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Alyssa Underwood Jul 2017
As the redeemed of Jesus Christ, if we are ever to find true refreshment in our desert wanderings, it will be as we choose to dwell in God’s presence and in the newness of His daily mercies through faith. Our trials tend to force us, like pushy but invaluable friends, to learn hands-on what it is to live in the grace of the moment.

We live in the grace of the moment by continually recognizing both the immense need and the immense blessing of each moment (by developing a conscious and habitual attitude that says, “I am so desperately needy AND I am so abundantly blessed.”) and by relying on the Holy Spirit to teach us exactly how to reconcile the two. This happens as we first learn to live in the reality of the eternal, for it's an ever-present awareness of eternity that liberates us to receive every present moment with thankfulness and live it to the fullest, without setting up false expectations for it or worrying about the next.

When we are convinced that our life is hidden with Christ and He alone is the Prize, that this world is not our home and we are simply on assignment here, and that our pain and failures are only temporary but, with His redemption, the beauty and wisdom to be gained from them are eternal, we are set free from living in the regret of yesterday or in the fear of tomorrow. We can instead live in the blessing of the right now which fully meets the need of the right now because both need and blessing are gifts from the Father to get us ready for eternity and to meet our Bridegroom face to face. We have need of nothing but Him and His grace, and His fullness dwells in us.

The life lived in the grace of the moment is the life absolutely surrendered to the reality of God’s wisdom, God’s character and God’s sovereignty over it, for in entrusting ourselves to those, we acknowledge that He has a set and planned purpose for our lives, that it is good, and that He is powerful enough to carry it to completion. His wisdom assures us that He has always had in mind, down to the smallest details, exactly what He is doing with us; His character, that His heart is ever faithful toward us; and His sovereignty, that His directing arm cannot be shaken or thwarted. They reveal to us explicitly that He loves us with all of His mind and heart and strength, and in that knowledge we find perfect rest. As beloved children we know that we will be taken care of without having to know how it will happen or what it will look like.

In our helplessness we can simply look up to Him, reach out for Him and cry to Him in humility and thanksgiving, for our God cannot resist eyes and arms and hearts doing that. He always picks up and holds close to Himself those who long for Him. We may think that what we most desire are answers and perfectly successful plans and reasonable control over our lives, but what our souls crave is comfort and intimacy and love, and we can have those the instant we fully surrender to His embrace. He may sometimes hide His face from our “Why?”s but never from our “Hold me!” cries.

If we mistakenly suppose this life to be about this life, we will miss the present grace for fretting over and fighting for all the blessings we don’t have or fearing that those we do will be lost, until we find that they have become an unbearable millstone around our necks. If we pin our hope on anything in this temporary world it will be no stronger than that—a mere pin, easily pulled out and easily broken when life weighs too heavily upon it.

Enduring hope can only be based on God’s absolute promises given to us in His Word, not on our own expectations or wishes or impressions of how things ought to be. Enduring hope lets go of everything that can be lost to take hold of everything that cannot, and in doing so is actually able to squeeze the sweetest nectar out of those released and perishable blessings so that even their losses, though painful, do not leave a bitter aftertaste. For it’s often in the loss of a thing that its worth to us becomes most precious, and by letting it go with grace we can best savor its purest delights.

Realizing that the pain runs so deep only because the beauty ran so deep and that without it having once touched us we wouldn’t now know the emptiness of its loss, our grief will eventually turn to thankfulness that it ever touched us at all, and we will be left awed by the mystery of its haunting. There's a peculiar kind of beauty that can only be experienced with the innate knowledge that the moment is fleeting, and the most intense beauty can only be seen in the presence of both light and shadows.

The ability to enjoy our tangible blessings is surely heightened by the conviction that they are not ours to possess, by the acceptance that their loss is inevitable, and by the understanding that they were never meant to satisfy. For the enjoyment, then, will be absent the tainting dread, the taking for granted, and the twisted expectations which so easily and often mar our earthly pleasures. We will relish what we’ve been given today but recognize it may very well be gone tomorrow, and even in that uncertainty we will find a contented peace, for in every loss there lurks a hidden blessing, and all that really matters can never be lost to us. It is just as important to be a good steward of our losses as it is of our more obvious blessings, for the beauty that comes from nobly and graciously accepting loss far exceeds any tangible beauty that can be taken.

Knowing that we belong to another time and place and that this one is only meant to lead us there, like the charming towns one passes through on the way to a better destination, we will take in the sights with wonder and delight but keep traveling on toward our true home. For these sights, though tantalizing, are like mere slivers of light from a crack under the door compared to the glory to be found in God’s Presence. But when received as personal gifts of His grace, they become to us a stage precisely and delicately set by a Lover to attract the attention of His beloved, to show off His greatness and show forth His beauty to win her heart, and our hearts indeed are won.

To live in the grace of the moment is to keep looking to Jesus—to Jesus’ feet to lay our burdens down, to Jesus’ arms to be held securely, to Jesus’ hands to receive all we need, and to Jesus’ face to know our only sure hope and hearts’ true desire.


*Lord Jesus, merciful and all-sufficient One, in every need, small or great, tangible or intangible, give me the discernment to discover Your extravagant gifts of grace, the wisdom to receive them, the eagerness to open them and the passion to cherish them well. Give me eyes to see and a heart to fully enjoy with gratitude each blessing You have prepared for me today, for this very moment, and may I thrill to Your every advance of love.
~~~

"Since, then, you have been raised with Christ, set your hearts on things above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things. For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God. When Christ, who is your life, appears, then you also will appear with Him in glory."
~ Colossians 3:1-4

"Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in the heavenly realms with every spiritual blessing in Christ. For He chose us in Him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in His sight. In love He predestined us for adoption to sonship through Jesus Christ, in accordance with His pleasure and will— to the praise of His glorious grace, which He has freely given us in the One He loves. In Him we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God’s grace that He lavished on us with all wisdom and understanding..."
~ Ephesians 1:3-8

"His divine power has given us everything we need for life and godliness through our knowledge of Him who called us by his own glory and goodness."
~ 2 Peter 1:3

"So then, just as you received Christ Jesus as Lord, continue to live your lives in Him, rooted and built up in Him, strengthened in the faith as you were taught, and overflowing with thankfulness."
~ Colossians 2:6-7

"Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed,
    for His compassions never fail.
They are new every morning;
    great is Your faithfulness.
I say to myself, 'The LORD is my portion;
    therefore I will wait for Him.'
The LORD is good to those whose hope is in Him,
    to the one who seeks Him;
it is good to wait quietly
    for the salvation of the LORD."
~ Lamentations 3:22-26

"Find rest, O my soul, in God alone;
    my hope comes from Him."
~ Psalm 62:5

"But He said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong."
~ 2 Corinthians 12:9-10

"I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us."
~ Romans 8:18

"Therefore, holy brothers and sisters, who share in the heavenly calling, fix your thoughts on Jesus, the apostle and high priest whom we confess."
~ Hebrews 3:1
Gold Jul 2014
Having you
All I want and need
Petrichor in the air
Playing the devil with my love, you sinner
Infinities before us
Nemeses – I defeated them all
Evanescent beauty with age; growing love
Surreptitious gazes and love
S**cintillas of a lunatic love tainting this happiness.
petrichor = the smell of rain on dry earth; nemesis (pl. nemeses) = an oppenent or rival whom a person can't overcome; evanescent = passing out of sight, fading away, vanishing; surreptitious = obtained, done, made, etc. by stealth|secret or unauthorized|clandestine; scintilla = a minute particle, spark, trace
Tony Scallo Nov 2014
It is in my blood
I can feel its presence
When it’s on the verge
To emit a surge, every time my heart beats

An impulse,
Scurrying it’s way through the crevasses of my brain.
Tainting the walls of grey matter with a tendency for unpredictability,
Out of my reach.

I hate it
I don’t want it
I never asked for this

I can’t slow my mind down
Thoughts so fast, hit me with whiplash
It’s insanity.

No.

I’m not insane
I can’t be
I’m rationale

I think about how I think about things,
Like it’s a cycle that never stops..

Which I guess could be my downfall
My vision says it all
When thoughts travel my mind
In dark tunnels at times
My eyes blind to the surroundings

Tunnel vision that make you claustrophobic;
You feel trapped
When all you see at the end of the tunnel,
Is the darkness of insanity

But..
I’m rationale

I acknowledge I have a tendency to be blind to my surroundings,
How can I be blind if I can clearly see?
Is life objective or subjective?
I just want to understand--

You're stupid
What was that?
Felt like a surge, on the attack
An impulse

That voice
That’s it.

Unpredictability

That lies,
In my brain waiting to be brought to the surface
With the surge of an impulse.
It’s the insanity that taints me,
From seeing what really is

I’m not stupid, I’m a learner.

Granted with the gift of analysis,
But darkened by the cruel nature of impulse
To taint my minds innocence

I'm not scared to think about it anymore

I am insane, because it’s what you make of it.
Insanity grants me with the gift of perspective,
Throwing a million different ones my way
Ones that are positive and ones that are new
Traveling at hundreds of miles
And this even includes

All the negative perspectives as well

At the times when I don’t want to hear them.

Insanity must be embraced and never repressed.
Repression tells you no don’t do that, it’s wrong.
When insanity isn’t embraced, it is feared.
When something that’s inevitable is feared
You’re no longer insane,

**You’ve completely lost it.
"You're only given one spark of madness, you musn't lose it." - Robin Williams
Chloe Sep 2014
You make my skin crawl,
Like writhing maggots beneath,
Like the innocent child's scrawls,
Tainting my canvas, my skin.

Your words, they pierce me,
Like the ***** of a needle.
Caressing, so fatally,
Over the scarred, raised skin,

The years of mistreat,
Has treated me harsh,
Showing meat so starved,
Brittle bones over skin.

The world! Such a joke,
Made of him, her and you.
My existence, mere smoke,
Our stories, nothing but skin.

For skin show where we've traversed,
The roads we have trod,
A beautiful canvas,
Of cools, brights and skin.

I am proud of my masterpiece,
It's whittled into my skin.

From the lines embossed to my chest,
To the intricate blend of colors,
The white spiraling scars,
Etched deeper than skin.

Here I stand,
Here I scream.
Proud of the bands,
That bind me as one, my skin.
pixels Nov 2012
i'll tattoo these emotions across my wrists
because they're choking me all the way through my skin
wrapping around my veins
tainting my soul like a sick liquor

and no one will understand this suffocation
this slow sort of cancer spreading along my neurons

the numb stage is over
my smile now appears
but it's warped and it's deranged
just like the scars i create

i've been crying for hours
and there's no end in sight

and my nerves are exposed
innocent words
cut to the bone

i climb higher and higher




i topple over the edge
Mental disorders combining with personality disorders is a passionate, painful thing.
Michael W Noland Sep 2012
I don't always feel you

nor do i care.

nor shall i fare

the weather of your temperament.

I am exempt of the pettiness, and of the nervous fetishes, in the indifference.

I try not to be presumptuous, in the perceived ignorance, of the plunderers of my wealth

but am more alive.

More willing to die.

More willing to try

anything but sigh

in feeling the mediocre hand of my health.

So high

doling out the breathless help, in the restless stealth, of bland demands, felt,  in the smoking stacks of hell.

I survive off the glean, provoking, glass from sand.

I act,  as though i give a ****.

Evoking ash from hands, in the defiance of no mans land.

Stamped

in the trampled giants of the black.

Sampled, the compliant hacks in backless, tackling of the stance.

Cackling

I cracked.

and cracked the cast, in blast powder, compounding the flames, of the flounder flamed, in profane name calling.

Never to dodge the calling ..

Feeling the falling of doubt.

In the Tao,  of mauling my malevolence.

Thought i bled it out, as the stalling turned to insulting rebukes, in the flukes,  of lands never lived, but shredded in repulsing lingo, with a flute, to do away with the kids, I mingle, in wait of the sedatives to kick in, than,

Bingo

Nail it to the cross, of the intended loss, singling and wringing them out.

Lost

amid, the somber slayings of bombers praying, for fire to rain from the sky.

Rid

of the calmer makings of alarming sayings, for desire to feign from the cry.

Denied.

The reciprocation of a social spy, trying his best to comply to the prize, and smile.

Its been awhile.

Been a while in exile of thine own heart.

Heart of gold in denial.

Denial of the trials where i shone the brightest, in the mightiest miles of defiled lights.

Lights igniting the nights, in my first rights of passage.

Passage granted in the damaged dues of diligence, where i pursued the villages of my virtue.

My virtues perused the innocence and matured.

Matured in the final words of old birds, dying with dimes, and bagged wine in hand.

Never to understand the last laughs from young chaps blowing off their stacks, just to collapse, in their own mess.

I confess to paying homage in the calmly delusions, of my intrusive self abuses, to the ruthless seduction of my bitterly bitten bruises of seclusion.

I try to loosen up a bit, but instead run this gambit of bankrupt belligerence and hope for the best.

******* in the blessed wishes of the test.

Tested in the vetted nutrients of an institutional bowel movement upon my chest.

My chest giving in to the stress.

I often wake in duress as tears flow through the forgotten, as i brush my teeth of the remembrance of dreams, and clean the dumb away.

Clothe my flesh, and put my gun away.

Locking the front door, I journey into my day.

Every day...

One day.

One day from the mundane

I wont strain to change it all.

I will make the call

but never answer.

Instilling the hollowed cancers

to end it all

I shall befall,  the null.

The No.

The land.

enhanced.

Seeing.

The unseeable.

In unbelievable hate.

Conceiving the inconceivable, and cleaning the slate of my faithful fate, in which i ditch the mares of my dared intention.

I concentrate on the beautiful view from the deliberate limitlessness of my vivid visions to another place, that closely resembles the one that i hate.

Consumed of blue suns, and water breathing.

I bloom

in anger activated guns, and painless beatings.

Marooned from afar

I dare to bare the battle scars of taking it too far, and fainting.

Tainting the waters of life with the ****** knife, of my,  positivity.

The imagery of my imagined city

ssscattered across the tattered remains of my naivety.

Sssteadily holding fast upon the mass of men, even though i readily hate them.

In a single flash of rash decision, i forget it all, and go to work ...

smirking in the murky fog, that marks the facade,  where i lurk in shirtless shirking from the cold.

The shaking of the folds, in time, in space, in the told, telemetry of the mold

I'm

emboldened

In the boots that birth, the same old, hold of the complaint.

Applying force in restraint

In pursuit

to unearth, and loot

the saint

in broken wings, and painted words

that twirl, in the spinning ink

on the brink, of the blur, that births,  this sleeping male

to a world, encroached, by mundane flames, poached, from the slain trail of the ordained, tales of Mikha'el.

As others entrails line, the pale comparisons, as mine, are shell shocked in monotony.

i signed with the autonomy, never talked, and marched blankly into the day.

Every day

but one day

to stray

from the mundane

and make it right.

I will get out of my head

and fly

in light.
Jeanette Jan 2014
I.
My son does not understand fear,
he is 3,
he thinks in color,
he believes in magic,
he says that our dog Smokey
controls the weather.

Watch him as he goes!
Jumping over cracks on sidewalks,
pretending to fly,
attempting to get near electric outlets
because he saw them spark once,
and fire,
fire is cool!

"Watch me Mommy!

watch me."

II.
Some days I stay in bed all day,
I tell everyone I am catching a cold,
a sinus infection,
another migraine again.

It is easier to lie than to explain,
that it is too difficult to shower,
to find an outfit, to brush my hair,
to make food,
to chew it.

Friends jokingly call me a hypochondriac,
my Mother thinks I am mellow dramatic,
My son asks me if I need my temperature checked.

It is too honest to say,
"I am fighting monsters, and they won today."
Who would believe me if I did?

We are taught since childhood
to not believe in the things
we can not see.

III.
The day we buried my Grandfather,
I wore my favorite gray dress,
I was scared to taint it
with such a sad memory,
but I was 8 months pregnant
and nothing else fit.

We threw dirt in a hole
as three strangers watched us grieve.
They stood with shovels ready to do their jobs,
ready to get home to their loved ones.  

All I could think about was how much
it aches to love anyone,
even in the good times, it aches.
Loss dances outside our window
like flames, waiting to engulf.

I vowed to protect my child
from any unnecessary pain,
I vowed to make him feel safe.

Now I fear I am the one
tainting him in gray.

IV.
Not every day is bad,
most days are nice, in fact,
some days are so good
that the bad ones seem
like distant memories.

On the good days I feel brave,
brave like my son;

I tickle his tummy and show him
which lights are stars, which are planets,
and tell him I love him, always,
no matter what.
Joe Woodhead Oct 2014
“Yorkshire! Yorkshire!” I hear the EDL scream,
as if somehow the county, relates to their regime?
Trying to push on others their far right views,
and tainting Yorkshire with their taboos
cos Yorkshire to me, is whatever the **** I want it to be,

I do love a bit of local pride...
maybe to revel in the comfort it provides,
and even though stereotypes say we're tight,
as well as stubborn, argumentative (they're prolly right),
But I'd rather that, than be uptight,
like a stereotypical southerner might

I recently read a quote from Stuart Maconie,
“England has a bottom half,
but there isn't a south, in the same way there's a north”
The North in the south means desolation,
A cultural wasteland with deserted stations,
a place built on violent, aggressive foundations,
With mid summer Arctic temperature fluctuations,
Nothing that comes close to a nation....

But that's not what I see,
To be from the north means good fish and chips,
with tomato sauce and vinegar, it's glory on the lips,
I see people willing to lend a hand,
A honest chat about the weather as you stand at a bus stop
that you never planned,
It doesn't matter whether it's a cob, bun, bap, barm or roll,
Or that the north was ****** over by the outsourcing of coal,
Or your opinion that we're all just sat on the dole, drinking tea out of a ***** bowl.
We should still all have a similar goal,
To have a good time,
and not hurt a soul

Sometimes I do like to revel in the divide,
but I'll always welcome people from the other side,
Acceptance is not sin,
and if you let it,
it generally ends up with a win : win

What's Yorkshire to you? I haven't got a clue... but come sit down so we can have a chat and a brew! And hopefully we'll both learn something we never knew.
Poem about the North South divide in the United Kingdom.
PrttyBrd Jan 2014
there is no sleep for tired eyes
as chance gives way to circumstance
backed into a corner, truth explodes
tainting all that ever was
coloring honesty with doubt
in hues of broken dreams
copyright©PrttyBrd 01/01/2014
Lucky Queue Nov 2012
A body and soul stretched to extremes
Yin and yang
The most and least of both worlds
Opposite sides of the coin
Cleansing and pure
Tainting and pitch
Light and dark
Of the purest white
And the most tainted black
Earth and air and fire and water and aether
Sun and rain
The brightest and hottest fires of sun
Beating and firing heat from the bottomless flames of hell
Breaking into a cold sweat without cease
The flaming evil of health
Rain and sun
The darkest and iciest rain of clouds
Pouring and drenching from the endless pools of heaven
Chilling into a cleansing soak never long enough
The freezing good of pain
The contradictions, the back and forth
The intelligent confusion
The stupid direction
The leather and biker tough guy
The shy and bookish sweet girl
The false realities and true lies
Love in strangers and indifference in close friends
Hope in troubled times and loss in peaceful
Banding together the unlikelies
Separating the probabilities
Pain in love and happiness
Contentment in fear and despair
The sound of one hand clapping.
Strangely whimsical title for my outpouring of passion, but I suppose it follows with the oxymorons and backwards-forwardsness...
I saw the familiar
rose-flush dust
shoot from my
fingertips,

the day
I finally
decided
to snap out of it.

I had forgotten what lived inside me.

I snapped again
at the
worrywart hut
I'd created
for myself
to live in.

And again, once more
for all time
gone
to my mind's

incessant banter
and going-on's
with
the
flirty,
too flirty,
doubting Adonnis.

The fog was heavy,

in its resilience against my
needs
to get it right,

overtaking me in confusion,
making me forget

the reality
that lay beyond it.

Its grip was choking,

sending me reeling
through a
soul-tainting realm

I hated
I knew so well,

grasping

for anything
to hold on to,

anything that
looked
like

Life.

So,

with the moon
tonight,
I weep

for the many suns
sacrificed
to
Unbelief

and
the parts of me
permitted to be
plagued
by

poison
and
malpurpose.

Though,
with the same tears,
I will thank my God
that I can at least
see
what lies
within me

and again, once more
while the moon is still bright

for the gift to feel
remorse.
Free Nov 2013
Lemons- in fanfictions, a gritty or ****** scene.















I watched your Adam's apple bob
As you swallowed your arousal.
My head was swirling with the scent of lemons,
And I couldn't help myself
As I tottered towards you on my intoxication,
Inebriation.
My hands hit your chest,
And in our unsteadiness,
My extra push sent us tumbling...
Down onto the Citrus yellow sheets of your bed
My mouth on your neck,
Wanting only to taste your Lemon sweat.
Your eyes wandered freely,
And your hands soon followed.
Touching my *******,
The perky *******,
You put your mouth on one,
Extracting from it some sour mix of sweetness,
The lemon in my veins.
We mashed together,
Your member against my cavity,
Pictures of lemons in my mind.
Your hand round my throat,
You began to speak harshly,
Lemon tainting your soul.
The acid in your words,
Acid on your fingernails as they tore my skin...
It hurt,
But it hurt like the beautiful Lemons that brought me here.
You put yourself in me,
Again and again
You forced my body into submission.
My tears burned with the citrus,
My eyes now yellow,
Like the lemons.
In this lighting,
Your skin looked yellow too,
I could almost say your head was a lemon...
Pain resurfaces,
Blood,
The sensation that something was flowing into me,
I knew your lemon juice had filled my pitcher,
Now it was available for drinking.
And you did,
You drank your lemon juice with my sugar,
Lemonade of us two.
Pleasure rocked my body,
And I felt your lemon invading me.
But you yourself,
You were drawing it out of me.
My walls pulled in,
They clenched,
I let out a shrill.
The smell of our lemon sweat
Once again,
Pervading the room.
You collapsed beside me,
The drug wearing off,
Lemons exiting your mind already.
I wasn't done though.
I'm still obsessed.
Still obsessed with lemons.
Yenson Aug 2018
Lost in the majority
hiding within the masses
seeking acceptance
afraid to be yourself

The bullies' 'democracy' claims another victim
the chains are for you
not your so-called prisoner
Not the one who dared call it as it is
Not the one unafraid to stick his head above the fence

What is a person if not their truths
Be it right or wrong, better die than a ******* sheep
The Dodo was wiped out because they were flightless
Couldn't escape the clutches of human
Was it their fault
Or the God who made them without wings
and also created man in charge of earth

Man is the highest being
who professes to know more than God
Do what they want and take what they like
We can, so we do
We'll just make it up as we go along
Its unlawful to **** but our Police can **** the Darkies
You do jail time for stealing a loaf
At the top they are stealing millions slashed in Offshore Accounts

Then some flatulences of deranged ******* ranges along
declaring we are Red Devils against the Privileged
See that man go make his life a misery
Don't befriend him, don't even talk to him
Come join our club cause we are the majority

The flatulence of ******* have just stolen your Free-Will
Pitting you against another who has done you no wrong
But it's alright because everyone is in with it
No it's not OK because they have just made you a slave
Played on your fears and made you feel inferior
Judged on your behalf without your consent
And manipulate you without your approval
Because they have fooled you
Made you think you're only strong in a pack
While tainting your mind with Hate
And stealing your free Will

Welcome to Cowardsville, Have a nice stay
Cause you're staying your lifetime
Real Democracy is seeking Common good for all by all
Not common destruction of another blameless Human
as sport to hang asinine trite banners on, to **** your mind in
That is not Power, its a scam by Cheats, thugs and hooligans
who also want a slice of the Top table pies and cherries,
without learning the rules of the game
What these shites call Power is hate and Bullying
And bullying is Wrong and cowardly
It could be YOU someday

You may not have much but at least own yourself
And own your mind
Make your own decision
Don't do because someone stole your free Will
Least of all a Flatulences of Red *******
Who banish Freedom while yelling Freedom For All
Who lies we are fighting for the common people
While their union Leaders earn same as the ******* PM
and live Rent free in mansions with fortunes in Banks

Is Putin equal to all the others he rules over
Is Trump giving up his Billions to make America great
Has Corbyn given a spare room to a Palestinian refugee
or donated half of his wages to the poor
Do you honestly believe Politicians tell you the TRUTH
Whether Red, Blue, Orange, Gold or ******* Rainbow

Then some Shyster Flatulences of Red Nincompoops steals
your Free will and sends you like dogs to go harass
and torment one single Man and calls it Revolution...hahaha

Go have a coffee and smell the Roses....people!
Jeremy Corbyn publishes tax return, revealing total income of £114,342
K Mar 2013
Longing, probably.
A feeling of need.
For things.
Places.
Longing, such a melodramatic word
Disgusting.
Dreams described as something so weak.
Almost rude
Saying these feelings, these needs
Are little more than a flight of fancy.
A lusting from a pubescent teen boy
Over some pin-up model.
Longing, needing, wanting...
I mean, ******, I NEED THESE THINGS is all
All that my ever-noisy mind screams
"I've seen your drawings.
"Your mind must be like an acid trip."
Not a good one.
Constant, consistent, ever-present, complete need for
Stupid, useless things
For people who give not a care in the world about me
Places that don't want me...
An acid trip, a bad one, dark voices yelling at me,
My guilt full of egotistical self-blame.
"Everything has to be someone's fault.
"Always.
"It must be mine."
My fault, my fault, mine mine mine
Always always my fault.
Stupid stupid
I can't even get things wrong right.
Or whatever.
******.
Longing for understanding,
To understand my inner desires.
For things.
The rude word of longing
Tainting even the shameful wants and needs in my heart.
Stupid...
longing and neediness
Heather Moon Feb 2014
There's something majestic, yet also extremely gloomy, about a streetlight at night in the rain. Something, some unplaced dimension within the echoing cars and within the particles of water, as they spray...into oblivion*

Mother, do you recall that rainy day?
The day my gumboots soaked through,
I beleive we were waiting for a bus. It was one of those city rains, when all you could dream of was home or the warmth and comfort. When all you wanted was a bath and hot-chocolate or another item of food, steaming with love. Mother, I remember holding to you're body for warmth as we sat under that old wooden bus shelter.
I clung to you're body and melted into you're lingering scent, you're falling breath and you're human form.
You held me, you hid you're shivers so as to warm mine.
We watched the cars spray etheral mist into the orange lights of the city.
We watched lovers rush by under umbrellas, we watched rain curve down the cement like a snake on it's own journey.
We listened,
oh did we ever listen, we ate up the noise, the stories within the rain, we cuddled until we felt the warmth from our bellies rise out of us like smoke or a dragons breath, tainting the air.

I, you're daughter. You, my mother.

You're long hair curling down your breast. Me, like a little berry scrunched up as close to you as I could get. Like our bodies would drip into each other as one, our breath the same. Only my gulps of air came much sooner and you silently resisted my subtle games. When the huddling was done you reached out to me with you're strong hands and you led me along the night of echoes. I can't remeber much else, asides from sitting with you in the empty pizza shop as we both savoured and satisfied our cravings for comfort. Cold-handed laughter as we danced over the most delectable pizza.
Then we caught the bus home, you sat on the red leather, grabbing the creamy yellow bar, I jumped onto the ratty blue seat beside you and leaned once again into you're body, melting into sweet harmonies.
Eating in the sounds of humans and the sound of the bus, splashing through water
and journeying on through the deep
and endless city night.
Bisho Dec 2012
I was deeply mesmerized, through her dull look I was incised;
Her eyes looked far beyond my world & all the memories I bore,
Her tears were suppressed in her captivating me with a stare,
Her lips would say the words on mine with each word I’m looking for,
Her breath would flow into my heart with each beat I’m dying for,
Still I sought her to the door.

Forever I chose to roam, everywhere with her is home;
She just lingered in my heart but I left my peace outdoor,
Winter was a time of sorrow, but we dreamt of new tomorrow,
But tomorrows came with terror, terror that did taste so sore,
But tomorrows were much painful than the days I lived before,
& she lingered than before.

My heart strings I tried to weave, with some threads of endless grief;
Searching for some face some trace, of her upon my memories floor,
Deep in me I tried to call, I found nothing can console,
Glimpsing her straying in some castle lain deep within my core,
She allured me to beguile me somewhere lost into my core,
Lost within forevermore…

In me a thousand demons weep, aching me in wake & sleep,
Scathed & scorched, seeking your smile that lulled their wicked hearts before,
Thousand raging mutineer, down the silver chandelier;
Those whom you once did inflict, & left their life in twitching war,
Those you provoked yesterday, & incensed their nocturnal war,
They are whom I’m dying for…

As I stood glimpsing you fleet, shadows smothered down my feet,
Fragile were my crisp heart beats, those beats that were solid in core,
Though I am the one you crave, you raised in my heart my grave,
Yearning was harrowing, severing, one can’t endure nor ignore,
My desire have seared my hearts with fires I cannot ignore,
& my fires taste so sore…

I’m condemned to watch you flee; it plucks feelings out of me;
While these voices stuttering muttering; voices I’ve not heard before,
Voices resonates in my veins, filled my heart with myriad stains,
Stains of noises of the voices of my bones & flesh & gore,
Stains of lovelorn lays & cold old days & my spilled livid gore,
Stains upon your castle door…

You were poising through each room, in fragrant feverous perfume,
Burning all my flames vehemently, surging all my beasts to roar,
Flaunting fluttering in each chamber, on the eve of deep December,
Tainting this untarnished heart that just sought you & nothing more,
Confounding that steadfast faith that believed you & nothing more,
Now faith won’t taste like before…

As I give up empty tries, your eyes kissed my bleak goodbyes,
Then you lurk behind the dungeons of my dreary darkling core,
Wicked me O wicked day, when I pursued you to stray,
But in straying I keep praying if you strayed it won’t feel sore;
I’ve strayed in much lonely nights, & lonely nights did taste so sore
Without you into my core…

As you stroll in me & breathe me, look beyond me gaze beneath me,
Look beyond your horrid world, the morbid heart apart you tore,
Now is fainting swooning searing, & your absence keeps on tearing,
Every shard of hope that lingered deep inside you fill with pore,
You severed my happy thoughts & happy thoughts are not galore,
Wish you were some place for more…

I’ve renounced every Love, & still you rove & still you rove,
Still the phoenix flame is aching, healing, waking me once more,
Thousand times your name I call, now there is no place to scrawl
Your name on the walls of my heart, upon which phoenix may soar,
set your luring eyes to my heart, upon which phoenix may soar,
Haul my heart unto the shore…

Shattered chastened, I am sitting, watching my cells as they’re splitting,
All my soul is torn asunder, falling under, horrid curses that I bore,
My fate is to stay awaking, tasting nightmares as I’m aching,
Scathed & bruised, the hells I cruised without you seems not like before,
Scathing breathing, grueling seething, senses I’ve not felt before,
Without you inside my core…

Stricken thrashed & Flayed & shattered, each shard in my heart is scattered,
Quavered fluttered, badly battered, almost dead at your front door,
My flesh is cleaved off my bones, drained in deep hazy unknowns,
Disassembled was my conscious, rapt & smitten was my core,
Insecure, no cure can take it what erodes me deep in core,
For you’re not here like before...

If you only chose to waive, come along & dig my grave,
Lest you watch each wave subduing me away far off your shore,
Swooning fading every night; choking, burying alive my light,
Out of anguish that you’re absence scourged & languished, twinged & tore,
Now it flays me mauls me impairs me feeding on my screams once more,
Those that rise far off my core…

My blood flows with fire surging, steadily emerging, steadily emerging,
They keep suffusing submerging in my heart as you ignore,
All your torment seems in vain, my soul’s liquored by my pain,
All my tears are blood that’s falling all like rains in days of yore,
Now I’m stewed by your long absence that I forgot days of yore,
When we used to sway & soar…

Nothing can ever awake me; you seize me as you forsake me,
You absorb me as you ache me; you possess me from the core,
Illude..Spirits..Opaque...Livid.. Once before words seemed so vivid;
Once before our Love was prancing, prancing as we used to soar,
Once before our hearts were fighting, side by side on Love’s vast war,
When you thrived deep in my core…

Now you’re presence irritates me,
It cleaves warmth off my embrace,
now your absence ghost still hates me,
You have left me abstract space,
Wicked, fallen, out of grace;
& I can’t hold on anymore…
Amanda Oct 2018
Gaze upon your sleeping figure
Wonder where I went wrong
How can I love you so deeply
If in your arms I don't belong?

How come goosebumps rise
When I hear or think of your name
Yet with your face inches away from mine
Our love just doesn't feel the same?

How can my eyes look and see
Perfection from bottom to top
But feel magnetic attraction fading
Powerless to make it stop?

How can I rely on you for such
An enormous portion of my happiness
If every token of generosity
Makes me worth less and less?

How is every sincere compliment able
To spill from your mouth true and clear
When we are both aware you deserve better?
I don't match the adjectives poured in my ear.

How did our easy conversation
Turn to spontaneous spiteful fight?
Understanding somehow replaced with animosity
At least we still share words late into the night.

How can I be chilled by a trace of fear
Tagging along with excitement up my spine?
How is darkness tainting all we know
Yet one touch from you and I'm fine?

How am I able to hate part of you
While loving the rest with all my heart?
How am I distant when you are around
Then miss you very much when we're apart?

How can my brain worship your image
After the extensive damage you've done?
If you cause me to to feel my absolute lowest
How could I still believe you are the one?

Lay beside your body wishing
To be close like we were before
How can I yearn so strongly for your embrace
If we don't feel right anymore?
How can feelings so strong fade into resentment?
Father Moses it feels so good to be sitting right here listening to our classic jazz
The kind we listened to when we would do gardening
It is a pleasure to affirm that your son has finally found his memory,
Of how great he can be or how great he once was
It is strange that we meet here and it is just us men
What happened with our women?

What went wrong?
I guess they stopped caring about who says what to them
And eventually stopped caring about who touches them
And in reciprocation we stopped caring about who sleeps with them and touches them
Because it is only fair that if your woman does not care about who touches her then you wise up and realise that anyone can touch her
And you should do best and care more about how you put your hands onto the world
Then you care more about what you do for humanity

Then you care more about what The Creator has bestowed you with; your talents, skills and ambitions
Your endless longing for Knowledge, for wisdom
Then you know that if she knows you then she must know herself
And if she has herself together, she will respect you and be loyal
Then you know that if she loves you, she wars with you
She does not **** up your energy
And she will know when to be available and what to say
Because she is yours
It is a love you have been waiting for, a love you have worked for, earned and honored.

But if she doesn't know this she will think that by having herself passed over to different men she is somehow tainting your stature but no, don't you know that she is expressing a behaviour and attitude of no self-respect
She is not hurting you, she is only hurting herself because she is lost
She does not know what the Father's Love & Light is or what the guidance of a Mother is

But people fight this reality
They are scared, they are a lost breed and they will continue to be lost
A wise man said: if you are stealing from me and ruining my life because you are jealous of my success then don't be jealous of my death, deliver me gracefully to pastures of vanilla skies where all is well and peaceful
Where the truth does not have a stutter

Where people face themsleves for who they are and what they do and have done
Where they are held accountable for their deeds and when you
Hear all these truths and feel angry at yourself because you have been so lost then don't feel at a loss when I am gone, don't miss me
Live in the perfect and beautiful memories of the things you've done to me
Or the things you haven't done

Then you will begin to learn that there is another reality beyond this one
There are few wives if any because homes are broken
There are few fathers if any because principles are missing
Because of this; society will never grow..

Continents will remain children and those children will blow themsleves up because those who are supposed to adult them into the future are crying for lost time
When you've seen all the things I've done Father Moses you will support me and confirm that I need to rest in the airy sheets of peace

They, the oh so awesome fairies have yet to reach fruition for bedding and wedding
But they don't want this reality because it reveals the massive change that needs to occur and the responsibilty that people have to take to go on their own journies of self discovery
They are afraid to run their own race so they will always fail to conclude the last page.
Thank you for showing me you, I now know what if feels like to be a different person on the planet... You were conceived through prayer and for that you were different but you don't have to plant that into your egoic mind for it hinders your progress and you never reach your full potential because of the very fact. And yes like Grand Phil said: it was envy that caused a black man to stop a fellow balck man from going forward and it was the benefits of being wedded to a royal rather than the reagal responsibilty that caused the flower women to flock in like flies. It would be happy polygamy but most if not all, tell lies. And as such they live a life of lies. Thanking my coworkers for rescuing me when I was five, for that the truth will always survive and when justice is affrimed by a celestial female being, it will thrive.
From where did this dark cloud come?
This black fog that has descended upon you
That you breathe in, tainting the air
That clings to you like soot
Seeping inside through the pores of your skin
Where did it come from
And how do you hide it so well?
An actress, for sure
Hating her work

From profane tirades mixing lies with the truth
Delivered loudly, directed at you
Hateful words devoid of the love once expected
Given up, lost to shame, tossed away, another burden
For your bent back
Heavy weights carried with the remnants of dignity that remain
You say you can handle it, you can handle it all
An actress for sure
Hating her work

From where did this black cloud come?
Descending, tainting, clinging, seeping
Breathing

From the force of clenched fists
The changes wrought by violence
A thousand times the ringing sound
A thousand times you kiss the ground
Convinced, almost, that the blows are deserved
The bruises spread, the blackened eyes
Explained away with blatant lies
An actress for sure
Hating her work

From where did this gray cloud come?
How do you hide it so well?

From the hardness of men possessed by lust
Their ******* brains half-full of fantasy
Their money as good as anyone's
Eyes drinking in your mirror's reflection, unfeeling by necessity
Imprisoned forever, trapped in a computer file
Twenty minutes you will never get back, how many more
Given away for an excuse, forfeited for an excuse:
An actress for sure
Hating her work

From where did this gray cloud come?
From where did this dark cloud come?
From where did this black cloud come?
Can it get any darker?

How will Light find you?
A white-robed Deity
Or the barrel of a gun?
© 2010 by James Arthur Casey
Acacia Salisbury Oct 2013
Defending **** in America is a slippery slide
So why not play it like a game of slide
We play it like its game
Pretending it doesn't affect lives
 
R.
Her mother Said
Be Safe
Be careful
If you’re scared...use that pepper spray
And the other way
That is the only way
 
A.
She felt safe as the police car approached
She thought: Police are meant to protect
No harm getting a ride home from a Knight
 
P.
She didn't know where he was taking her
She wondered if this was a back route
Her innocence and naivety
Killed me
 
E. The End
She’d been missing 2 days
We found her in the woods
Her ebony skin ripped and scarred
Forever with the marks of intrusion
That haunt her Even in her grave
 
Lets play **** likes it a game...they teach
Russian Roulette

Her mother cried tears of pain a
Pain stained with the question of why
I always wondered why her hands  where so small
Like her life lines where warning me she was not
Meant to live long
Never destined to intertwined with a boy who would give her time
 
The embodiment of innocence
She didn't realize until too late
That
He seem to think her curves spoke for her
As if they would say yes
 
She was never the girl to lack modesty
So I have to wonder
Why wasn't it me
 
I know my clothes are sometime suggestive
But does that make me and open invitation
Tell what she did Wrong
Because I’m trying to avoid a similar fate
Save the wings of angels
I'm praying you save her grace
 
In the news tonight, they are spinning her
Into a mainstream Criminal
Newscaster slipped up and said **** ?The judge says she was probable being suggestive
No one ask for ****?
 
….It was her fault?
Her...fault?
 
Was it her fault for trusting the man whose
Duty was to protect her
Was it her fault for
Not fighting back hard enough
Was it her fault for wearing jeans and a turtle-neck sweater
 
There is no justification for ****
I WILL NOT ACCEPT ANY JUSTIFICATION FOR ****
Don't give me excuses
 
I won’t accept ******* community service
When this man deserves life
Laughing it away

How his wife sleep with a ****** in her bed
Does she know a ****** is tucking in her children
Blood stain hands tainting  their  innocence
 
I have every reason to fear men
Every reason to want to cower
From every uninvited glance
And Slight touch
By no fear is not allowed  here
 
Since we want to play games with life
Russian Roulette  
Maybe I’ll get lucky
This bullet full of fear might
Open your eyes
 
While we march for Civil Rights
Don’t you dare forget your own mothers
Rights
You daughters own rights
Your Shaming your origins
And watch in silence as innocence are killed
Stolen from them their woman hood they same
Way stole from many their continent
So desensitized to ****
But we cower in fear of culture  
We force these bruised women back into daily life
Veterans in wars who still wake up in the middle of night
Drench in fear and shame

Tell me this is not war
Women are on the losing side
Integrity is slowly declining
How foolish of me to think that
This
Body is mine
I know you aren't blind
Just choosing to ignore
Go ahead fight other countries
War, **** other people babies
And **** their women
 
Treat your own country like prisoners of war…
The force that intrusion to grow into a baby
With her having a no choice  
 
But **** is just a game to our
Judicial system
So let’s play
Let your sins imprint in screams of rejection
That rearrange the galaxy’s above
Maybe now when we look above
The beauty of the night
In the darkness we have created
Will reawaken your soul
You’ll see something much more
Than the word ****
This is a spoken word piece
Andrew Rueter Nov 2017
People yearn for peace through the night
When they can only see by inferno light
A flame that engulfs the world
But begins in our hearts
We've been tainting this pearl
From the very start

When ****** is part of their plan
I honestly attempt to understand
But the tears I hate flood my brain
When fears create blood and pain
I'm willing to lose my agency
As long as they don't aim at me

We bang our heads on the wall
Until they roll on the floor
They built a ceiling so we'll fall
So we can't reach the door
I am no longer the man inside the estate
When I'm disenfranchised by the state

So I'm pushed to society's outskirts
For the people with whom I flirt
And my perceived net worth
But where one society ends another begins
And they all claim that I've committed sins
So I wander around
Just not inside towns
Where the bullets fly like the accusations
And productivity drains all inspiration

I live in the remote wilderness now
I hoped things wouldn't be so loud
I hear drum beats in the distance
They're explosions killing infants
But there's nowhere else to turn
And my lawn is starting to burn
Must I deal with the chaos colossus
Or could I continue playing possum?
Must I stare into the fiery abyss
To make it onto heaven's list?
Must I return to the mainland
To experience my final stand?

I will wrest sovereignty from them
I will rest in poverty until then
But I would rather have less money
Than subtract family members
They say you draw more flies with honey
But all the flies die in December
Eddie Feb 2019
Humans, like all animals are flawed.
It’s ironic that our strongest weakness of all, Is the fact that so many refuse to admit it.
Difference makes us stronger
The glue to our society.
Every curve, edge, scar and dimple.
These are not imperfections, but evidence of the fact we are living
You are the one I see the world in.
You.
The world would surely be slighted without your existence.
Every single human life has value.
More than gold, more than all the money i’ll ever have
More than my own innocence
I look in your eyes and I see stars,
I gaze upon your skin and I witness Van Gogh's finest creation.
You may never see it in yourself, but It was present from the day you were born.
You refuse to see the beauty in your own imperfection.
There are some who say a child’s angelic face is closer to perfection than there ever will be
When I was young, carefree and filled with wonder
I saw a world filled with magic and monsters
I chased fairies in the garden, disguised as bright red ladybugs.
In each morning of fog, I would stretch my arms, and pretend to be one of the undead, here to consume all the candy I could get my hands on.
I saw a kind hearted king in my dad, smiling down on me from his throne
When each day came to a close,
I would come home at night, and tuck myself in, snuggling under my covers but unable to sleep.
I was forced to listen, as my parents exchanged harsh words to each other, barely muffled by the paper thin plaster of my room.
I could never understand why.
Why, In my perfect little world, would my parents fight?
Reality crashed down on me that day.
This was but beginning of the loss of my innocence.
As I grew, my bitterness grew with me. Each thin tendril pulsed and throbbed within me, pushing poison into my veins.
My mother, father, they weren’t the people I thought I knew
Suddenly all those monsters made my house their lair
One, an exceptionally large creature kept residence in my heart
Resentment.
It ****** me down, like a whirlpool, touching everything, tainting the very ground I walked.
One day my mother, approached me.
She had this look in her eye I couldn’t quite place.
Guilt? Pain? I will never know
She pushed me gently to my room, taking a seat at my desk.
She looked me in the eyes, and uttered these words “i’m sorry”
Those two words, I needed them, as a fish needs water.
I needed to know, that despite the hurt and the neglect, she still loved me
That day I realized what it means to be human. It means hurt, pain, mistakes, and so much more. But I’ll tell you, picking yourself up again, continuing to keep trying,
That, is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. We are human. Gloriously so. Who would we be without our flaws? It takes courage to fix your mistakes. But it takes so much more to embrace them. I looked each of you in the face, and I give you my hand. Take it.
verdnt Jun 2013
I am in a bad state, physically and emotionally (mostly emotionally) and this is mostly a self healing type of thing. Bear with me. A lot of swearing and some mild crying were involved.

1. For starters, I'd like to say that I am sorry for the current state that we're in. Our friendship has slipped through my fingers faster than any liquid could and left me numb and confused and sort of hung over. I never meant to cause you anger towards me in any way but I guess sometimes these things are meant to happen and there isn't anything we can do about it.
2. I kind of miss your small hands and the way they were always outstretched, ready to catch every drop of disappointment and wonder the world had to give. They were always cold too; maybe from all the icy truths they held. I liked the way you moved them when you couldn't figure out the exact words to say, as if they were your cue cards you couldn't quite read.
3. I don't know if we'll ever speak again or if you will look me in the eye when you walk past me, if you even think of me when you see me. I don't know if you still consider me a mistake or the nights we spent together a mistake the way chopping off my hair with Crayola scissors when I was four was a mistake.
5. When this is over, remember that you are not any less loved: you are still the girl who has looked fear in the face every day and fated, “I do not belong to you.”
6. You taught me that everyone leaves. This is no longer something I can romanticize, I’m not capable of turning this pain into poetry anymore. It’s just sadness. It’s just hurt. It’s just hard.
7. In fifty years when I sit down to write a poem about us, (and I will), I will word the way this situation
panned out, pinpoint perfectly why you are letting go, I will have just enough knowledge to write a funny sarcastic quip about how sorry you should be for losing me, but today I am desperate for some explanations, and the present does not seem comical or ironic— it is Cinderella’s lost slipper sad, a future slipping away because you are scared of the clock chiming midnight, and although in hindsight I will laugh at myself, at you, at this, I will tell my children things like, “Wasn’t I silly?” and they will nod, and tuck my cautionary tales under their skin as little life reminders. Although in 50 years I will call you 5 decades too late, say I'm sorry that I never seemed to say “I love you” at the right time, ask how the years have been, and wonder of all the things that could have been if I'd had the right words. I cannot see the future, and all I am is filled with uncertainty rusting my heart and tainting my hope the way rain rusts metal in the spring, wishing that if nothing else, at least someday I will be able to understand.
8. The past three days have been a rollercoaster of emotions, from the highest elation, to the lowest depression. I hope you're happy, I really do. If nothing else, I hope you think of me and the times we shared and smile a little bit. I hope your wildest dreams come true and I hope you realize you are full of bountiful potential spilling out from every bit of you, even your aura. I hope I'm on your *List of Things That Keep Me Up at Night
but in a good way. I hope you actually read Things Fall Apart and make literary connections between the characters in that book and our friendship. I don't even know what I'm saying. I hope you find the words I never could. I hope you wake up one morning and say "I'm going to change the world," because you can. I hope you dance in the rain and not care if your hair gets wet. I hope you get yourself figured out.
Curt A Rivard Sr Jan 2014
Upon reading the article I found myself thinking that it was a topic tainting the beautiful art in the process of death. Death is something we all were born to one day or another eventually have to face whether we want to or not. Masking the process with mind altering drugs could possibly rob an individual of having a noble peaceful passing along with possible negative reactions from the surviving family members.

A question that came to mind after reading the assignment was, what was the family’s position in the decision to undertake such a treatment? Because death has a major impact on everyone left in the wake of losing a loved one.

In my current position I have to remain and always be neutral in my thoughts and if I find myself leaning one way or another I have to rebalance myself and never waiver to one side or another. In the Funeral Parlor business there are many religions that come seeking service and again I must encompass all denominations even if it is something I don’t believe in. I was never one to talk about political issues and definitely when the subjects about drugs ever come up I cannot afford to get involved with it.

In my pursuit of a higher education and working on obtaining a degree in the field of Mortuary Science I am beginning to see that my actions and reactions are now being redefined. I am also working on poise and proper composure along with training myself to think before speaking. In the field of Mortuary Science there is no room for mistakes for you only get one chance in every aspect in the business to make a lifelong memory of the situation that family’s face coming in for a service and a positive memory is what they expect.

Being a witness of the result of death on nearly a weekly and sometimes more basis, I have been entrusted and been welcomed into a community that only a select certain extremely  few individuals ever get to be a part of. There are many attributes that Funeral Directors in the field seriously look for in someone. It is imperative to always refrain from loose talk within the Funeral Home and especially in the Preparation Room and not to mention even in the public.

In last stage situations I have seen both sides of the coin and have to only accept not encourage one way or another if one chooses their avenue of departing. I’ve seen them pass away on heavy morphine and other drugs and also others stop all pain meds to go naturally and then the ones who also had no choice in the matter.

In closing, I found this assignment and subject matter extremely valuable to me because it gave me a perfect opportunity to express my true thoughts and beliefs along with practicing proper education in the field of Mortuary Science.

Death and Dying Class Assignment I received an 80 for a grade do to the avoidance of talking about the drug aspect. I feel that everyone in the class should have received a 100 because it was a reaction paper to what we all had to read.

(Sir Curt A. Rivard Sr. 1-24-14)
Alek Mielnikow Mar 2019
Do you remember the night I came
down, and you were sitting on the
windowsill? One leg up and the
other left hanging, in one of your
white oversized shirts and your
hot-pink pajama pants. Outside
the snow fell like feathers, blue
in the moonlight and black in the
shadows, with a tinge of orange
from that annoying nearby streetlight.

You looked at me, saw me in my
blue boxer briefs and teal t-shirt,
and you didn’t say a word, and
neither did I. Neither of us had
to. I sat down beside you, a mirror
image, and we stared with deafening
expressions. The snow piled on
like feathers strewn across the
room of two lovers too happy to
control themselves. I looked into
the darkness, and you glanced at
the orange sun tainting the solemn
blue hue. And then you turned away,
walked away. I stayed, watching
the snow fall in the dark.


-
by Aleksander Mielnikow
'Ello ya'll! So, I'm usually too busy stroking other things to stroke my own narcissism, but I just want to say that, if I take my ego out of the equation and judge this poem dissociatively, I believe it is the best poem I have written. I wrote it with the intent of there being a deeper meaning behind it. But since I've written it, I keep thinking of different ways you readers would interpret the bits and pieces, and I keep coming up with countless different ideas between the images and details and the relationship. It's honestly freaking me out. But aside from my obvious boasting, I would encourage you other poets and writers to read back on your own works and try doing the same thing. Put yourself in someone else's shoes and see if your bits and pieces can be interpreted in a different light than you initially intended. You might be pleasantly surprised that one of your works is more complex than you thought possible, and you can use what you learn from that odd experience in future works. Anyways, I hope my shameless self-promotion isn't too intrusive in my bigger message/advice, and in the end I just hope you read and enjoy. Ciao!
When I met you, I never intended on dancing for so long.  Every year I’d think, “this is the last time I’ll ever see him”.  And I would get all weepy and teary-eyed as we sent the boats out for the last time, partially dismembered and covered in old, ***** tarp.  But sometimes, I swear, I swear, I’d feel some warped sense of

Relief.

Like I could finally send all my lust and desires off with you to another tomorrow, where I would not be.  Every year was your last year.  And every year I’d say, “this is the last time I’m ever gonna see you” and you’d say “don’t be ridiculous, we’re gonna see each other again.” And I, “How can you ever know for sure?” And you, “I just got a feeling”.  Okay, maybe it wasn’t exactly like that, it was much more poetic.  You’re much more poetic.  And I’d melt like play-doh in the sun when you’d look at me lazily with those sky, sky blue eyes. And wither at the thought of you leaving me forever, my sunshine warming my skin to reach and grow.

But then like the tide, you would always return.

And then it was back to those hot, hot summer days, sweating ***** and drug cocktails out of every pore imaginable.  And in this state, being expected to attend to all the ridiculous tourists looking for a boat ride around the Public Garden. Yeah, can’t say pedaling a two-ton boat full of gossipy annoying foreigners is easy.  But the work pays for my play, so it’s back to the old wooden dock once more.  To your irritable character staining the dock Fridays through Sundays, as if your unbearable hangovers were my fault somehow.  Bloodshot eyes behind those ridiculous J-Lo-esque bright green sunglasses you insisted on wearing.  That is, until they broke and fell into the swampy glittering water.  Which started another screaming match between us, ending in me pouring disgusting pond water into your open, snoring mouth.  Yeah, it was mean, but someone had to let you know that you were being an *******.  You threatened to throw me off the dock, you even pretended to try.  But when you wrapped your cinnamon arms around me, the last thing I had on my mind was fear.  

I can’t even count on my fingers and toes the number of fights we’ve had, the times I’ve made you desperately rip at your thick blonde hair to try and quench the fire I started deep in your belly.  The times you’ve called me weak and naïve, stupid, childlike, to which I’d say you looked like an angry leprechaun.  That one always hit you the hardest.  But when we’d be up in each others’ faces bellowing and screaming, the energy passing between us was of such crushing force I could almost feel myself being ripped toward you, like a magnet to metal.  I could feel myself becoming a part of you, or you a part of me, whether I liked it or not.  

Between the fights and the hangovers and the thick ****** tension hanging in the air like smog, there were the “good days”.  The Mondays, the Wednesdays, when the only thing tainting the air was the rich conversation shared between us.  Some days we would talk for hours on end, about anything that crossed our minds.  “What’s your favorite color?”, “You don’t really believe in the end of the world, do you?” and “How do you say ******* in Italian?”.  You’d laugh at my silliness and I would bask in your happiness, drink it in like sweet nectar from a flower covered in thorns.  And then your happiness would transform into my happiness, and I would skip all the way home singing.  And so continues this delicate dance we began so long ago.

Three years.

Three years.   The difference between you and I, and time past.  Time I’ve spent watching you so carefully as you strut down the dock, muscles contracting and relaxing in rhythm with each deliberate step.  I watch devoutly for the white of your teeth to greet the sun shining so brightly in the sky blue sky.  Sky blue eyes.  All mine, sometimes.  This time.  In my mind I am forever living in the moments we spent entwined together on the forest green bench at the end of the dock, soaking in the sunrays in a content exhaustion.  I am living with your arms around me, you teasing my hair with tired fingertips.  At night I can still see you swerving down Commonwealth Ave and nearly knocking me over with your drunken embrace, then simply placing your arm around my waist.  It fit so well on the small of my back.  The days when you would loop your arm through mine as we finally got out of work and we’d practically run out of the place, as if we were chasing the remaining day through downtown Boston.  I always, always go back to the times you’d put your face so close to mine, as if we were living on a single breath between us.  But I’d blush and shy away, embarrassed, ashamed for feeling anything at all.  

These days, I find it hard to decipher what is me and what is you.  It’s as if we have been dancing around each other for so long we have morphed into one body, moving and mesmerizing.  Our time together is coming to an end, and minutes that once ticked by so slowly race through my fingertips, sand falling through the hourglass in an endless stream.  Days fall off the calendar effortlessly in a final solemn countdown to graduation day.  Every morning is one more morning without you, another moment wasted with you so far away.  Every night is one more night swimming in my loneliness, choking on words I wish so badly to throw at you, so you can finally carry the crushing weight drowning me.  Soon I will go looking to dive into the pools of your eyes and you will not be there.  I know the day I walk on the dock alone is coming, too quickly.  And to rip apart from you now might destroy me.

So time continues, and I continue. To watch, to wait, to covet.  Three years and I’m still hanging on to nothing.  When will you leave me and never come back?
JP Goss Sep 2013
What of exactly is a friendship lost?
Over minute trifles so easily tossed?
Or one that disbands in the cataract of Time?
Something worth pain and blood? Which is absolute and wonderful?
And so, too, can it be asked,
To which man is authority given,
Of such astute austerity endowed,
The man to pass such judgment in good faith and conscience,
Is none other than the crowd.
But, irrelevancies, I totter!
The worst is to be discussed,
For far beyond the scope of reason,
Have these travesties been concussed.
For here, I give to you the corpse of this bond,
This once turgid child of innocence
So, perhaps, its unadulterated substance may quickly manifest
Yet, I pray, I hope, I wonder, its marred and tattered mien profess
The noxious tonic it did consume,
Of ancient spleen and venomous ardor,
To rend its former pulchritude, to hands of untouched fury placed,
It suffered the most insufferable fate to befall upon any beast:
To reanimate, to thrive, to live once more,
In the hands of a tyrant and aimlessly exist
Necrotic at its very core.
This beast, this creature of hated stock,
Was my burden, my cross, to bear,
One, I weep to recollect, of part and parcel of my own flock.
But, I did this, I bore this, along with many others,
In spite of righted timbers,
In spite of rationale,
In spite of my fiber and moral code, that kept us forcibly constrained
For the sake of you, authority
For the sake of tranquil minds
I stood obstinate at the lineaments, between those contrasting foes,
In the self-imposed, childish Purgatory,
Completely indisposed.
Between the shining, gleaming face of holiness, and precipice of spite
For manner of serenity and cowardice perpetual,
Confronted this creature, I did not,
For the sake of you, dear authority, for the sake of stable place.
Children we were, yes, but no less severe the gravity,
For the winnowing of unity, at the yoke of caprice, is to blame.
A real friendship will endure, endure through the boreal,
Endure through the malice, the vitriol,
Will breathe new and longing appetite for breadth, for universality,
Of which all parts must maintain accountability.
It must stand resolute no matter how formidable the ballast,
It must be calm, objective, and outlast the harrowing feelings change may accompany,
Will sacrifice and encourage wellbeing,
It must imbue recollection, a past so beautiful,
Be a comfort in the presence of shame and humility,
Its essence, a friend itself.
But I can no longer pay, at the cost of sanity,
I can no longer give what little remnant humanity to forge another bond,
One made of dead and long-forgotten parts,
I can not, I will not,
I am sick, I am weary for all of the injustices I have done
To watch as the seed of hatred continues to bloom,
The veil of falsehood walk without shame,
To see her stride of perverting intent, tainting the world with touch,
Is a miserable folly to me,
A crime which I let permit,
A coward I was to not stop this, to not lay this matter to rest,
No,
My beleaguered hands put this evil in the ground, and left it to the tides of fate,
It grew, beyond my capture, beyond my strength to control,
Into this horrid ****, this miserable plant,
Which, still!, it grows sans disannul
To take responsibility to this, on me, I cannot err
But, naturally, none to the plant, it seems,
And this is only fair.
Anderson M Jul 2013
Gone are the days of yore
When intellectualism was a preserve
Of the privileged and distinguished in society
A family ‘heirloom’ passed on to succeeding generations

Over the years the human mind
Has morphed into a think tank of awe and bamboozlement
An object for advancement…and destruction almost in equal measure
A portal to self-destruction

Political pundits passionately discourse in the corridors
Of power over an issue as mundane as   food taxes
Am ****** if this aint a move to subjugate the populace
Whilst reveling in the guise of representing the best interests of the electorate


It’s a slap in the face of reason and logic
A soiling and tainting of mother earth’s unconditional benevolence
Extended to her humble earthlings as bountiful harvest
But a means of self-aggrandizement it is for the politicians and their loyalists
Apparently this is *
political correctness
I beseech the heavens to confer upon the technocrats of this world **common sense**...cause...it's kind of a novelty to which they are unfairly or selectively denied
niamh Dec 2015
The lies
like dirt under
fingernails.
Call on your inner
Lady Macbeth
but no amount of scrubbing
can cleanse them.
They lie thick
on the tongue
tainting tastes
with blistered buds.
A thousand ants
marching on your
skin.
Unscratchable itch.
Descending into
madness.
Only truth can
set you free.
Only you can
free the truth.
PrttyBrd Dec 2010
A life lived in black and white.  No time for middle of the road.  Lines drawn straight and narrow.  Passion, only with rules.  Love, only as stated.  A heart filled with admiration, adoration, and caring.  Nothing missing from the list of "supposed to".  All boxes checked off. I's dotted and T's crossed.  Perfect on paper, perfect to onlookers, perfect in bed.  Never a thought of something missing.  All boxes checked.  Not able to settle into a life.  Unable to blur the lines.  Must be good, always good.  Mistakes happen, but not on purpose.  Not by choice.  

Always the good one
Right is the only option
Mistakes...still happen

Before we fully become, life is full of confusion.  Who we are and what we do are enmeshed within our surroundings, our perspective, our emotion, and our lives.  Pulled together, yet fighting every step of the way.  Beyond our understanding of purpose or passion.  Afraid of everything we are as yet unable to understand.  Trying to get through to the next phase without falling too hard.

Peers skew vision
Rules confine the innocent
Love hides unnoticed

Grown into a life of checks and balances.  A nice life, a good life.  Loved by many, yet alone.  Always alone.  Able to love, willing to love, believing love is what is being lived.  Unseen circumstances. Friendships remembered.  Longing, pulling toward one another.  More than passion could ever be.  More than who we thought we were.  The need to be right, to do the right thing, is stomped unrecognizable by emotion.  The past melts into the future.  Is a life unfulfilled, yet loving, enough to maintain, or is love supposed to be so full of passion that it takes you outside the box?  

The thought of a life
A love left unrealized
A world in a cage

A chance to live in happiness. Fires burn in body and mind.  No sorrow, no regret.  Pushed by one into another.  Two hearts alone run to each other.  Holding fast to all that is real.  Yet casualties will line the road forever tainting all that could be good.  Checks and balances. Pros and cons.  Does one give up happiness to maintain the perfect facade, the perfect family, the "perfect" life?  There is no perfect.  There is only what is.  The possibility of happiness could be short lived.  Hearts broken and bridges burned.  Broken families, broken lives.  Happiness could be tangible.  Happiness could be real.  Pros and cons.  What price shall be paid.  When should love lose and happiness not be a goal?  Choices, pain, there is no fairness.  There is no black and white, there are no boxes in which to fit.  

Straight and narrow life
Checklists, I's dotted, T's crossed
Thwarted by passion
copyright©PrttyBrd 08/12/2010
Steve Page Dec 2016
Reasons to be tearful
1 2 3 daughters
Sitting in Bay 3 in A&E;
Praying for recovery
With oxygen and tlc.
The drip drip hangs silently
While she lays restless
In a bed that's temporary
Leaving everything unsaid
Leaving nothing unsaid
Punctuated with apology.
Cursing the immodest gown
That's flapping around
Dozing within the bustle around
Her exhaustion and frustration
Tainting all conversation
While her smile's still strong
Between episodes of expletion.
Doctors come doctors go
Nurses stay longer than they ought to
Breaking rules to console
While our mum offers up
'I'm sorry' from her heart
And we know this is just the start
Of a brand new hurt.
Hospitals at Christmas with family.
Poetic T Feb 2017
She was a dainty little one, that's what her mother
used to say, but now she wasn't so young.
Time was a tide that had flowed over her hair once
blonde and flowing down her back now a shimmering grey.

But she had noticed a decline in the world of those of
mature age, clothes were drab ugly and grey.
So much unattractive clothing made by the mother of
modern age dullness. Trying to sweeten the *** by calling
each a different name

The Ashen Collection:  It fell from the clouds and landed on you.
The Pearly Collection:  Even beauty doesn't need colour

Were they not color blind? Ok maybe a few were, but
this was just horrible, it was like wearing cement.
Just as stiff and ghastly to even wear. This just made
people look frightful in dismal clothing not suited to be
seen in the light of any day they walked out in it.

So I had to make a stand, I had to keep this dismal color
from tainting the eyes of a younger soon to be older
generation. I had wrote to the fashion designer by
Email, what just because I'm old doesn't mean I haven't
got skills. Her name is Miss Grey Bottom....

---------------------------------------------------­---------------------------------------------
Dear Miss Grey Bottom,

As I am one of less years than more, it would be appreciated that
these years are filled with friends amusement and children's laughter.
I see though that your clothes line has been hitting the scene,
Yes I'm hip with the lingo..

I ask that you add a little color to this line of mature wear
due to the numbing effect it has on those wearing it?
There is no color in there face, no smiles just blank eyes.

At This time were most alive, we need the vibrant feel of life
in our daily lives. Not the mundane clothes that numb the senses.

Yours Sincerely,

                           F.G
-----------------------------------------------------------­-------------------------------------

I waited and waited, well ok I waited two weeks, ya don't
know how long you have left, it was like waiting for paint
to dry under the ocean. But I waited I even shrank an inch
in the time I wasted. So I thought I would do something about it,
as more and more were just walking around in dismal
clothing draining what little youth they had left. So I got a
few of my crew, and we got our design on. Front loop,
garter stitch, knit left loop, there so many weavings that we could
tell you about but now the first piece was finished.

"Try it on, it was an mixture of all our creativity, so we got
Mr. Robin he was 65 years old and had such cute rosy checks..
He looked puzzled?? "What's a matter Mr. Robin? Half his head
was sticking through the top of the jumper, not worried about
messing his hair or lack of...
He then preceded to tell us that it looked like a unicorn had
thrown up a rainbow on it.. "Oh, Colourful metaphor,
and then he proceeded to dance, I think he was break dancing??
He had good moves for his age.

"Ladies it itches so very badly, “I wasn't dancing,
"It feels like I have ants in my pants, crawling around
this jumper that I must take off now...


Sighing and regaining his composure,

"I never knew I had those kind of moves still in me,

Giggling slightly, he then folded the jumper.

He politely put it on the table, saying that if each did a
singular design, their own creation that it would be an art piece,
each a creation of their colourful imagining.
But please, please not in wool, try other fabrics.
And with this ladies of knowledge weaved there ideas together.
Two months later and quite a few pennies spent they produced
their own line of vibrant colours fulfilling the gap where drab,
grey clothing had drowned the feelings of an older generation
needing colour in this moment of their lives.

It now felt like what once was missed entered their lives through
the creations of these vibrant grannies.  But as there designs were embraced by the [silver mains] people of older graces.. The dullness was fading, and a certain lady didn't approve of such sunlight in
those that once wore her garments now being used as wash clothes.. Miss Grey Bottom was sullen for her plans to make the word
feel as she did, sombre in thoughts that weaved into her designs.
But she wasn't giving in  without a fight, she brought out new collections that had a hint of silver grey a hue not colour but
not as bland... but this was a start, its was called the;

Cloud collection:  Everyone has a silver lining..

Fashion Granny smiled, as she knew that seeing those of
Mrs Grey bottoms age infused had slightly changed her,
and with that they made more clothing to invigorate those
of climbing years..
Reviews were steadfast from those wearing there line:

Mr Whitehall:  I love the colouring of your clothing, it was
like it was made for my personality.

                                        Thanks F.G

Miss Waterson:  I feel like a millions pounds, this line enriches
my life every day I wear it.

                                        Thanks F.G

These were but a few of the thousands of reviews they were
scoring at 4.9 out of 5 stars in the reviews and the grannies smiled,
glad that they brought some reflection into their collection of clothing.
There was a knock at the door, and to all there surprise none other
than Miss Grey Bottom.

"Hi grey, about time you answered my email,  
Said her sister. Yes Miss Grey was fashion Grannies sister,
older by 10 years 2 months and 3 days.

"Why wouldn't you answer my calls and emails??
" I was really worried about you and those clothes so
gloomy yet I could tell the beauty was trying to come out
with those beautiful lines,


She just stared at her sister in silence and then, noticing
a tear she wiped it with her thumb tenderly holding her sisters
face. Miss Grey burst into tears and Fashion Grannie held on
to her sister, they hugged for what seemed like forever before
Miss Grey composed herself. "I have missed you so much,
Fashion granny smiled,
"Me to, you silly sausage, 
 
She introduced her sister to all those who helped her with
the colouring and design of their brand F.G, then they sat;

"Your my sister I didn't want to burden you with my
problems,


Fashion granny lent over and kissed her sister forehead

"You silly sausage, that's what family are for,

With those words a smile eclipsed Miss G B's face,
a smile rose across her sisters remember that beauty
that she once knew returning to her sisters face.

"Well you have me and my crew as friends now..

"Your crew, giggling aloud Miss G.B couldn't
even frown for she was for the first time in a long
time smiling, laughing.. Even though tears were
falling they were of happiness, not sadness as before.

Three Months Later,

The world had become a brighter place as sisters
and friends created art woven from cloth and not
only for those of silver locks, but these were hip
grannies they were weaving for the younger crowd.
The first show was about to start and they looked
out to see if many had come to see the new line,

A unicorn had thrown up a rainbow collection:
         So much colour you'll see rainbows in your sleep

It was an international hit, and the grannies were so proud
of what they had done not a singular person, but as close
friends. They carried on with this until they retired which
was not as far away as you'd think. But they had made new
friends and two sisters had once again found each other again
both thinking of how proud there mother would be now.
Wrote for my daughter, she is awesome 1359 words I know little long but worth it for her
Danielle Alyse Apr 2014
Night skies still murmur your name. Whilst wondering why this longing has since surpassed desperate, I sat-
Curled up, knees to chest
Clenching my flesh in hopes to hold on to my last ounce of existence.
I felt naught but daydreams of nightmares haunting me, relentlessly.
Preying on my thirst for passion
Destroying my notion of love-
Tainting my eternity.

-danielle A. Watson
Glenn McCrary Aug 2011
In a sphere of infinite narcissism



Wicked homosapiens tread the horizon



Daunting threats of turbulent tragedy



Dawn upon the hopeless, roaming souls



Sheathing them with treacherous shadows



Of atrociously, covert crucifixion



The elite coquettes hearken



The tumultous sound



Emanating from multiple, acrid massacres



Tainting these notably wounded hearts



Within a satanic plethora



Of acrimonious equivocation



By nightfall a harrowing suicide



By daybreak a dreary mourning



Catastrophe is all that occupies



This infamous wasteland of avarice



By Glenn McCrary



© 2011 (All rights reserved)
SparksLC Oct 2013
So lost, do I feel...
That what I once knew, will no longer appear.
Terror racks me deep inside,
Forever yearning what once stayed close by my side.
Desperation has bloomed beside my feet...
Screaming...
Pleading...
For what I most need.
With pen and paper taut by my side,
Shall my will continue to thrive,
Afore the ink in my pen dares to dry.
This mere extension of myself,
Paints the colors of my soul.
Of what one will never know,
'Till the new becomes the old.

Too long have these words gone unsaid,
Tainting the many pure thoughts, that have swam through my head.
Trapped deep within my heart so dear,
All of my passions, now contorted with fear.
Curiosity forever sealed within its cage,
Fighting,
Crying,
Desperately wishing to be saved.
A key-less lock hangs loosely,
Taunting those it may.
Holding the door of my prism open, yet preventing any escape
As my lifelong dreams bitterly scream my name.

I cringe,
Shying away from the guilt.
For locking away my desires
And abandoning my will.

Will you ever forgive me?
For leaving you so alone
To gather up dust and grime,
And wander without a home.

Will I ever forgive me,
For deserting my only hope.
Locking it deep within my soul,
Till my hand moved once more.
Spreading my blood across the parchment,
Forever earning my own name.
Holding tight onto reality,
Unwilling to look fantasy in the face.
Creating the key to my own prism,
Will I protect this sacred place.
Sword and shield,
'Til infinity fades,
Do I vow.

© 2013 SparksLC
Hello all. It's been quite a while since I've written anything. My hdd fried about 8 or so months ago, and the loss of most of my work devastated me more than I realized. The pain was so real, I avoided my writing so that I wouldn't have to face rebuilding what I worked so ******* from the ground up. I didn't realize how long it had been since I'd written anything until I started to fear that I was losing my skill as a writer. This poem is a depiction of everything I've been feeling for months. I do apologize if it's not as good as my other works, but it's been quite a while since my pen dared to touch paper. Please R&R; and let me know what you think! Thank you!
Timothy Apr 2016
THE LEADEN ECHO

How to kéep—is there ány any, is there none such, nowhere known some, bow or brooch or braid or brace, láce, latch or catch or key to keep
Back beauty, keep it, beauty, beauty, beauty, … from vanishing away?
Ó is there no frowning of these wrinkles, rankéd wrinkles deep,
Dówn? no waving off of these most mournful messengers, still messengers, sad and stealing messengers of grey?
No there ’s none, there ’s none, O no there ’s none,
Nor can you long be, what you now are, called fair,
Do what you may do, what, do what you may,
And wisdom is early to despair:
Be beginning; since, no, nothing can be done
To keep at bay
Age and age’s evils, **** hair,
Ruck and wrinkle, drooping, dying, death’s worst, winding sheets, tombs and worms and tumbling to decay;
So be beginning, be beginning to despair.
O there ’s none; no no no there ’s none:
Be beginning to despair, to despair,
Despair, despair, despair, despair.


THE GOLDEN ECHO

Spare!
There ís one, yes I have one (Hush there!);
Only not within seeing of the sun,
Not within the singeing of the strong sun,
Tall sun’s tingeing, or treacherous the tainting of the earth’s air,
Somewhere elsewhere there is ah well where! one,
Oné. Yes I can tell such a key, I do know such a place,
Where whatever’s prized and passes of us, everything that ’s fresh and fast flying of us, seems to us sweet of us and swiftly away with, done away with, undone,
Undone, done with, soon done with, and yet dearly and dangerously sweet
Of us, the wimpled-water-dimpled, not-by-morning-matchèd face,
The flower of beauty, fleece of beauty, too too apt to, ah! to fleet,
Never fleets móre, fastened with the tenderest truth
To its own best being and its loveliness of youth: it is an everlastingness of, O it is an all youth!
Come then, your ways and airs and looks, locks, maiden gear, gallantry and gaiety and grace,
Winning ways, airs innocent, maiden manners, sweet looks, loose locks, long locks, lovelocks, gaygear, going gallant, girlgrace—
Resign them, sign them, seal them, send them, motion them with breath,
And with sighs soaring, soaring síghs deliver
Them; beauty-in-the-ghost, deliver it, early now, long before death
Give beauty back, beauty, beauty, beauty, back to God, beauty’s self and beauty’s giver.
See; not a hair is, not an eyelash, not the least lash lost; every hair
Is, hair of the head, numbered.
Nay, what we had lighthanded left in surly the mere mould
Will have waked and have waxed and have walked with the wind what while we slept,
This side, that side hurling a heavyheaded hundredfold
What while we, while we slumbered.
O then, weary then why should we tread? O why are we so haggard at the heart, so care-coiled, care-killed, so ******, so fashed, so cogged, so cumbered,
When the thing we freely fórfeit is kept with fonder a care,
Fonder a care kept than we could have kept it, kept
Far with fonder a care (and we, we should have lost it) finer, fonder
A care kept.—Where kept? Do but tell us where kept, where.—
Yonder.—What high as that! We follow, now we follow.—Yonder, yes yonder, yonder,
Yonder.
–Gerard Manley Hopkins 1844—1889

https://youtu.be/WhQwFf6Qb9U
Slow creeping castles in mind intertwine
With memories bled deeply with pain
Chaotic structures, foundations of fear
And lives of a dark crimson stain
Slivered intentions ****** deeply within
Black fingers which clutch death like gold
Breeding disfigured delusions of life
In a worm-ridden heart love can't hold
Distorted figures of flesh and of shadow
Vehemently spawning delusion
Embedded far within failure-worn skin
With morbid intent the intrusion
Tragedies breeding disease and a hunger
Consuming a weak self-control
Raging insanity, loss of humanity
Ravenous Thiever of Souls

   **

Dust of a shadowed and well hidden ignorance
Envelopes discarded hope
Enhancing the feelings of failure and worthlessness
Of the lost soul who can't cope
More of the lessoning of love for life
Less of a reason for living
Imprisoned inside a one-sided world
Oppressor of self, unforgiving
So few the caring, supporting, and loving
Too many workers of pain
Within his mind, now void of forgiveness
Only one option remains
So few would mourn, so many rejoice
One bullet could cure this disease
Misguided hand holding cold false deliverance
Moves toward disaster with ease

Trembling fingers now pushing destruction
Begin to draw false freedom nigh
Conscience is screaming, imprisoned by hopelessness
Drown out by suicide's lie
The kiss of cold steel, and death gives a whisper
As barrel is pressed against skin
The moment forgotten as soul-piercing words
Explode far more near than within
"Such a loss you endure.  Such sorrow and pain.
Such a fool to think death sets you free."
Now a figure before, a shadow with substance
Dark whisper upon bended knee
Somewhat from fear, somewhat from awe,
Somewhat from thought hypnotized
The gun falls away, along with intentions
In company of undead eyes

Darkness leans closer, distorting a smile
Veiling intent with concern
Stretching it's hand toward the vacant young man
Saying, "Come.  There are things you should learn."
Contact is made, and light is betrayed,
As both fall down into the gloom
The young man awakens to heartless abandon
To learn of revenge in his tomb
"Your pain can end by ending the source,
And multiple sources there are.
Each individual judging your life
Leaves on your soul a new scar.
Erase every scar, and restore who you are
By sending their souls here to me.
Ask not what I do, and my promise to you
Is revenge will soon set you free."

Of all of the thoughts now inside his head
The victor is "ending the pain"
Tired of being the subject of scorn
Tired of going insane
"**** them all.  Yes.  And, why not?" he concludes
"They've been killing me for years.
An end to the torment, an end to the pain,
An end to all of the tears."
Gaze fixed on eyes alive with death
Eager for cold recompense
The young man sells his soul with, "I will."
Darkness smiles.  "Let us commence."
A savage young man, now barely a man
Arises to set himself free
Not knowing he's fashioning his personal cell
With Darkness now holding the key

Cover of night and a murderous silence
Welcome the newborn disease
Un-natural sight on this victory night
Grants the new killer great ease
Now there is flight, cut loose from earth's ties
To soar into vengeance untold
And a hunger for more than was bargained for
As morbid desires unfold
All taken in with more pleasure than fear
More weapons with which to wage war
First there was only the goal to take life
Now there is drunkenly more
"They will endure much more physical pain
Than that which they carved on my soul."
And madness begins as delusion abounds
In the Slave to the Thiever of Souls

To the first window, the first scar of pain
Laid out on a bed of fine white
The falsified *****, who pretends to adore him
While taking new lovers each night
A trick of the fist, and a flick of the wrist
And teeth burrow into the flow
The life that once thrived on the tainting of lives
Now lost in irony's throw
As the well runneth dry, the Slave gives a cry
As the torture intended is lost
Yet the hunger now maddeningly cries from inside
To be silenced whatever the cost
Turning away as emptiness grows
More wicked than torture's regret
Vowing the next will experience pain
Before their life's blood has been let

The next pair of scars, so distinct under stars
Together, as in his despair
The father and mother of what he once was
For him they had never been there
"Break them apart in each other's view,
Then hang them with their own entrails."
But ravenous hunger devours the thought
As self-treachery is unveiled
Before realization of torture now lost
Has time to fully set in
The two have been drained, their life now contained
In the ravenous nothing within
The Slave is consumed by rage beyond end
As the hunger continues to grow
Revenge now a second to the matter at hand
A trip to the Darkness below

"What have you done to me, you sick ****?"
A smile.  "Does it not satisfy?
An end to the pain that you felt was the deal.
In return are the souls you supply."
"The pain of my scars is drown out by far
By this hunger consuming my need.
I need to torment each one before death,
You *******!  Why do I only feed?"
"By feeding, my Slave, you harvest the souls
You promised me in our deal.
Never was torture a part of the bargain.
Go forth.  There are more souls to steal."
"And once I have taken these souls you request,
Is that when you set me free?"
"As long as you live, someone will cause you pain.
You will always be Slave unto me."

Blazing insanity blooms in a rage
As hatred begins to stain
"The soul of anyone, then, can be taken
If they are causing me pain?"
A smile, formed of misunderstanding
Now spreads across the dark face
"That is the deal, my Slave.  Just as long
As you bring the soul back to this place."
"But what of your soul, you ignorant ****?"
The smile now beginning to fade.
"I bet devouring your soul voids it all…
This ****** deal I have made."
A pause, "Yes Slave, my soul ends it all.
But freedom, you see, has its price.
You may be free of the deal we have made,
But you will never escape the device."

Locked in a gaze of thought and intent
The Slave and Thiever of Souls
Understanding, and the lack thereof
Threaten the grip of control
"To be a slave and be forced to feed,
Or feed after I've had my fun.
If those are the only two choices I have,
It's sure as hell not the first one."
The Thiever of Souls and the Slave then collide
With weapon of claw and of tooth
The Thiever now still, so quickly brought down
And the Slave, realizing the truth
As the soul of the Thiever and all those therein
Merge with the scars on his own
The voices now present inside his dark mind
Bring darker truths to be shown

"Slave, you have played the game out as we hoped,"
Sang the morbid chorus of loss.
"Each one of us were the victim before,
And won, to find losing the cost.
Would have been better to pull the ****** trigger
Than take up the offer, you see.
No longer the Slave, but the Thiever of Souls.
Prisoner, you've set us all free.
Enjoy your new hell, and suffer for us,
As we will suffer no more.
But, just as promised, at least this new pain
Will drown out the scars of before.
Your life is now eternal death,
And eternally you will feed.
This is the price you're condemned to pay
For your selfish, vengeful greed."

         **

Slow creeping castles in mind intertwine
With memories bled deeply with pain
Chaotic structures, foundations of fear
And lives of a dark crimson stain
Slivered intentions ****** deeply within
Black fingers which clutch death like gold
Breeding disfigured delusions of life
In a worm-ridden heart love can't hold
Distorted figures of flesh and of shadow
Vehemently spawning delusion
Embedded far within failure-worn skin
With morbid intent the intrusion
Tragedies breeding disease and a hunger
Consuming a weak self-control
Raging insanity, loss of humanity
Ravenous Thiever of Souls
I wrote this several years ago while trying (failing) to write a horror novel. The poet in me had other plans with the idea.

— The End —