't call it a victory
Because I never won
You are still out there
And I see you in glimpses of the dark
But I have been rebuilt
And you cannot hurt me anymore
I can't tell this story accurately, never can. It's not something you can really describe at all, you have to see it t believe.
SøułSurvivør Sep 2014
Superheros as they say
They are all the rage today
Superheros are the glam
But Jesus is stronger than Superman

(Chorus)
Jesus is stronger than Superman
Jesus is stronger, He has a plan
Jesus could save the whole
Wide world....
Every man woman boy and girl

Can Transformers
Heal the sick?
Thor or Jesus, take your pick
That Green Lantern has a car
But Jesus made the moon and stars

(Chorus)

Could Robin walk upon the sea?
Could Batman die for you and me?
Spider Man climbs buildings tall
But Christ's the Saviour of us all!

(Chorus)

Superheros can be weak
Jesus Christ's the one to seek
Just turn to the great I AM
Cuz Jesus is stronger than Superman

(Chorus)

children cheering... Yaaay!!!

SoulSurvivor
Catherine Jarvis
(C) September 28, 2014
(rewritten)
This is for a challenge Melz was
Going to do... perhaps she still
Will if there's interest...

This is a song for kids.
Em Mar 2013
I don't care anymore.
I'm not playing games anymore.
I finally said my goodbyes.
I looked you straight in the eyes.
I can't live life like this.
I can't pretend this is bliss.
This experience made me stronger.
Maybe I'll live a little longer.
They call it a boyfriend for a reason.
Because everything ends in a season.
Why say love if you don't mean it.
Why say trust if you can't believe it.
The experience made me stronger.
Maybe I'll live a little longer.
Nothing is ever what you expect it to be.
So why expect, just let it be.
I've been given labels that have been hard to shake.
But the worst was your girlfriend and that took time to make.
I once was your girlfriend and that's what i wanted.
But what I want now is not to be haunted.
By the memories, I've loved.
The ones I miss and the ones i hated.
And the ones I relive.
But I wouldn't give up this experience for the world. It has made me stronger.
Maybe it will help me live, a little longer.
Xyns Mar 2014
I'm stronger than you thought
Too many wars I've fought

You figured you could break me
No idea that stronger, you'd make me
Who owns those scrawny little feet?    Death.
Who owns this bristly scorched-looking face?    Death.
Who owns these still-working lungs?    Death.
Who owns this utility coat of muscles?    Death.
Who owns these unspeakable guts?    Death.
Who owns these questionable brains?    Death.
All this messy blood?    Death.
These minimum-efficiency eyes?    Death.
This wicked little tongue?    Death.
This occasional wakefulness?    Death.

Given, stolen, or held pending trial?
Held.

Who owns the whole rainy, stony earth?    Death.
Who owns all of space?    Death.

Who is stronger than hope?    Death.
Who is stronger than the will?    Death.
Stronger than love?    Death.
Stronger than life?    Death.

But who is stronger than Death?
                           Me, evidently.
Pass, Crow.
Jai Rho Jan 2013
when you are down
you must be stronger

than those around
who try to help

but don’t see
what’s got you down

or what you’re doing
to get up

and only see you
on the ground

you must be stronger
than those around

to help the helpers
look up at you

stronger
D Loup Jun 2014
You're stronger than the pills you take
You're stronger than the blade you grip
You're stronger than the knot you tie
You're stronger than the poison you drink
You're stronger than the void you fill
You're stronger than the demons around you
*You're strong
Keith J Collard Jun 2013
The Quest for the Damsel Fish  by Keith Collard

Author's  Atmosphere

On the bow of the boat, with the cold cloud of the dismal day brushing your back conjuring goose bumped flesh you hold an anchor.  For the first time, you can pick this silver anchor up with only one hand and hold it over your head. It resembles the Morning Star, a brutal medieval weapon that bludgeons and impales its victims.  Drop it into the dark world beyond the security of your boat--watch the anchor descend.
        Watch this silver anchor--this Morning Star--descend away from the boat and you, it becomes swarmed over with darkness.  It forms a ******-metallic grin at first as it sinks, then the sinking silver anchor takes its last shape at its last visible glimpse.  It is so small now as if it could be hung from a necklace.  It is a silver sword.  
Peering over the side of the boat, the depths collectively look like the mouth of a Cannibalistic Crab, throwing the shadows of its mandibles over everything that sinks down into it--black mandibles that have joints with the same angle of a Reaper's Scythe.  

I am scared looking at this sinking phantasm.  I see something from my youth down there in this dark cold Atlantic.  I see the silver Morning Star again, now in golden armor.  I remember a magnificent kingdom, in a saltwater fish tank I had once and never had again.  A tropical paradise that I see again as I stare down into the depths.  This fish tank was so beautiful with the most beautiful inhabitants who I miss.  Before I could lift the silver anchor--the Morning Star--over my head with only one hand, turning gold in that morning sun-- I was a boy who sat indian style, cross legged--peering into this brilliant spectacle of light I thought awesome.  I thought all the darkness of home and the world was kept at bay by this kingdom of light...

Chapter  1 Begins the Story

The Grey Skies of Mass is the Name of This Chapter.

                                                      ­­                        
    
 Air, in bubbles--it was a world beauty of darkness revealed in slashes of light from dashing fluorescent bulbs overhead this fish tank.
Silver swords of fluorescent energy daring to the bottom, every slash revealing every color of the zodiac--from the Gold of Scorpio to the purple of Libra combining into the jade of the Gemini. 
In the center, like a dark Stonehenge were rocks. The exterior rocks had tropical colors like that of cotton candy, but the interior shadows of the rocks that was the Stonehenge, did not possess one photon of light. The silver messengers of the florescent energy from above would tire and die at their base.  The shadows of the Stonehenge rocks would stand over them as they died.

 
          When the boy named Sake climbed the rickety wood stairs of the house, he did so in fear of making noise, as if to not wake each step.
   Until he could see the glowing aura of his fish tank then he would start down that eerie hall, With pictures of ghosts and ghosts of pictures staring down at him as he walked down that rickety hallway of this towering old colonial home.  He hurried to the glowing tank to escape the black and white gazing picture frames.
                    The faint gurgling, bubbling of the saltwater tank became stronger in his ear, and that sound guided him from the last haunt of the hallway-- the empty room that was perpendicular to  his room.   He only looked to his bright tank as soon as he entered the hallway from the creaky wooden steps.  Then he proceeded to sit in front of this great tropical fish tank in Indian style with his legs folded over one another as children so often would sit.
  The sun was setting.  The reflections from the tank were beginning to send ripples down the dark walls. Increasing  wave after wave reflecting down his dark walls.  He thought they to be seagulls flapping into the darkness until they were overcome as he was listening to the bubbling water of his tank.
                " Hello my fish, hello Angel, hello Tang, hello  Hoomah, hello Clown and hello Damsel … and hello to you Crab...even though I do not like you," he said in half jest not looking at the crab in the entrance of the rocks.  The rocks were the color of cotton candy, but the interior shadows did not possess a photon of luminescence.  All other shadows not caused by the rocks--but by bright swaying ornament--were like the glaze on a candy apple--dark but delicious.  Besides the crab's layer in the rock jumble at the center of the tank which was a Stonehenge within a Stonehenge--the tank was a world of bright inviting light.
                The crab was in its routine,  motionless in the entrance to his foyer, with his scythe-like claws in the air, in expectation of catching one of the bright fish someday.  For that reason the boy tried to remove the crab in the past, but even though the boy was fast with his hand, the optical illusion of the tank would always send his hand where the crab no longer was.  He did not know how to use two hands to rid the crab in the future by trapping and destroying the Cannibal Crab ;  his father, on a weekend visit, gave the Crab to the boy to put into the bright world of the saltwater tank, which Sake quickly regretted.  His father promised him that the Crab would not be able to catch any of the fish he said " ...***** only eat anything that has fallen to the bottom or each other..."

         A scream from the living room downstairs ran up the rickety wood and down the long hall and startled the boy.  His mother sent her shrieks out to grab the boy, allowing her to not have to waste any time nor calorie on her son; for she would tire from the stairs, but her screams would not, allowing her to stay curled up on the couch.  If she was not screaming for Sake, she was talking as loud as screams on the phone with her girlfriends.  The decibels from her laugh was torture for all in the silent house.   A haughty laugh in a gossipy conversation, that overpowered the sound of the bright tropical fish tank in Sake's room that was above and far opposite her in the living room.
               " Sake you have to get a paper-route to pay for the tank, the electricity bill is outrageous," she said while not taking her eyes off the TV and her legs curled up beside her.  He would glad fully get a paper-route even if it was for a made up reason.  He turned to go, and looked back at his mother, and a shudder ran through him with a new thought:  someday her appearance will match her voice.  

              Upon reaching his tank,  Hoomah was trying to get his attention as always.  Taking up pebbles in his big pouty pursed lips and spitting them out of his lips like a weak musket.  The Hoomah was a very silly fish, it looked like one of Sake’s aunts, with too much make up on, slightly overweight, and hovering on two little fins that looked incapable of keeping it afloat, but they did.  The fins reminded him of the legs of his aunt--skinny under not so skinny.’

               The Tang was doing his usual aquanautics , darting and sailing was his trick.  He was fast, the fastest with his bright yellow triangular sail cutting the water.  Next was the aggressive Clown fish, the boy thought she was always aggresive because she didn't have an anemone to sleep on.  The Clown was strong and sleek with an orange jaw and body that was built like a tigress.
  Sake thought something tragic about the body if the  orange Clown and the three silver traces that clawed her body as decoration -they reminded him of the incandescent orange glow of a street lamp being viewed through the rainy back windshield of a car.   The Clown fish was a distraction that craved attention.
The Clown would chase around some of the other fish and jump out of the water to catch the boy's eye. 
                 Next is the Queen Angel fish, she is the queen of the tank, she sits in back all alone, waving like a marvelous banner, iridescent purple and golden jade.  Her forehead slopes back in a French braid style that streams over her back like a kings standard waving before battle, but her standard is of a house of beauty, and that of royal purple.

                    Lastly is the Damsel Fish, the smallest and most vulnerable in the tank.  She has royal purple also, rivaling the queen. Her eyes are lashed but not lidded like the Hoomah.  Her eyes are elliptical, and perhaps the most human, or in the boy’s opinion, she is the most lady like, the Hoomah and the Queen Angel come to her defence if she is chased around by the Clown.  Her eyes penetrate the boys, to the point of him looking away.  

                      Before the tank, in its place in the corner was a painting, an oil painting of another type of Clown donning a hat with orange partial make-up on his face (only around eyes nose and mouth there was ghost white paint) and it  had two tears coming down from its right eye.  The Clown painting was given to him by his mother, it seems he could not be rid of them, but Sake at first was taken in by the brightness of the Clown, and the smooth salacious wet look of the painting. it looked dripping, or submerged, like another alternate reality.  The wet surreal glaze of the painting seemed a portal, especially the orange glow of the Clown's skin without make-up.  .  If he tried to remember of times  before the Clown painting that preceded the Clown fish, he thought of the orange saffron twilight of sunset, and watching it from the high window from his room in the towering house.  How that light changed everything that it touched, from the tree tops and the clouds, to even the dark hallway leading up to his room.  The painting and the Clown fish did not feel the same as those distant memories of sunset, especially the summer sunset when his mother would put him to bed long before the sun had set.  
Sake did not voice opposition to the Clown.
Then he was once again trapped by the Clown.  
            The boy was extremely afraid of this painting that replaced the sunsets , being confined alone with it by all those early bedtimes.
Sake once asked his mother if he could take it down, whereas she said " No."  That clown would follow him into his dreams, always he would be down the hill from the tall house on the hill, trying to walk back to the house, but to walk away or run in a dream was like walking underwater or in black space, and he would make no distance as the ground opened up and the clown came out of the ground hugging him with the pryless grip of eight arms.  He would then wake up amid screams and a tearful hatted clown staring somberly down at him from the wall where it was hung.  Night made him fear the Clown painting more;  that ghost white make-up decorating around the eyes and mouth seeming to form another painting in entirety.  He could only look at the painting after a while when the lights were on, and the wet looking painting was mostly orange from the skin, neck, and forearms of the hat wearing clown.  But the painting is gone now, and the magnificent light display of the tank is there now.  

                Sake pulled out the fish food, all the fish bestirred in anticipation of being fed.  The only time they would all come together; and that was to mumble the bits of falling flakes: a chomp from the Clown, a pucker from the Hoomah, the fast mumble of the Tang, and the dainty chew of the Damsel.  The Queen Angelfish would stay near the bottom, and kiss a flake over and over.   She would not deign herself to go into a friendly frenzy like the other fish; she stayed calm, yet alluring like a flag dancing rhythmically in the breeze, but never repeating the same move as the wind never repeats the same breeze.  She is the only fish to change colors.  When the grey skies of Mass emit through every portal in the house at the height of its bleakness, her colors would turn more fantastic, perhaps why she is queen.

                 He put his finger in the top of the watery world; the warmth was felt all the way up his arm.  After feeding, his favorite thing to do was to trace his finger on the top of the warm water and have the Damsel follow it. She loved it, it was her only time to dance, for the Clown would descend down in somewhat fear ( or annoyance) of the boys finger, and the Damsel and he would dance.  The boy, thought that extraordinary.

                     Sake bedded down that night, to his usual watery world of his room.  The reflective waves running down the walls like seagulls of light, with the rhythmic gurgling sound and it's occasional splash of the Clown, or the Hoomah swooping into the pebbly bottom to scoop up some pebbles for spitting making the sound "ccchhhhh" --cachinging  like a distant underwater register.  The tank’s nocturne sound was therapeutic to the boy.

                      Among waking up, and being greeted by his sparkling treasure tank--that was always of the faintest light in the morning due to the grey skies of Mass coming through every portal to lessen the tropical spectrum-- the boy would render his salutations " Good morning my Hoomah.....good morning Tang, my Damsel, and your majesty Queen Angel.....and so forth.  Until the scream would come to get him, and he would walk briskly past the empty room and the looming family pictures of strangers.  His mother put him to work that day, to "pay for the fish tank" but really to buy her a new cocktail dress for her nightly forays.  The boy did not care, the tank was his sun, emitting through the bleak skies of Mass, and even if the tank was reduced to a haze by the overcast of his life, it only added a log to the fire that was the tropical world at night, in turn making him welcome the dismal day.
                  On a day, when the overcast was so thick, he felt he could not picture his rectangular orb waiting for him at night. He had trouble remembering what houses to deliver the paper.  He delivered to the same house three times.  Newspapers seemed to disappear in his hands, due to their color relation to the sky.   Leaves were falling from the trees—butterfly like—he went to catch one, he missed--a first. For Sake could walk through dense thorned brambles and avoid every barb, as a knight in combat or someone’s whose heart felt the painful sting of the barb before.  He would stand under a tree in late fall, and roll around to avoid every falling leaf, and pierce them to the ground deftly with a stick fashioned as a sword.  He could slither between snow flakes, almost like a fish nimbly avoiding small flakes.  
                  After he finished his paper-route , he went to his usual spot under an oak tree to fence with falling leaves.  As the other boys walked by and poked fun he would stall his imagination, and look to the brown landscape of the dry fall.  The crisp brown leaves of the trees were sword shapes to him.  He held the battle ax shape of the oak leaf over his eye held up by the stick it was pierced through, and spied the woodline through the sinus of the oak leaf lobe.  The brown white speckled scenery, were all trying to hide behind eachother by blending in bleakfully; he pretended the leaf was Hector’s helmet from the Illiad—donned over his eyes.
“ Whatchya doing Sake?” asked a young girl named Summer.  Sake only mumbled something nervously and stood there.  And a pretty Summer passed on after Sake once again denied himself of her pretty company.  He looked to the woodline again, a mist was now concealing the tall apical trees.  It now looked like the brown woodland was not trying to retreat behind eachother in fall concealment, but trying to emerge forth out of the greyness to say "save us."

“ Damgf” he uttered, and could not even grasp a word correctly.  His head lifted to the sky repeatedly, there was no orb, and the shadows were looming larger than ever; fractioned shadows from tree branches were forming scythes all over the ground.
             He entered the large shadow that was his front door, into the house that rose high into the sky, with the simplicity of Stonehenge.  He climbed the rickety petrified stairs and went down the hall.  Grey light had spotlighted every frame on the wall.  He looked into the empty room, nothingness, then his room, the tank seemed at its faintest, and it was nearing twilight.  He walked past the tank to look out the w
Nena Twedell Oct 2014
Never intended to be headed down the road to hell
Never intended to bring anybody with me
This isn't how it was supposed to be
When I started this journey
I wasn't strong enough to look you in the eye
The demons suffocating me from the inside out
That was then
This is now
I'm not the same person I was then
Today I wake up and hold my head high
The smile still sometimes hides
but don't be mistaken
I am stronger than I was yesterday
Though I still hold fear inside
I stand tall and cast a shadow over it
To let it taste its own medicine
Don't let the frown on my face fool you
There's a strength inside of me that is stronger than any frown
I am stronger than I was yesterday
I am stronger than I was then
And today I will stand tall
good weather
is like
good women-
it doesn't always happen
and when it does
it doesn't
always last.
man is
more stable:
if he's bad
there's more chance
he'll stay that way,
or if he's good
he might hang
on,
but a woman
is changed
by
children
age
diet
conversation
***
the moon
the absence or
presence of sun
or good times.
a woman must be nursed
into subsistence
by love
where a man can become
stronger
by being hated.
I am drinking tonight in Spangler's Bar
and I remember the cows
I once painted in Art class
and they looked good
they looked better than anything
in here. I am drinking in Spangler's Bar
wondering which to love and which
to hate, but the rules are gone:
I love and hate only
myself-
they stand outside me
like an orange dropped from the table
and rolling away; it's what I've got to
decide:
**** myself or
love myself?
which is the treason?
where's the information
coming from?
books...like broken glass:
I wouldn't wipe my *** with 'em
yet, it's getting
darker, see?
(we drink here and speak to
each other and
seem knowing.)
buy the cow with the biggest
****
buy the cow with the biggest
****.
present arms.
the bartender slides me a beer
it runs down the bar
like an Olympic sprinter
and the pair of pliers that is my hand
stops it, lifts it,
golden **** of dull temptation,
I drink and
stand there
the weather bad for cows
but my brush is ready
to stroke up
the green grass straw eye
sadness takes me all over
and I drink the beer straight down
order a shot
fast
to give me the guts and the love to
go
on.
from "poems written before jumping out of an 8 story window" - 1966
YoungGentleman17 Mar 2015
For the people who judged you
And Ex's that didn't last no longer
The pain they all brought has only made you stronger
For the ups and downs thats crossed your path
We wouldnt know mother nature if we haven't felt her wrath
What makes you weak can you stronger
What makes you stronger makes you better
When a loved one passes away
Only the strongest seak out through the day
When you stay yourself through all the mess we see in life
It shows you are stronger and survive the fight
We as people know that bad is taken over good
But once we as people come together as one
Then watch all the good things our world will have done
st64 Feb 2014
“I know you're tired but come, this is the way...

In your light, I learn how to love.
In your beauty, how to make poems.
You dance inside my chest where no-one sees you,
but sometimes I do, and that sight becomes this art.”*        ― Rumi


1.
“You and I have spoken all these words, but for the way we have to go, words are no preparation. I have one small drop of knowing in my soul.
Let it dissolve in your ocean.

A mountain keeps an echo deep inside. That's how I hold your voice.”
― Rumi


2.
“Do not feel lonely, the entire universe is inside you.
Stop acting so small. You are the universe in ecstatic motion.

Set your life on fire. Seek those who fan your flames.”   ― Rumi


3.
“The way of love is not
a subtle argument.

The door there
is devastation.

Birds make great sky-circles
of their freedom.
How do they learn it?

They fall, and falling,
they're given wings.”                          ― Rumi


4.
“The morning wind spreads its fresh smell. We must get up and take that in, that wind that lets us live. Breathe before it's gone.

Sorrow prepares you for joy.
It violently sweeps everything out of your house, so that new joy can find space to enter. It shakes the yellow leaves from the bough of your heart, so that fresh, green leaves can grow in their place. It pulls up the rotten roots, so that new roots hidden beneath have room to grow.
Whatever sorrow shakes from your heart, far better things will take their
place.”                                     ― Rumi


5.
“You are so weak. Give up to grace.
The ocean takes care of each wave till it gets to shore.
You need more help than you know.

Be a lamp, or a lifeboat, or a ladder. Help someone's soul heal.
Walk out of your house like a shepherd.”
― Rumi, The Essential Rumi


6.
“You think you are alive
because you breathe air?
Shame on you,
that you are alive in such a limited way.
Don't be without Love,
so you won't feel dead.
Die in Love
and stay alive forever.

I want to see you.
Know your voice.

Recognise you when you
first come 'round the corner.

Sense your scent when I come
into a room you've just left.

Know the lift of your heel,
the glide of your foot.

Become familiar with the way
you purse your lips
then let them part,
just the slightest bit,
when I lean in to your space
and kiss you.

I want to know the joy
of how you whisper
“more”...                                                       ­     ― Rumi


7.
“When you go through a hard period,
When everything seems to oppose you,
... When you feel you cannot even bear one more minute,
NEVER GIVE UP!
Because it is the time and place that the course will divert!

The cure for pain is in the pain.
In Silence, there is eloquence. Stop weaving and see how the pattern improves.

The truth was a mirror in the hands of God. It fell, and broke into pieces. Everybody took a piece of it, and they looked at it and thought they had the truth.”                                       ― Rumi


8.
“Study me as much as you like, you will not know me, for I differ in a hundred ways from what you see me to be. Put yourself behind my eyes and see me as I see myself, for I have chosen to dwell in a place you cannot see.

Moonlight floods the whole sky from horizon to horizon;
How much it can fill your room depends on its windows.”
― Rumi, The Essential Rumi


9.
“Keep walking, though there's no place to get to.
Don't try to see through the distances.
That's not for human beings. Move within,
But don't move the way fear makes you move.

If you are irritated by every rub, how will your mirror be polished?

Start a huge, foolish project, like Noah…it makes absolutely no difference what people think of you.”   ― Rumi


10.
“Do you know what you are?
You are a manuscript oƒ a divine letter.
You are a mirror reflecting a noble face.
This universe is not outside of you.
Look inside yourself;
everything that you want,
you are already that.”
― Rumi, Hush, Don't Say Anything to God: Passionate Poems of Rumi



11.
“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing
and rightdoing, there is a field.
I'll meet you there.

When the soul lies down in that grass
the world is too full to talk about.

What you seek, is seeking you.”                             ― Rumi


12.
“The lion is most handsome when looking for food.

Pain is a treasure, for it contains mercies.
Love comes with a knife, not some shy question, and not with fears for its reputation!

I am your moon and your moonlight too
I am your flower garden and your water too
I have come all this way, eager for you
Without shoes or shawl
I want you to laugh
To **** all your worries
To love you
To nourish you.”                                          ― Rumi


13.
“I was dead, then alive.
Weeping, then laughing.

The power of love came into me,
and I became fierce like a lion,
then tender like the evening star.”                        ― Rumi


14.
“Suffering is a gift. In it is hidden mercy.

Come, come, whoever you are. Wanderer, worshiper, lover of leaving.
It doesn't matter. Ours is not a caravan of despair.. come, even if you have broken your vows a thousand times. Come, yet again, come, come.

But listen to me. For one moment - quit being sad. Hear blessings
dropping their blossoms
around you.

I closed my mouth and spoke to you in a hundred silent ways.”
― Rumi


15.
“The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you. Don't go back to sleep!
You must ask for what you really want.
Don't go back to sleep!
People are going back and forth
across the doorsill where the two worlds touch,
The door is round and open
Don't go back to sleep!

These pains you feel are messengers. Listen to them.”
― Rumi, The Essential Rumi



16.
“Like a sculptor, if necessary,
carve a friend out of stone.
Realise that your inner sight is blind
and try to see a treasure in everyone.”                    ― Rumi


17.
“Let the lover be disgraceful, crazy, absent-minded. Someone sober will worry about things going badly. Let the lover be.

There are lovers content with longing.
I’m not one of them.”    ― Rumi, The Essential Rumi


18.
“There is a secret medicine given only to those who hurt so hard they can't hope.
The hopers would feel slighted if they knew.

You were born with potential.
You were born with goodness and trust. You were born with ideals and dreams. You were born with greatness.
You were born with wings.
You are not meant for crawling, so don't.
You have wings.
Learn to use them and fly.”          ― Rumi


19.
“Forget safety.
Live where you fear to live.
Destroy your reputation.
Be notorious.

Inside you, there’s an artist you don’t know about… say yes quickly, if you know, if you’ve known it from before the beginning of the universe.”
― Rumi


20.
“Let yourself be silently drawn by the stronger pull of what you really love. It will not lead you astray.”     ― Rumi





"On a day
when the wind is perfect,
the sail just needs to open and the world is full of beauty.
Today is such a day.”
                                               ― Rumi






S T – 25 feb 14
Rumi - born to native Persian speaking parents in 1207.
Died 1273 AD.
Rumi (an evolutionary thinker) believed passionately in the use of music, poetry and dance as a path for reaching God.
Annie McLaughlin Feb 2017
So many words and tears have been wasted on you
You, the man, that probably has forgotten my face by now
So many hours of self pity and hatred have I felt because of you
You, the man, who shaped me into who I am right now

And not too long ago, I was driving in the car, and my lover he suggested,
(Excuse me if these words appear harsh),
We need more intimacy in public
Let's fool around, we're young.
I would say we could **** in a dressing room but...
I know what happened to you in there


I nodded along and then I stopped myself, and I said,
Darling, why not?

That is the moment I realized
I am stronger than my past.
That is the time that I recognized
I had been holding on too long.
It's time to let go
Of what you did to me
And what you took from me
Because I am stronger than that.
I am stronger than you.
Mariah Jul 2013
I think about it everyday
The day you left
But I won't let that get me down
Because I'm stronger than that
I'm stronger now
I don't do those things anymore
I'm clean almost 6 weeks
No thanks to you though
But I thank you
you helped me realize how harsh I can be
Im not that way anymore
I'm stronger now
Bus Poet Stop Jun 2018
~for those who will read this and weep~

the quiet ones,
the silent Job ones,
who quote not from the
Book of Lamentations,
but author their own,
based on-the-job experience

localized versions of cryptic elegiacs
accepting the wooden crosses borne,
stepping up to the
unrequested unforeseen,
then buried under, burnt alive,
yet never relieved by dying,
nailed by words, stronger than iron,
promises sworn, promises kept
with no ending date relief,
promises by and to themselves,
but not for themselves!


the wearers of crystal glass shackles,
adorned with decorative locks for which
no key did the maker make,
nor any divine creator
dare conceive an early release,
never no escape contemplated,
for the lock human, unrepentant unbreakable,
a decorative useless metaphor gesture,
a blunt “life *****” advertisement

I compose amidst a
bus pond of mismatched city folk,
a tapestry of ages colors and differing views on god/no god,
none would believe that as the bus sways me,
it’s in rhythm to holy choral music,
hundreds year old,
divinity masses and motets worships,
where one human can hide temporarily
a safe house,
to calm his questioning relentless
from the horrors of no answers,
for when the mind has no solution
to the rough and tumbling lives,
lived in glass shackled confinement,
the poets desperation equals theirs


summon eagles to transport these imprisoned,
but the shackled refuse,
I come to them but they wave me off,
I go crazy for once I was enslaved,
thirty years war that left devastation,
from which so many poems created

so I speak with heightened regard
of one who planned futures for others where his
non-existence was a founding father (ha!)


but the day came and
I was released by my own inactions,
but means nothing until a way to
away found
to release the yet bound early


got a couch, airline miles, hundred dollars
in my pocket and an unrelenting need
to save them, a consumption disease,
the glass shackled, at ease,
won’t rest till all are freed
this my creed
no one left behind

these cyber words do not mock
for they are unbounded, set free,
when
the flesh connects and the needs of the flesh
are stronger for they are in heart conceived
Black and Blue Apr 2014
A wise man once told me that all people are like precious metals.
He told me this in different words than I will use, but I took this to heart.

We are mined from ***** places; these miners see the value that lies beneath our harsh surface.
We are plucked from our resting places, sent to great, large cities where we will be put over fire to burn out our impurities. 

We will go through pain and fire.
We will melt and be tortured.
We will cry and scream and we will suffer.
All of our repulsive imperfections will float to the top while this is happening.
To purify gold, it must be melted.
To purify silver, it must be melted. 

It must be melted and the rough **** that exists within and without these bits of precious metal must float to the top to be extracted. 
Sometimes, this process must happen multiple times.
Sometimes, we must use chemicals and medicines to make sure it happens properly.
To purify us, we must be melted.

These are our trials in life.
This fire represents our hardships.
This fire represents every life change that we don't want to happen, but must pull through.
This fire represents each truth that we don’t want to know, but have to accept.
This fire represents each person that walks in and out of our lives like rainstorms, pouring for hours and moments before disappearing on the wind, never to be seen again.
This fire represents each night we must spend alone, crying for someone to save us.
This fire is us.
This fire is self-preservation.
This fire doesn't last.
And after the fire is over, and our imperfections are drawn away from us, we are perfect.

Of course no one is ever perfect, but no metal is ever completely perfect; everything that glitters is not gold.

After the fire has died, and we have been poured into new molds, into new people, we are stronger.
With our disfigurements gone, our molecules bond tighter to form a stronger metal.
With our faults gone, we sparkle and shine for the world to see.

After we have been pulled from the ground, after the fire has died, after we have come out as stronger, prettier people, there is still a chance for staining. 
We may scuff and stain, we may grow new impurities, but then we must suffer fire again.

It is an ongoing process.
We are never perfected.
We are ever changing, yet we are solid as metal. 

A wise man once told me that I resembled gold, that everyone around me resembled gold. He once explained this to me in such a way that it changed my mind about hardship.
I now meet it with open arms.
If I couldn’t handle the fire, it wouldn’t burn for me.

A wise man once told me that eventually, when the fire was extinguished, I would be a stronger person.
A wise man once explained to me that I am not alone, that everyone must hurt to get stronger, and that I will emerge from the fire.
This man changed my life, and I hope that maybe I can change someone else’s life.
That maybe I can help scrape the imperfections from someone’s boiling surface. 

That maybe I can help myself become purer, by purifying some other gold or silver.

After all, at the end of the day, a wise man once told me we are all like precious metals:
We are all gold.
SøułSurvivør Sep 2014
Superheroes rule they say,
They are all the rage today.
But Jesus Christ's the one I seek...
He is strong where I am weak!

-chorus-
Jesus is stronger than Superman,
Jesus is mighty He has a plan,
Jesus could save the whole wide world...
Every man, woman, boy and girl!

Could Ironman ever heal the sick?
Thor or Jesus, take your pick!
That Green Hornet has a car,
But Jesus is the Morning Star...

-chorus-

The world has Fantastic Four
But Jesus Christ can feed the poor,
Can Batman walk upon the sea?
Could Spidy die for you and me?

-chorus-

There's no reason to wonder why,
Jesus Christ's my kinda guy!
He will save you! Yes! He can!
'Cause Jesus is stronger than Superman!

Jesus is stronger than Superman,
He saved me! I am His fan!
Jesus Reigns! He'll rule the world!
Every man, woman, boy and girl!


Soul Survivor
Catherine Jarvis
(C) 2011
This is a song for children I wrote
a few years back. I plan to produce it on
Youtube. I've written the music, as well.
The salt of your skin is like a savory dish to me.
I go deeper into you inner soul to see your smile.
Your hair, your skin, your eyes that lure me deeper,
are what has so entranced me to your heated trap.
I can hear your heart beat loudly like some African
tribal sound, calling me to deliver my soul unto you.
Afraid, yet limp in mind and body, wanting to go
ever deeper, deeper, deeper. You give what you
get,and I cling like some lost and frightened  child,
but full of hope that you will love me, too. I sense
the darkened room has taken on a life of its own.
Our sheets are damp like after a downpour in
a tropical forest, and I feel bewitched as you dig your
nails stronger, stronger, and stronger. I must have
you now as if my life depends upon it. You smile and
scream into  my ear an eternal primal mating call,
and I am so defenseless.
Nicole Dec 2011
when lifes got you down
and your standing all alone
look inside yourself
let your feelings show
remember who you are
dont forget to love yourself
cuz deep down you know
your all that you need

when your broken
into tiny little pieces
when your exposed
for the whole world to see
dont back down
hold your ground
prove to everyone
who never thought you could make it
that your stronger than they are

when the rains pouring down
and all you want is some sun
push away the clouds
make your own day bright
doesnt matter who you are
we all have the choice
to dance in the rain
or sit and wait
for the storm to pass

when your broken
into tiny little pieces
when your exposed
for the whole world to see
dont back down
hold your ground
prove to everyone
who never thought you could make it
that your stronger than they are

when your broken
into tiny little pieces
when your exposed
for the whole world to see
dont back down
hold your ground
prove to everyone
who never thought you could make it
that your stronger than they are
It was many and many a year ago,
  In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
  By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
  Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
  In this kingdom by the sea:
But we loved with a love that was more than love—
  I and my ANNABEL LEE;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
  Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
  In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
  My beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
So that her highborn kinsmen came
  And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
  In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
  Went envying her and me—
Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,
  In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
  Chilling and killing my ANNABEL LEE.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
  Of those who were older than we—
  Of many far wiser than we—
And neither the angels in heaven above,
  Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
  Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
  Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes
  Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride,
  In her sepulchre there by the sea—
  In her tomb by the side of the sea.
Sentosa Mam Apr 2012
they told me what didn't **** me only made me stronger,
what they didn't tell me was that the burden of what could have killed me, should have killed me, was going to carry on for the rest of my life.
every waking day i see myself, and its just a constant reminder of all the things i've been through,
the days, the moments of pure happiness that i wish to react,
or the moments where i feel the need to die, the shame, the embarrassment of still having the capacity to breath, the ability to walk around carrying what isn't more than just cells and organs.
i am still alive because of what didn't **** me,
but is it for the better that i am stronger?
or is it just an excuse, a reasoning to the ones who've had more achievements in theirs lives.
maybe the journey to which i'm taking is a long and agonizing 'achievement'
but is it making me stronger?
am i honestly, truly going to be a better person just because I've lived and gone through moments where other haven't
maybe the time has yet to come for me to be 'stronger'
maybe i'm not realizing or seeing that this,
me right now,
was a stronger me than i was before,
but how is no one realizing that what doesn't **** you only haunts you for the rest of your life?
maybe we all choose to ignore that fact and instead give it a better name than what it already has
we've all been to different trails
we're all going on different ones now,
and the choices,
decisions,
and moments we see,
will continue to be with us for as long as we're going to exist.
for what i know now is that,
what doesn't **** me hasn't made me stronger,
its made me realize that its what im going to have to live with whether its
pain or joy,
tears or fear,
laughter or lust.
until it kills me,
it carries me with all my burdens and regrets
just as i carry my moments of love and joy
Lunar Apr 2014
from rain,
should i turn into a storm?
howling like the wind,
making noise,
to get you to hear me?
more raindrops; more tears,
to make you feel
drenched in remorse?
harsher and faster,
much like a hurricane,
to get you to see
how messed up i am?
when i'm stronger
like the storm,
would you love me more?
The second part of 'love the rain—love me'.

(j.m.)
Jon York Jan 2013
Life takes many
strange turns and sometimes
we just never seem to learn
as we keep making
the same mistakes
over and over again
seemingly enjoying
the burn.

So much pain
but sometimes the pain
feels so good
leaving us to wonder
"how could that pain
be turned into gain?"

If it doesn't **** you
it makes you stronger
and allows you
to live a little bit longer
so just relax
and don't do anything
that might hurt you
until you have all
of the facts.

I choose to write poetry
to ease the pain
and to block those memories
of having played along
with those stupid
little games from all
of those no names
that I am trying to forget
and replace with
thoughts of a  new love
and new memories
that we will create
in the future.

I am still alive
despite every ones
******* jive and stupid lies
and realize that if
they didn't **** me that
they only made me stronger
and as a result
I am going to be around
for awhile longer.                          Jon   York          2013

— The End —