Feasting table under a shading tree
Swaddling robe that warmly cleans
Mirror beautifying while it reflects
Sword that pierces yet never rejects
Light penetrating the blackest hole
Water filling and healing the soul
"For the word of God is alive and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart. Nothing in all creation is hidden from God’s sight. Everything is uncovered and laid bare before the eyes of Him to whom we must give account.
"Therefore, since we have a great high priest who has ascended into heaven, Jesus the Son of God, let us hold firmly to the faith we profess. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to empathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are—yet he did not sin. Let us then approach God’s throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need."
~ Hebrews 4:12-16
She needed to be saved,
But her Prince was nowhere in sight.
So she forged her sword and wore her armor.
She slayed the dragon and any who dared cross her.
Soon she was more feared then any Dragon or man.
I swing my sword
At the monster inside me.
But the blade has been blunted,
It's dull and cannot ****.
What is a warrior without her sword?
Joan of Arc without her horse?
Stripped of my valor,
In the middle of war.
I do not have the means to fight anymore.
Left bare to the sun.
Where arrows can pierce
And daggers can jab.
Trying to create an image,
Which seemed so vivid before.
All my paint is dull
And all my canvas broken.
What is an artist without his brush?
Van Gogh without his hands?
The pain he must feel
When losing his only muse.
He lives through art,
So dies if he cannot paint.
I live through words,
I die if I cannot write.
Now god you've taken my legs.
How do I live,
When I cannot stand.
I fear I've lost my only light.
I fear I'm out of muse.
With nothing more to say.
Like a warrior without her sword.
Van Gogh without his hands.
My words are my legs,
And I cannot stand.
‘Tis a paradox life
One picks up a blade
without yet first conquering oneself
preceding the revision of oneself
One awaits heaven on earth
without attempting to create serendipity for oneself
One expects love
yet can’t foster the courage
to give it to oneself
The very sword that divides
is the same sword that divides oneself
Earth hath no existence
save the reflection one gives
No isolation to be made of
Heaven, Earth, and Hell
since they coexist within
One may not be able to change the world
can’t one change their own?
Each day is a day like day had before
I don't know if I can take anymore
There's pain in my bones; Weak feeling and sore
I question myself what this life is for
Don't know what's ahead; Don't know what's in store
As happiness hides behind a locked door
The pressure, it builds to find it before
The hourglass now has emptied what's stored
The light from me left; Although I'm not sure
If ever I had a light that was pure
My soul's on death's bed; No hope of a cure
The word's left unsaid; I'll always want more
Waves lapping against the rocky beach shore
Each time takes away; A heavenly chore
Was true of my joy; A tunnel was bored
Inside from my soul true self of me poured
I ******* out myself like a *****
Each day is a lie that I can't afford
I wish I was maimed; Insides had been gored
I can not explain; Knight falls on his sword
But I am no knight; More like one who's poor
Been chewed up, discarded; Fruit with no core
Tried sharing with you; A piece of me tore
But know you disliked; Did nothing but bore
This poem is not new; These words said before
I've whined and cried too like those I deplore
A task left to do; Must settle the score
Each day starts anew; Be happy once more
Written: November 15, 2018
All rights reserved.
[Iambic/Anapestic Mixed Tetrameter format]
He unsheathed his sword
And you retreat,
. . Stepping backward . .
Tears fell from his cheeks
As he surrendered,
*"Your doubt, it hurts."
Silly girl, put that sword down. You can not keep trying to fight your demons, for they are sly and evil. They will deceive you long before you have the chance to take the right path. In fact, they want you to fight them. Do not, I say, do not fight them! They want that sword of yours plunged into their chest. If you let that happen you have lost, my dear, because
you can not **** a monster without becoming one.
"A pen is mightier than a sword", they say.
But what does a pen do better than a blade?
Slay a dragon, slay a man
One draws blood and the other brings emotion.
"It's a waste of time", they all chimed.
A silly allotment of words that rhyme.
A metaphor lies deep inside,
To understand it, they lack insight.
"Why do you write?", they repeatedly ask.
"Is it for fame?Or just a fun game?"
I write to express what I fail to show.
It's my little escape from all the chaos.
It's rather short but it's a random one so I'll let this one pass through xD
Ah the perfect boy
Mushy and gushy, all human like, with normal human skin, and smile
Heavy body armor, brandishing a sword, born in the mid 15th century
Aluminim for hair, copper in his head, lack of understanding of any type of human emotions
That's not right, no
A being of pure light energy?
Sigh, beyond my comprehension
I guess I'll just get
A pet rock
Im celebration of international rock day
Hangs overhead by a solitary thread
Pommel set with Lucifer's jewel
Crossguard made of crescent moon
The Blade a king's interminable doom
On January 31, 2019 in the darkness before dawn I witnessed the triple conjunction of Venus, Luna, and Jupiter in perfect alignment, creating the shape of a long sword in the southern sky. Venus (the "Light Bringer") adorned the pommel, the waning crescent moon formed the crossguard, and kingly Jupiter gleamed at the blade's point. The omen was revealed to me as the fabled Sword of Damocles (dam-uh-kleez) which hangs over all those in seats of power, suspended by a single strand of hair.
Trump is more justice than Mohamad
Trump took money from Arab nations
Because they had money they don't deserve
He hated Muslims and released his shout
Islam is responsible for any killing occurred
Mosques is the cells for terrorist
Mohamad is the prophet of Islam
Mohamad old nation hated the new religion Islam
As it equalized between the slaves and Masters
It equalized between black and colors people
When one of Mohamad' friends swore another one
The first was white one
Another was black one
He swore with the son of the black
Mohamad got angry and talked
He told that one to apologize
The man turned and put his cheek
Under the another foot and swore
He would not get up until he put his foot over his cheek
They got up, hung and cried
Mohamad invited to new religion
His nation hated him
They put a plot
They had gathered and waited
Mohamad was known as the faith and the honest
His enemies of his nations put the valuable things to Mohamad
They put a plot to **** him
They planned and they decided
There is another power who planned
God told him and cared
In spite of taking the valuable things as requital and revenge
He ordered his cousin to sleep at his bed
As a sort of deceive and to have time to get
They were forty of most trained knights
Carrying strong swords
God put sleep over them
Mohamad crossed between them
They invited all Arabs to **** them
When Badr battle occurred
His enemies were strong
They were also a lot
One their leaders said
We will go as a trip
Sing, dance, eat meat
Then defeat Mohamad
If Arab nations heard that
They fear of us
The winds blew against the desire
They were defeated
After the battle finished
Mohamad had kind heart
Who had money payed for his freedom to be happened
Who had not
He learnt ten of Muslim how to read and write
At this battle one of his friends
Had his sword been pieced
He went to the prophet
Telling him that he had any sword
Mohamad had no sword except his sword
He took a branch of tree lied
He gave it with his bless
The man took without wonder or amaze
He shocked the branch at air in strong
The branch became a strong sword
He still used it
Till his dead
all nations must live ad believe in respect not at killing and terrorist
Allow it in -aye, 'till when?
All at such cost, none are lost
Lo! then, what is foretold men,
Fiery talks or the coldest frost,
And breath & word alike swept
Away again, swept away in vain
A breadth as wide as death, except
We sustain all humanity, the refrain;
Yet forlorn we are in an age torn -
Such a number high of tongues cry
For mourn dost they must the morn,
Nary a ryhme of these words be lie.
The world can sever, and whosoever
Is taught to pass or stay brave & fast
Shall be learnéd & it prove no effort
If it be times as is the last that's cast.
Victory is what the sword can afford
Yet a poets pen can lord their sword.
Each time a dark thought to sin gleefully entered me
Every one of those days blurred into one another that were tinged with blue
All those nights insomnia took hold, and I wished to end my life
Well, I'm glad I didn't
I'm glad because I was waiting for the day
The day the sun bursts into a kaleidoscope of light
The day the sky quickly parts itself, making a path
The day the clouds willingly sacrifice themselves to hold a gleaming white horse
And on the horse's back, sits The King
Holding a sword that shines magnificently
Wearing a crown that dazzles for all to see
I can't wait to see Jesus
Still I wait for that day
Still I wait
The different men in different suits,
With different socks and different boots,
Who **** the men of distant roots,
Because of evil institutes.
When evil rises once again,
They’ll call upon the different men,
The sword favored above the pen,
Forever ‘til never,
Gun in one hand, bible in the other.
Is not the word a sword?
Why need for a gun too?
Or is it a justification to ****?
The same as a rocket launcher on one shoulder,
and the koran in the other hand.
Or a flag in one hand, and a sword in the other.
The image says justified intimidation.
Fear me, for I have the Authority.
But really, the Authority is only as valid
as there are fools who submit.
And the only true authority is the gun, or sword,
as you certainly know it.
And the flag, or bible, or the koran,
are but for your own conscience.
or cover for your lack thereof.
The bible and the gun:
a display of faithlessness,
the defilement of holiness,
a blasphemous act;
affirming the proud fool you are,
that says in its heart, there is no God!
kingdom of heaven
forces of evil things
day and night
out of sight
**** men burning their bay leaves
in pots of static gardens
underneath all this cement
your past is looking at you indecently
so change the words around you
you can shift their meaning
its all a game and no-one's winning
your tired emotions accent your poetry
umbrellas are scars that carry symphonies in their hearts
you held my hand as we welcomed god back into our skylines
her face is as familiar as the stars
we originated from
with ulcers open in quiet hurting
your youth are wordless and distrustful of angst ridden authority
in unsuspecting situations love’s vacation is ending
her wedding gown got quite *****
since she literally spent her entire honeymoon
wandering idly into banks of muddy water
humanity is worthy of justice and sweaty romance
i breathe your flesh into my bottle
and we take boundless walks upon the clouds
that straddle mountains, graveyards and cemeteries
fresh from wading in the rice fields
i peeled you a ripe banana
under pressure your sweater came off
and revealed a perfect metric for us to emulate
your eye sockets are two umbilical chords
and your voice is a curved sword that cuts through fear
like the moon slices through the sky
i have held all of this inside for far too long
and now it comes shattering forth
spilling itself over every page
every letter an escapade almost as long
as an Eskimo's pilgrimage to safety
I will be honest like every time or at least most of the time
I do not even know where to start or begin
I rather to say I do not know where this journey would end
The graveyard or the warm heaven’s arms
I still do not know if I want to fight and hold my weapon high
I am still wounded from some of previous fights
I am currently kneeling with my sword exhausted and tired
On my knees scarred because of battles only god knows
I’ve a feeling that I want to stand up with my sword raised up high
Turning obstacles and differences into triumphs
What a strange feeling I get when we are even a little apart
A feeling that motivates me to pick this novel fight
Not sure if I’m trying to build a one-sided bridge between hearts
A bridge with destination of nothing but a pool of fire
Everyday I wish for hints, clues or whatever helps
I just need to know that this is not just a vacation’s play, cause I'll pay
There will be no hurt feelings every journey has it own lessons
Things that need to be known in the beginning of every such journey
my sword is my protection my love for you is my power
you gave me a reason to fight in this death game and a reason to get back to the real world you are the black swordsman and me i'm lightning flash together we will see this game to the end and the fall of aincrad
i just finish an anime that was very close to my heart
anime: sword art online
such a great start and a beautiful end for the two main characters that i became so attached to
Sword of Ishmael, robed in Assyria's mantle,
Consecrated of God, Prince of princes,
A Destroyer: the executioner of judgements.
A thorn driven deep into the heart of Jerusalem,
Tempting violent men, who pride in their strength,
as Excalibur and the Gordian Knot challenged
Arthur and Alexander.
The Monster With Blue Hair
Jeers as I cower in the corner
But she’s coming
The Other will be happy
They’ll be fine and dandy
But she’s coming
And she has her Blue Shield
And a Sword forged for intense war
War on a Blue Field
The Monster With Blue Hair
Like His wicked brother of Red
She’s here now
She saved me
Now it’s time for bed
There is no loving without wickedness.
There is no loving without rivalry.
Chase me. Fight me.
The sting of the sword announces the winner; be sure to kiss me after.
I guess this is all that loyalty buys
in a world without love
pain in the night and death to love's floor.
Perhaps that awaits me too.
Pain, like a molten sword,
burns on the flesh of my heart.
Once again, it’s been wielded,
tearing a hole into my unprotected soul.
I am drowning in the blackness,
of its grasp on me.
I lift my prayers to the heavens
to give me strength of spirit,
and wisdom to find the path
to escape its mighty grip.
All poems are copy written and soul property of Vicki Kralapp.