"thereby" poems
Stumbling into ancient scripts, authored a decades plus ago,
ago being a modifier of time quantities, minute or large, unspecific
without an objective adjective additive, that faucets a stream of an interlocutory elocution of a batter of rooted emotional histories,
but not histrionics
fanciful words for dredged up memories, acute, but tarnished,
powered yet worn by a cousin of ago, a/k/a,
age
and yet
renews as of,
at this very second, as if it were a first, a tumult of visions, swelling of remembrances, embodied scars, and I weep anew but not
for me, as much for the resonating simpatico souls with whom
they even now vibrate with resonance of the immediacy of
If not now, When?
Aside: The exterior environment is noisy wet pelting of thunderstorms and ****** sheets of bulleting rain, piercing projectiles, but I am safe in the sunroom, sadly happy my dog is no longer here to shiver and tremble, cuddle and be soothed by steady stroking
But I am here, wrestling with this dredging operation, digging up
tons of sand that require dumping, and I ask, inquire, beg:
Who will take this detritus off my hands, once more, now uncovered,
now recovered, the soil is already soaked and can absorb no more,
the soul is already soaked and can absorb no more, the weakened
heart, damaged and occluded, suffer cannot bare twice the
outrageous misfortune
of unbared recollections, twice, or thrice, and I feel myself drowning in revisiting pain, **** **** **** these old poems, not nuggets, but boulders dropping from night skies, shot from a pitching machine, without letup, piercing of agonies that once ago
freshly desecrated and decorated my basic training in humanity.
Enough whining:
*I wrote those poems to
eject out those pains,
and I write this now, once more,
to realize that so so many still face
uncertain and unrelenting similarities,
doing their own sums,
and I wish them easing,
strength to compose and
thereby dispose of
the ineloquent
and eloquent
words of staining suffering*
3:30am
Thur
July 10
2025
Jul 16, 2025
Jul 16, 2025 at 5:39 PM UTC
The riled route master and the hacked off hackney carriage weren't bothered by the boris bike, they simply barreled along the bus lane oblivious to the wobble, blind to the blindsided and bent on beating the amber to red, til they were halted by the growth factor of a chelsea tractor straddling lanes and field testing the choice of right or left and failing the screen test set by the sat nav, thereby giving opportunity to the swarm of office staffers snatching their chance and chancing their luck, dancing past with their fat chance of swiping in before nine and avoiding the chagrin of the boss who's been the bane of their short sojourn through the city of lost dreams, chance encounters, thin fortune and rushed hours. This is London.
Oct 12, 2018
Oct 12, 2018 at 2:03 PM UTC
Radness
The Philosopher’s Stone is not just a spiritual metaphor but an actual substance that can transmute lead or mercury into gold. The Stone is a product of Alchemy. Unlike chemistry, which only deals with physical matter and energy, Alchemy makes use of etheric and astral energies to reconfigure matter at the quantum level. Alchemy is to chemistry what a cube is to the square; it is a superset of chemistry and is capable of so much more.
How Etheric Energy Overrides Physical Laws
Alchemical achievements require successfully gathering, concentrating, and multiplying etheric energy. When this energy reaches a critical threshold, it overpowers the normal laws of physics and allows seemingly miraculous processes to take place. I believe it does this by biasing probability. By amplifying the probability of minor quantum effects, which are normally limited to the subatomic scale, they manifest on the larger atomic scale. In this way, one element spontaneously transforms into another.
The world around us is made of subatomic particles that regularly undergo unpredictable jumps, teleportation, bilocation, superposition, and other strange quantum behaviors. Why don’t everyday solid objects do likewise? Because the random quantum jittering of their subatomic particles collectively average out to zero. Think of a large crowd of people; seen from the air, the crowd as a whole is stationary, even though individuals within the crowd move in seemingly random directions. It’s because their movements are random and uncoordinated that they average to zero net movement on the whole.
The world we see around us is merely a crowd of subatomic particles whose individual quantum jumps aren’t apparent because they average to collective stillness. Physical laws that govern our everyday world, known as the deterministic laws of classical physics, are merely the laws of the crowd. These laws are what’s left of quantum physics after the unpredictability is removed through statistical averaging. They are not absolute laws; they are just the most probable manner in which matter and energy behave.
Physical laws can be bent. While the probability is incredibly low that enough coordination and coherence develops among the quantum jitters to manifest on a collective scale, that is exactly what etheric energy does. It alters probability and thereby skews the laws of thermodynamics, gravity, electromagnetism, and chemistry.
Alchemy does not violate the laws of physics, nor does it always follow them, rather it bends them as needed. It operates upon the quantum foundation from which these laws arise in the first place, via etheric energy affecting the probability of quantum events.
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 8:59 PM UTC
Here comes the Rain
Thereby soothing our Brains
The Brains that got Fried
In the hot hot Nights~ Niti
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 6:25 AM UTC
Law,
All ye termites hacking ants are you without sin?
Twisting the law to your greed thus dethroning justice
Thou that dis-virgins the law to suit your selfish taste,
Did not equity say that none is above the law?
Money-thirsty vultures seeking positions to occupy.
Law hackers depriving justice and equity of her rights
Equity and justice now lives in shame of her virginity,
Almighty termite, do not your deeds speak evil of your sins?
I weep blood for justice and equity whose daughters you *****
Is there none whose conscience still breathe or lives?
Power-driven termites making uncountable promises
Yet accomplishing none but your calculated interests.
Equity,
All ye leaders that preach peace, are you not corrupt minded?
En-slaving accounts meant for public welfare
Yet you claim to have the peoples interest in mind,
Did not the law command you to let equity and justice smile?
Parasitic predators hi-jacking the country's economy
Filthy termites proclaiming injustice upon powerless ants,
Justice hackers, do not your conscience judge your judgments?
I wish that you allow justice and equity have her way.
Law benders at whose feet equity and justice bow
Rippers of the law, at your hands justice is twisted,
Is your nature as humans so inhumane?
Little wonder the earth lives in fear of your tyranny.
Justice,
All ye slanders of the law, why not sheath your swords of corruption?
Your unchecked power has broken the wings of justice
Thereby making equity a widow without a husband,
Remember your oaths to serve with justice and equity;
Did you deceive the ants that voted you in to serve them?
Chameleons occupying seats of filtered ambitions
Woe betide your conscience for refusing to judge you,
Are you not guilty of molesting the law?
I mourn for the shameful death of equity and justice.
You that crafts the law to fit your suit of corruption
Remember a day comes when justice will laugh again,
And you being powerful cannot escape the law of Karma.
Karma,
Murderers of the law, will you also bribe karma?
I doubt if you can buy the law of karma with money.
Thou whose gluttony corrupts justice and equity,
Don't you feel guilty that you disvirgined the law?
Equity and justice now roams about in nakedness,
You that preach the law, are you true to yourself?
Heartless spiders cob-webbing the law to entangle poor ants
Did not equity bid you come to justice with clean hands?
Yet with filthy garments you condemn innocent ants;
Mind you that someday the law will rise again.
All ye scavengers of justice and hackers of the law,
Do you think you can **** the law of Karma?
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 10:22 AM UTC
No one else, but a poet...can bring colors
to scenes...with verses, in crass or subtle
tones......gather words together in lines,
uncertain in their ebbing and flowing...
the results create surprise in many
hues that could make one cry,
grimace......frown......or smile
readers are led to far, or near
destinations...to the cool, sweet air
and peaceful atmosphere of paradise,
or, to unlit corners...uncharted waters,
or deep into an abyss...or, a black hole,
an unknown corner, where moribund souls
are biding their time, maybe, they could
now define by themselves, purgatory and hell,
understand those sunken souls who have lost
all...except their arms, and begging eyes...
then, through appropriate words,
a poet paints a laborious path, or
a stairway...so an enlightened reader
may climb back to safe, calm waters...
a poet makes the mind see a human heart,
beating in many rhythms...throbbing,
.......aflame with longing and desire,
bursting from ecstatic, sublime moments,
then, later on, shift to grayish thoughts
that cut deep....tormenting...crashing,
............gnashing the heart...
a poet paints a soul walking on cloud nine,
later, to dip feet in celebrative pools.
sometimes, a poet would rather not, yet,
an inner force prevails, thereby paints a
drooping soul...dying, in total surrender,
ready to fall..............but, again, with a
barrel of lively-colored words, a poet
takes this despondent soul to berth,
with soothing verses, bring it to a rebirth...
every human being is worth an effort
..............even those that have fallen
.........................are worth savin' .....
a poet's palette is uniquely
enriched with colorful experiences,
a poet paints life in its truest colors,
..........could be dark...or bright
.....nothing more......nothing less...
Sally
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
January 29, 2017
Jun 3, 2018
Jun 3, 2018 at 6:13 AM UTC
[From Fragments, The Following...]
... so it was that the Urth bled less. The Birch Moot was becalmed by the Anvil Cloud of Impending Deluge.
The Young Gods made sport of Their Names, and aimed to Oblique the colony of clever flesh
groping at the tender roots of an insipid devastation. The First Ones had vanished.
But Time was born and the Mortal Whirl released the Hounds of Change. Transition fused -
with the Eternal; and the offspring of unloved Spirits, roamed the Tangible. All Suffering was amplified
in the diamond lungs of a divine corpse, dreaming.
... for when the iron heart of The Cast Out was retrieved, the Legion of Heaven poured unseemly Grace upon the Fathoms
and the High King of Doubt, forced his blade ' Nimue '
into the soft palette, of the First Mouth. The Stars were born and The Void overheard the First Naming.
A solid drizzle of enchantment cloaked the oaken Yggdrasil
and The Pattern unleashed the folly of Pattern
to mask the virtue of succinct Chaos. The Children of The Lower Sky ate their Masters and thereby swollen -
gathered in the underbrush of the Fecund.
They came to Know Regret by Answering Prayers. The Kingdoms of Wane were waning in the fearsome riot of Creation
and not a boy, a man from no woman
and no woman
a man.
... the siege lights of the petty stars, babbled in the wake of yawning eruption and nullification. the ****** theater of blood
was made Holy by way of forcing camels into eyes of needles in constant dystopian joy.
... and that's how the rain gets in.
[ From the ' Kingdoms Of Wane ', a Lost Tome from Antiquity and Dada ]
What ?
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 7:07 PM UTC
Are acceptance and approval synonymous terms? It is important that we give adequate definition to that which blocks our winding garden path, where foxgloves, lupins and a multitude of botanical dreams can blossom into a gorgeous array of ****** captivation.
If we embrace that which is repugnant, then possibility may not be confined to the cradling arms of the mistress of death.
So, my judgmental and moralistic companion from the sands of Jupiter – if your daughter is a raunchy stripper, then keep your expectations on the leash and preserve your anthropological connectedness, otherwise you may veer into prickly thorns of certain detriment and thereby lose her attachments.
It is incumbent upon us to nourish those fragrant plantations with a careful approach, so that beautiful reproductions will abound in a bouquet of resolution.
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 12:23 AM UTC
To thank each one of you,
Today, I take the opportunity,
By taking names for your support.
For being the source,
First of all, I thank Life,
For the inspiration she was.
She guided me to Hello Poetry,
Introduced me to new friends,
Broke up ultimately however.
Then I thank Timothy Salter,
For his own and his family's,
Articulate poetry helped me.
Madam Hilda writes as amazing,
And as amazing is their daughter,
It is hard to tell if Marian wrote it.
It's helping me learn more,
Respecting it has taught me,
Had to be paid to earn more.
Not forgetting Gitacharya Vedala,
For he elaborates on every detail,
Thereby helping me experiment.
Same is for Pradip Chattopadhyay,
Hinting of Rabindranath Tagore,
He's the poet clad in sombrero.
Their pure physics at soul poetry,
Helped me learn experimenting,
With sheer hollow truthfulness
I then engage in remembering,
Elsa Angelica for inspiring me,
Her own poetry is developing.
She inspired me to improve,
My strengths & weaknesses,
She taught me being lucid.
Then of course I thank Sukeerti,
She taught me being beautiful,
Without being too explaining.
She encouraged my writing,
Always was their as a friend,
Giving me her positive inputs.
Madam Elizabeth 'Lizzie' Squires,
Aptly mature her poetry is always,
Very much to learn always exists.
Her persona is respectable,
Definitely motherly her aura,
Making her a poet so reputable.
Several other poets fascinate me,
Equally instead of less or more,
They all teach me the lessons.
Madam Sally A Bayan is there,
Her sweet mature bits of advice,
Best complemented by her poetry.
Shayana Shrikanthalingam,
Seeing all her polished poetry,
Not such a difficult name for me.
Ever inseparable they are,
Brandon & Earl Jane Nagley,
They are the immortal lovers.
And I recognize the beauty,
An Indian model here on H.P.,
Poetry surely as cute as herself.
She is the most elegant girl,
On Hello Poetry and in reality,
Bhumika Fulwani I refer to here.
Finally, I express my gratitude to her,
In my life she's the ultimate one,
Now I needn't anyone else.
She is my Pooja Shah,
She is exclusively mine,
She is here forever to stay.
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 5:32 AM UTC
Each voice which was asked spoke it's words, and heard more than that, the fair question, the onerous burden of the asking.
And so the hero, the hero! stepped that gracefully into his redemption, losing or gaining life thereby.
Robert Creeley. 12/4/2015.
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 11:38 PM UTC
Spring blossoms gentle acceptance
Of vagaries of desperation
Like variegated autumnal leaves
From the core of the stone of floods
Undeclared truths
Affirmative requests
There is chaos as a whole
In the expanse of the unending.
Fear fades mystically.
Death and boredom leave your lungs ...
There. Exists
Justice and pleasure... .
.... thoughts of living, laugh in the face of Death.
all the thoughts of failures
Conglomerate and are cast away
Into a deep trench
the soothing currents lull
Sinking green verdure.
Embraced by the biosphere
And forming a reef,
Thereby even your failures succeed.
Even now your image is being painted on the dull white canvas of my love.
Violent storms may rend the world
scattering lesser unions,
There is endurance in our madness...
Laughter, the golden bird, with bejewelled feathers,
Leads to the oasis of truth, in this desert of deceit
Reciprocation of sensation
Every intention to remain
And the rapidly ascending choir of broken angels sing the song which massacres despair.
And the body I wish to settle
Caressed by the deepest dark of night
Birth of the morning
The genesis of pleasant daydreams
Calm, hope ...
..... And a sense of success
Blue morning justice cascades
With dispelled illusions, and realized wishes.
Everyday upon wakening
I discard hate
As love, is mildly colored supple flesh
Withdrawn and plunged, into the crack of a stoney heart
Space infinitum opens before us,
On the petals of the lotus
Space through which two beings connect
No matter the distance.
We know that beneath this dull white nightmare
Dwells a vibrant black dream,
That is neither evil or good,
But just is.
On the workbench of despair,
Disassembled hearts are heaped.
In this pile I dwelled for an age of pain,
Until you plucked me from the pile
And made me whole again.
Aug 24, 2012
Aug 24, 2012 at 6:14 AM UTC
It is quite interesting
The way in which women can proceed through life,
In such a grossly hypocritical manner.
Scorning love,
And mocking their lovers openly,
As if to say, your feelings don't count,
Only to later on raise their voices in condemnation
Of their slighted partner,
Thereby proving that they are without a doubt
The far more dishonest
And petty, of the sexes.
Sep 2, 2012
Sep 2, 2012 at 11:55 AM UTC
.*oh forget Disney H'america... technicolor H'america was the bomb... gentlemen prefer blondes... oh **** no... the seven year itch... the Rachmaninoff scene... bell, book & candle scene... whoever the genius was behind the technicolor project, outmatched the Disney in 1950s H'america... little town America... big little ******** worth of Europe... eddi reader...more like: keep the cats, a woman may desire luxury, but a man a freedom... keep the town, the summit, the fireplace... keep your luxury... just give me the shadow, the sun, the moon, and the road: perpetually greeting me.*
oh forget looking
for scapegoats
these days...
full blown schizophrenia,
happening,
all over the anglophone
world...
me?
i'm just looking
at the lampoons...
sorry...
lemmings...
and the English?
top the table in western
world...
they thought they'd be
bailed out by
the H'americans...
good luck rolling
that pin-ball...
not gonna happen...
they have their own ****
to deal with...
it could have...
but now it will never
work out, no anglophone
alliance bail-out plan...
it's a ******* farce...
it's a bogus in the bogie
in the ******* coalmine...
forget the canary...
**** i'm seriously flipping
the coin on phrases...
FDR contra DJT?
magic!
no... the politicians were always
going to place the card...
the joker... free-fall dance-loose
feet...
my bet is...
it'll fall flat on its face...
the eastern European Achilles
heel of the europhiles...
that's a supposition,
not a proposition...
or thereby, pre-....
but i do love being a spectator
of rare sport...
en masse schizophrenia...
a nation, divided...
what a load of ********
the English thought that their
anglophone alliances would
last, would encrust them in
a new globalization mechanism...
even the ******* Icelandic people
think they're European...
what did the English think?
just east of Las Vegas?!
an island surrounded
by a massive prehistorical lake
"facility"?!
no one is looking for scapegoats
these days,
there's no one to blame...
mea culpa, mea culpa...
these days?!
everyone is looking for the lampoon
brigade!
- and let me tell you...
mea culpa mea culpa...
no one is looking for a scapegoat
worth kristallnacht;
people are looking
for a lampoon...
or...
karmesinrotherznacht,
the night of... broken hearts;
broken, crimson hearts.
Oct 22, 2018
Oct 22, 2018 at 6:54 PM UTC
Suicide is not an option
Everything has to be done with caution
Be it wrong accusation or depression
Taking your life will reduce our population
Believe me, all you need is affection
Speak to someone who'll relieve you of your oppression
Who'll give you nothing but compassion
You may need trust and care in addition
When facing life challenges and tribulation
Take not suicide for a compensation
Try to have a little comprehension
Of the afterlife using your discretion
And also have a little conversation
Involving you and your intuition
Considering suicide may be as a result of impression
Or thought in abstraction
Or even to punish a relation
No matter the condition
It doesn't worth your life as a rendition
If you do plan of taking this action
I beg you take this into consideration
And do a bit of cogitation
That suicide is not an option
Though, it's taking it toll on the nation
Leading many to quick expiration
My fella, suicide is not an option
Try to do some reconciliation
And make sure to somebody you mention
To get your mind in a good position
Or perhaps it might change your situation
And set you in a new direction
Again I say suicide is not an option
Take this into admonition
That your afterlife may as well be in inversion
That live each day with vision
Devote smile to your face a portion
Do activities in admiration and jubilation
And in you life begins a resurrection
Thereby killing the ulterior notion
And also averting a possible perdition
Because suicide is never an option.
Jan 29, 2019
Jan 29, 2019 at 5:07 AM UTC
As the Paddles were used to stroke Against the Resistance of the Water, Thereby Attempting to insure their Progress, for the Ultimate Destination across the Mighty Ocean currents. Each stroke of the OARS met more resistance by the people manning the ship. The Sweat began to increase on each brow, But yet they Never gave up Their earnest Efforts. Even as the Winds increased and the Current became stronger,, They pressed on toward Their Destination. Each was Driven to Dig Deeper within themselves, For the Stroking had become Most Difficult!! But they were not Deterred... They knew that the Reception waiting for them on the other side, Would be worth every bit Of Effort. They Had to Endure!! As they kept their focus on the ultimate Goal,,They remained Undisturbed by the Leaks, Broken Oars, Strong Currents, Ever Increasing Winds AND Shouts of Dismay among the weak. The waves began to break over the Bows of the Boat, But the OARS DUG DEEPER and Deeper, Drawing them ever so Closer to the Shoreline that NOW came into view.. Having seen the Shoreline, A Great Surge of Energy came upon Each Person as they STROKED FORWARD. EACH person continued to the the Very End,, With that very Unusual Smile on his face and a special kind of light in in His Eye. *KNOWING FULL WELL How great the Ultimate Goal would BE. Are You prepared for the Proper use of "YOUR OARS" ??
Sep 2, 2010
Sep 2, 2010 at 5:00 AM UTC
WRITTEN FOR HIS MOTHER
Dame du ciel, regents terrienne,
Emperiere des infemaux palus....
Lady of Heaven and earth, and therewithal
Crowned Empress of the nether clefts of Hell,—
I, thy poor Christian, on thy name do call,
Commending me to thee, with thee to dwell,
Albeit in nought I be commendable.
But all mine undeserving may not mar
Such mercies as thy sovereign mercies are;
Without the which (as true words testify)
No soul can reach thy Heaven so fair and far.
Even in this faith I choose to live and die.
Unto thy Son say thou that I am His,
And to me graceless make Him gracious.
Said Mary of Egypt lacked not of that bliss,
Nor yet the sorrowful clerk Theopbilus,
Whose bitter sins were set aside even thus
Though to the Fiend his bounden service was.
Oh help me, lest in vain for me should pass
(Sweet ****** that shalt have no loss thereby!)
The blessed Host and sacring of the Mass
Even in this faith I choose to live and die.
A pitiful poor woman, shrunk and old,
I am, and nothing learn'd in letter-lore.
Within my parish-cloister I behold
A painted Heaven where harps and lutes adore,
And eke an Hell whose ****** folk seethe full sore:
One bringeth fear, the other joy to me.
That joy, great Goddess, make thou mine to be,—
Thou of whom all must ask it even as I;
And that which faith desires, that let it see.
For in this faith I choose to live and die.
O excellent ****** Princess! thou didst bear
King Jesus, the most excellent comforter,
Who even of this our weakness craved a share
And for our sake stooped to us from on high,
Offering to death His young life sweet and fair.
Such as He is, Our Lord, I Him declare,
And in this faith I choose to live and die.
Dante Gabriel Rossetti, trans.
3.1k
*Piano Cello Interludes
I am listening to music,
piano with cello interludes,
thinking about you.
I hear the passionate sadness
mourning from the cello
as the piano weaves hollowness
and melancholy from black and white
minor keys.
I feel the disconnect
between the requiem’s movements
and the reality
of an alive, beating
but confused, sullen heart
fighting to be free.
~~~
It always amazes me
to hear the bow guiding the strings
in pulsing tempo
to the fingers caressing ivory
in such a way
that only a smile
can answer in return,
allowing for a kiss of life
in the midst of chaos
and death.
~~
In moments like this
I want to sit beside you,
place your hand in mine
and tell you all I have learned
and know;
all the secrets
that wander through my mind;
even those held in
dark recesses,
cobwebcluttered
and filled with spent emotions.
~~~
But I know I can’t.
Not because I don’t want to,
nor from fear,
though, to do so is scary
since it would mean giving you
my heart.
No, not because of this.
Rather, cause
I don’t think
this is what you need
or want.
~~~
Life is complicated,
complex in its existence
and it is this contradiction
between desire’s want
and equality’s need;
between what’s flesh
and what’s fantasy;
between art, aesthetics
and reality,
that guides my choices.
It’s how this contradiction
interpenetrates,
thereby shaping
and changing reality.
It is this contradiction
I hear,
feel and taste
in the weaving of piano and cello.
Music living with us in the gutter,
while enticing us to look at the stars.
~~~
I am listening to music,
piano and cello interludes,
I see vast galaxies,
nebulae,
and shooting stars,
Knowing this,
this music of you,
will last a lifetime.
~~~
~~Aztec Warrior/redzone 2.24.14*
enjoy the music that goes with this poem
https://youtu.be/QgaTQ5-XfMM
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 4:41 PM UTC
I have fears – they are very real to me. But contrary to what the some may think, my greatest fears are not rejection and abandonment.
My greatest fear is that everyone will continue to turn their heads while victims are screaming.
My greatest fear is that survivors will express exactly how they feel, whether verbally, or acting out, and they will continue to be invalidated by being told they need medication and therapy in order to control their behavior, thereby reinforcing what they learned as children.
My greatest fear is that victims will continue to be silenced by therapy, or numbed from medication, and the clinicians, the researchers, will continue to ‘theorize’ and develop treatment that, in the long-run, is not helpful because they, themselves were NOT abused and have no idea what really should be done.
My greatest fear is that survivors will continue to be lab rats in the development of treatment that is not helpful, they will continue to drop out, time after time, and they will continue to self-harm, ‘repeat the trauma’, and possibly commit suicide because they believe no one cares.
My greatest fear is that the statistics will grow and no one will do anything about it because they do not know what to do. These are the facts:
**A report of child abuse is made every ten seconds
More than five children die every day as a result of child abuse.
Approximately 80% of children that die from abuse are under the age of 4.
It is estimated that between 50-60% of child fatalities due to maltreatment are not recorded as
such on death certificates.
More than 90% of juvenile ****** abuse victims know their perpetrator in some way.
Child abuse occurs at every socioeconomic level, across ethnic and cultural lines, within all
religions and at all levels of education.
About 30% of abused and neglected children will later abuse their own children, continuing
the horrible cycle of abuse.
About 80% of 21 year olds that were abused as children met criteria for at least one
psychological disorder.**
And this reflects only what is reported. Imagine what that percentage would be if all of the unreported cases were included.
And of the millions of children that survive the abuse, many grow up to be adults who are able to put it behind them, succeed and present themselves as an acceptable member of society, and many of them do not. But what are we DOING about it? When will people stop turning their heads? When will we finally stop, look and listen to these children being abused and to the adults who were abused as children?
When will we, society, decide that child abuse, and **** and ****** assault are important, and affect millions of lives every year, and that it can be just as deadly as cancer. When will we finally stop whispering and turning our heads and actually face it and do something to stop it, and effectively treat those who ‘survived’?
I hope it happens in my lifetime, and I hope I can make a difference!
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 8:36 PM UTC
Though excruciating,
I have delicately incised my heart
And left it open for you.
Blood and all.
I am completely defenseless,
Truly surrendering what is deepest within me.
All of me is on display,
And I am vulnerable, exposed.
Our environment, unsterile,
Makes me susceptible to infections:
Hate, judgment, abuse
That spread through the words and actions of others,
Attacking my system.
And, subconsciously, I internalize them,
Accepting them as my own.
But I trust you to care for me.
I believe with conviction, I must,
You have washed your hands
In preparation to touch my heart
With the gentleness I need
And cannot provide myself.
Because alone, I am unfixable,
Permanently damaged and slowly losing blood.
Dying behind my seemingly perfect demeanor,
A closed facade.
I trust that because I have exposed my pain
To you, solely you,
We can begin to repair the destruction
And stop the hemorrhaging,
Together.
Thereby providing the means by which
This earthly vessel, and in turn
The fragile soul inside,
Can finally begin to heal.
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 10:39 AM UTC
There is a time in a person's life when that internal clock will ring
when a higher force will wake us from our slumber with a sting
having been given individual trials, we hope we'll do our best
but we are insensitive, overcome with laziness, a desire for rest
The little things in life, how so often we take them for granted
quickly losing touch with reality, and becoming disenchanted
thinking we can forge relationships, with the blinking of an eye
failing to feel the hurt we cause others, with our final good-bye
We, as human beings, must first come to acknowledge the truth
the problems we all hide in our closet, they started in our youth
but the error of our thinking, is clear and can only be addressed
when we're willing to accept the fact, that this life is only a test
Attempts at self denial are truly futile, because you remain unchanged
accomplishing nothing, only from yourself will you become estranged
an endless light of healing must be released, to that location unknown
thereby removing that which blocks our thinking, our heart of stone
Your mind is your cage, only if you desire, you can set yourself free
don't believe in the lies you're told, you can be what you want to be
if you never give up, you alone will be able to preserve the true way
by choosing your destiny, no one else will, because this is your day
Liberate yourself from the enslavement, transitory passions of the day
either stand up to the pressures, or you'll just find yourself blown away
you must trust your heart as it knows the truth, and it alone will succeed
choosing the only real path, that path from where the light shall proceed
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 4:21 PM UTC
In homage - splicer of Aladdin's reel;
a bow, beneath the centered piece so drawn
and slants alive in shade of noblest seal,
no other blushing temptress ever worn.
To hasten tryst; may taint her Jasmine gaze
as lashes flutter onto other's love
how then beguile and keep her ardent daze,
thereby no more in spite - a lonely dove?
The mystic canvas; mine - eternal beat,
and soars in winds, which sail's her gentled tones,
adrift and glides, to bloom this rose, complete
once withered long beneath the hermit stones.
If journeyed nether brittle; sways no guise
remote and marvel then - her Jasmine eyes.
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 4:53 PM UTC
XIV
If thou must love me, let it be for nought
Except for love’s sake only. Do not say
‘I love her for her smile—her look—her way
Of speaking gently,—for a trick of thought
That falls in well with mine, and certes brought
A sense of pleasant ease on such a day’—
For these things in themselves, Beloved, may
Be changed, or change for thee,—and love, so wrought,
May be unwrought so. Neither love me for
Thine own dear pity’s wiping my cheeks dry,—
A creature might forget to weep, who bore
Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby!
But love me for love’s sake, that evermore
Thou mayst love on, through love’s eternity.
2.7k
Fat midnight bats feast, gnawing gnats, and flit away serene
while on the trails in distant dales the lonesome wolverine
sate appetites as dawn alights and daytime's crystalline.
A migrant feeds on rotting seeds with fingers far from clean
and thereby’s blessed with barren breast (the easier to wean) -
her baby ***** an arid flux and fades away unseen.
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 4:14 PM UTC
As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow’st
In one of thine, from that which thou departest,
And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow’st,
Thou mayst call thine when thou from youth convertest.
Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase;
Without this folly, age, and cold decay,
If all were minded so, the times should cease,
And threescore year would make the world away.
Let those whom Nature hath not made for store,
Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish;
Look whom she best endowed, she gave the more,
Which bounteous gift thou shouldst in bounty cherish.
She carved thee for her seal, and meant thereby,
Thou shouldst print more, not let that copy die.
2.7k
The rain has spoiled the farmer's day;
Shall sorrow put my books away?
Thereby are two days lost:
Nature shall mind her own affairs,
I will attend my proper cares,
In rain, or sun, or frost.
2.6k