"threefold" poems
From depth to height, from height to loftier height,
The climber sets his foot and sets his face,
Tracks lingering sunbeams to their halting-place,
And counts the last pulsations of the light.
Strenuous thro' day and unsurprised by night
He runs a race with Time, and wins the race,
Emptied and stripped of all save only Grace,
Will, Love,--a threefold panoply of might.
Darkness descends for light he toiled to seek;
He stumbles on the darkened mountain-head,
Left breathless in the unbreathable thin air,
Made freeman of the living and the dead,--
He wots not he has topped the topmost peak,
But the returning sun will find him there.
3.7k
This is not a common era
The trouble is threefold
Drinking from an empty glass
Opening the door to strangers
Walking along these jagged cliffs
If you tolerate this
Your children will be next
Mar 11, 2025
Mar 11, 2025 at 12:54 PM UTC
Every day I got a new set of problems
Can't figure out just how to solve em
Each day I find new ways to dodge em
But they keep coming back
Full circle revolver
What's a dollar to a billionaire
Spend all there money on diamonds without a care
Yet none of them seem to be happy
Rolling in cash yet smiling so sadly
Here I am waiting from cent to cent
Trying to afford food gas and rent
But at the end of the day
I can rest easy
Satisfied
Indefinitely ok
Is it the same for you mr. Billionaire?
With your fancy car ladies parties
In the designer clothes you wear
But what I see
All around me
Is beauty in simplicity
Beauty in the struggle
The empty pocket pit
Living off that next pack of Ramon noodles
Pressing on
Never settling
Knowing that your day will come
Because happiness isn't about the things you acquire
It's about the love you spread
The good you transpire
the universe returns to you
Threefold to fulfill selfless desires
Sometimes in wealth
Sometimes in power
You lose yourself
Forget To stop and smell the flowers
But I'll hold my head high
Through the hard times
Wait for the good
Gaze at the stars
And feed my head
With all that's left
The beauty in everything
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 6:02 AM UTC
I am haunted by a soulful song; lacking lyrics, lo lost, lest lament found.
I am taunted by a merciless melody, mixed - measured threefold - with melancholy and memories legend-long.
Salvation and sweet, shall be Silence's Sound.
Dec 18, 2021
Dec 18, 2021 at 12:51 PM UTC
The threefold terror of love; a fallen flare
Through the hollow of an ear;
Wings beating about the room;
The terror of all terrors that I bore
The Heavens in my womb.
Had I not found content among the shows
Every common woman knows,
Chimney corner, garden walk,
Or rocky cistern where we tread the clothes
And gather all the talk?
What is this flesh I purchased with my pains,
This fallen star my milk sustains,
This love that makes my heart's blood stop
Or strikes a Sudden chill into my bones
And bids my hair stand up?
2k
Circling Earth circling Sun
Circling Moon circling Earth
Days cycling within Months
Months cycling within Years
Wheel within wheel within wheel
Sphere within sphere within sphere
And a day is a day in every sphere
Their shadows of which on Earth
As Days, Months, and, Years
Life's inescapable rhythm ingrained
In Man, Beasts, Bugs, and Herbs
But only in Man do we count
In joy and sorrow we feel it passed
Fearful and hopeful all in ignorance
For Time's beyond Man's wisdom
Though they speak, a threefold echo
Each revealing, each foreshadowing
For on Earth as it is in Heaven
Yet Wonderful as it is, it shall pass
We know, for all Earth's given a Sign
A count, an unnatural cycle of Sevens
Of Seven Days, Months, and Years
The Seventh of Each, is a Rest
An Eternal Rest, An Everlasting Peace
Pondering What is Time, the Master of Time
Pointed to the Sabbath, and Ezekiel's Wheels
Sep 1, 2024
Sep 1, 2024 at 11:17 PM UTC
___La, I am an honest deceiver,
For whomsoever shall lend his lies to me,
Will be repaid threefold in pretty devilment.___
Mar 4, 2021
Mar 4, 2021 at 4:23 PM UTC
Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan
For that deep wound it gives my friend and me!
Is’t not enough to torture me alone,
But slave to slavery my sweet’st friend must be?
Me from my self thy cruel eye hath taken,
And my next self thou harder hast engrossed.
Of him, myself, and thee I am forsaken—
A torment thrice threefold thus to be crossed.
Prison my heart in thy steel bosom’s ward,
But then my friend’s heart let my poor heart bail;
Whoe’er keeps me, let my heart be his guard,
Thou canst not then use rigour in my jail.
And yet thou wilt; for I, being pent in thee,
Perforce am thine, and all that is in me.
1.5k
#…a threefold cord is not quickly broken.
(Ecclesiastes 4:12)
A pastoress once bore a name
which merits neither guilt nor shame;
Pentecosta Charismania
(biblical in megalomania).
Worthy of poetic fame,
a brilliant if unstable flame.
Sincere she was, yet volatile,
she brought it down, revival-style.
At altar calls, she could inspire
tongues of glossolalian fire.
The Devil she would oft rebuke
with lines from John, or Paul, or Luke;
a prophetess on holy crack
was Pentecosta on the attack…
Her nemesis was prudent, able
doctrinally dull—but stable:
Patriciana Presbyteria.
Less given to divine hysteria,
wisdom did adorn her table.
And her soul bore well the label.
No prophecies escaped her lips
nor prone to divinating slips;
this sensible reformed young maid
was made to have and have it made
Elect, correct in doctrine, wit
invested in no counterfeit
her pop’s portfolio lent her worth:
not less than heaven cashed on earth.
Mocking these unseemly heretics
swayed by neither sects nor politics
was Maria Della Romana
Faithful matron, primadonna,
loyal to her Papal rite,
she grieved her sisters by candlelight;
fingered furious rosaries
stormed the gates with St. Peter’s keys
beseeching Jesus that they turn
from devil’s doctrines fit to burn,
rejoin the holy Mother Church
rather than their souls besmirch
with further Antichristian sin.
(She genuflected fit to win.)
God is known in Trinity
but less through femininity:
His three adherents, flamed by One
like braided gold reflecting sun
are Christian fates: three tendencies
or triplicate analyses,
tripartite in judgemental grace
each one assumed, with zealous face
that the other two could not be saved
as sure as Heaven’s roads are paved
with wisdom’s gold and Christ’s pure light.
(They made a most amusing sight.)
Since threefold cords cannot be broken,
let my punchline rest, unspoken.
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 8:19 PM UTC
MY LIGHTBULB MOMENT (Spiritual Awakening) BY KRISTIE TOWNSEND
5 July 2012 at 21:38
MY LIGHTBULB MOMENT BY KRISTIE TOWNSEND
Be careful what you wish for
for one day it may come true
I used to jest about my wishes
in a time before I discovered, just what Magick can do
Karma, I didn't really think that much of
and I'd never even heard of 'The Threefold Law'
didn't pay any attention to spirits
and I'd never considered that I may have been here before!
What the heck's 'The Wiccan Rede"?
Is it something I want or need??!!
So what if I should harm someone
Has this not before, to me, been done??
Why would anyone believe in what can't be touched nor seen?
In Perfect Love? And In Perfect Trust??
What's That supposed to mean??
And why should I read some poetry Written by a woman called Doreen??
Then In my light bulb moment, as quick as a flash!
I thought 'Now I see what the fuss is all about'
and at that very second, for Magick I fell hard and fast!
Saddened for a minute, thinking of what Joy so far I'd lived with out!
My only regret is that I didn't discover sooner, universal energy,
I should have walked this path long before now
For Magick and its power, have opened my eyes - OH and How??!! WOW
Some people think I'm weird,
Others think i'm mad
I came out of my spiritual broom closet
and for that I'm so very glad!
I'm looking forward to my future
with wide and enthusiastic eyes
long gone are empty days all alone
no more sleepless nights, filled with self-pitying cries
I'm the happiest that I have ever been
Thanks to energies that remain untouched, unseen
IN PERFECT LOVE & IN PERFECT TRUST
I will follow My Destiny, My Heart, My Dreams - I MUST!
by Kristie Townsend 12.11.08
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 2:56 PM UTC
Father
Son
and
the Holy Ghost,
which one
do I love
the most?
Hope
Faith
and
Love,
all three
are
from above
Threefold infinity
all
wrapped up
in the
Trinity,
to you
I give
my life
Aug 5, 2010
Aug 5, 2010 at 7:05 PM UTC
An angel came to my world with a message
Holding a perfect triangle in His hand
He asked me if I knew why he carried it
I laughed at him thinking such a crazy man
He placed it down on a piece of paper
Beginning to trace all of its shared lines
And as the image came together so complete
He then asked of me to open up my mind
He explained how its adjoining three points
All share equally the same space in between
He went on to ask me this single question
If I truly understood what it really means
He went on to say how it truly displays
In such a very special and wholesome way
A wonderful side of pure spiritual wisdom
Which many alive fail to embrace each day
The top point of the triangle sit’s our God
With His glory, grace, forgiveness and love
But the two lines which went away from Him
Went to the two creations He was most proud of
The third line reflects Gods strong foundation
A shelter when needing guidance the two would be
But here in the triangle they would be connected
Saying this is the way our lives should truly be.
If as a man you turn your head away from God
You cannot hide away anything you might do
As you are connected to both God and your wife
He shall see and feel all you might plan to do
It is the same for the wife as with her husband
If she ever for some reason chooses to turn away
God will see any paths which she also might take
And nothing would be hidden from Him in any way
The point of the message which he shared with me
Was to help me understand where my heart should stay
He said look at the connecting lines in your life
Sharing and depending will bless your lives each day
For God will love and embrace you both all the time
With His blossoming love in so many beautiful ways
And His blessings will always nourish your lives daily
When in this threefold embrace of love you both stay.
Never mistreat each other a single day in your lives
Treat and love the other as you would love yourself
And when God looks daily upon your steps each day
Your hearts will never in his eyes leave any doubt.
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 8:47 AM UTC
This trio, conjoined by the snaking coil of a common dream,
Put forth their writing on the proverbial wall
The void between breached by the collective of the written word
Surreal landscape all the while sifting before their wise eyes,
Reached across miles to clasp their hand in the hall of time!
Never quenching the fire of their talent threefold muse,
Or assuaged in time the darkened orbs of the wise.
Through those hands that reached out for each other,
Three incomplete souls, three beads of one unique rosary,
Their heart full of amorphous love,
Breathed into each other a new life,
Became one missing piece of their puzzle,
Bound by a string of silent promises to stay intact,
To not fly away from each other, no matter how high their wings took them,
They set forth a journey, a journey full of never ending journeys.
The perils of their Fellowship, intangible
And the only barriers space and time
One being divided in three by fourteen hours and many miles of Earth
A chance linkage has set this pursuit in for a piece, a work in motion.
A work to describe their separation is forged
And the cogs of a collective mind start to spin.
A single piece borne from heart to heart as in a compendium
Spread out, and all around them the duties of the spherical lay;
Compiled by their hands is done,
And the same rising of the sun is seen of the three in each own way
The beauty of each rose is unfurled like the beating of each momentum!
The victory shall soon be won!
The goal of their want was met by the shores of brighter halls;
Herein contains the working of those annals which rose out of grey walls.
Now hand grasp hand to work complete,
And forged a work and friendship which cannot delete!
Though they rise and fell,
All around their eyes did well;
To see the beauty of one goal,
That did not crash upon some far off shoal!
So ran they the race of the clock which halted—injuries could not hold
The lays of their hearts was far stronger than the ills and their story's told.
The wheels of motion could not stop their voice,
Now they each rise up in one and do rejoice!
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 10:42 PM UTC
Moments of surpassing loveliness,
That you compose like a symphony,
That are twice as gorgeous,
And threefold as complex.
You have fire with in yourself,
Pretty little flames.
You contain this beat,beat, beat!
Tribal percussion,
Drumming all through the night.
With the grace of your wrist,you throw
These pink paper airplanes,
With inviting invitation on the inside,
They glide through the winter air,
Until they fall upon my doorstep
-Jamie F. Nugent
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 8:06 AM UTC
I am a poet
when I speak, I speak
when I listen, I listen
and when I write a hole is created
inside of my chest which nothing can fill
do you like what you are seeing?
sometimes in the middle of the night
I crawl back into the cave I came from
and imagine if all of it wasn't real
the grass is green but I didn't water it
so I can't make any metaphor about what
is on the other side or how the work you
put into it always comes back threefold
if I was to explain something to somebody
I would automatically arrange it into a list
you always had a particular look about this
found my unwillingness to write paragraphs
endearing and romantic, but obnoxious
said my brain works in one to tens-
but wait my heart must beat that way too
I count the times you water it, the times I do
I count everything in shades of grey
sometimes I wonder if the grey I'm surrounded
by was white that I accidentally threw my black into
maybe it was pure and I let it all dribble too many times
or maybe it was just something I was born into
speaking of being born, on his death bed my
dad told me about the feeling in your chest you
get when you know something isn't right
the way your eyes shake, the inner conscience
that comes out to play through your pupils
pupils tell a lot about a person
what makes something turn green?
I always say stuff about my dad on his
deathbed but in actuality he was nine
hundred miles away in a hospital bed
with nobody except a prison guard
and the handcuffs on his wrist
he died a painful death, alone
sometimes when you mock me
I want to show you the venom
I have inside of my veins
I'm nobody's, not even my own
I'm something completely
uncharted and untouched.
sometimes when I think of my dad
tied to a bed taking his last deep breathes
I wonder if death is something that's
pre-programmed into us when we're
born or if our fate is somehow up to us.
without honesty, without trials
without any of these abundant emotions
we're just on boring and borrowed time
no matter what words you make a bow out of
the truth of the matter will always be shown in
how green our grass is and how alive our eyes look
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 3:11 AM UTC
A borrowed history
A second-hand life
A true heritage denied.
This stranger sapling grafted to your family tree.
And the story told, to them and me;
" You were chosen, you are special, we were lucky..."
So you won.
Here's your prize;
A commodity baby, a charity child
Love conditionality and gratitude implied.
Woken from connection and amniotic peace
To a secret story of threefold grief.
Nov 3, 2020
Nov 3, 2020 at 7:12 PM UTC
It all starts in the beginning, where the innocence of infancy is wrapped in swaddling-cloth and guarded from the prevalent realities which are, in hindsight, considered to be non-existent. Give a standing ovation for childhood deception, which promotes secrecy in the name of what is called “child protection”. Those obvious characteristics of what is known to be adulthood, have an expression of moral permissiveness which is grounded in a fallacy. But the best is yet to come, as it is more blatant than expected. That sheltered level of ontology soon becomes an unadulterated exposure to expectations that were previously unanticipated. Life truly is full of surprises, isn’t it? So listen up, and harken to the threefold beat of the womb:
May you have the hindsight to know where you have been.
May you have the insight to know where you are.
May you have the foresight to know where you are going.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 3:49 PM UTC
I was not there when it all began
[ there in this fractal space, I know,
beginnings can nest in beginnings]
but when I peered back in time,
I saw your shadow
stirring in the mists
yes, you measured out the verses,
threefold.
it was all in the pre-dawn hours,
before light
I bowed down to your majesty
and smote them who did not
I bowed down to your majesty
and cursed them who did not
I bowed down to your majesty
and loved them who did not
I bowed down to your majesty
and blessed them who did not
unsure
if it was you, or if it must be you
or if it must be anyone at all,
stirring in the shadows
or if my looking glass went
kaleido, before scopia.
but I know, of deep
where thoughts stir
I've seen your footprints
on the ***** of time.
they too know, the gulls,
the seas, and the skies,
and they know no war and death.
it must be you.
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 2:09 PM UTC
Provocation is irksome to the humble soul who is incited to cross those conventional norms with ferocious and lustful pursuits.
As we summon the ancient souls of the abyss through questionable mediums, I am truly disappointed by the lack of authenticity.
My roots are important to me.
Therefore, let us move beyond this childish and cryptic crossroad where curses are said to have been released before the sight of those who presume to have been summoned.
The experience of deviance will never be divorced from a state of dissociation, where sincere possession withstands the empty assertions of rationalism and intellectualism.
The scientific futility of violence is an enigma.
Although the ritualistic consumption of various ****** fluids is a characteristic of ceremonial magic, I am unaware of that black light which flickers her forbidden permissions within the deepest recesses of my damp and historical ontology.
My dawn of golden equations is sympathetic to the threefold chiming of the bells.
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 11:20 PM UTC
Into the darkness I tread hanging on by a thread ready to snap at a moments notice.
Egg shells no longer hold what was once threefold and my heart cries out to thee,
the hopeless mind and the rewinding of time always remind him of me. My thoughts so random and the actions so rapid I don't always know what will happen.
I feel souless at times due to others stupidity but I always find a way to ground myself, for I am in control of all that surrounds me I give this power to no one else.
I can hear persons heart beat when they are inches away do you find this to hard to believe, know that lies are irrelevant because I do not tell them because I know what it is to conceive. Conceive the thoughts that run through my mind and try to fix me up well now I having withdrawals and the glass is half empty someone please fill up my cup.
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 10:04 PM UTC
Cloven hooves continue to dance around the fire at Walpurgis Night, as we keep at bay those phantom hounds which salivate with carnivorous intent.
I love your costume.
Can we hang sprigs of foliage or butter our bread in faith, as we converse into the dawn?
Let us also cook dairy products on this sacred altar as cattle walk around the flames of Bealltainn.
But please do not place a blindfold upon me nor mark me with coal, as I do not wish to enter the flames threefold.
I am alive.
I belong to the Northern Hemisphere where crops flourish in the name of fertility.
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 11:25 PM UTC
The
'I' ~ 'we' ~ 'two' ~ 'three'
That can be told.
– Is not the
"Me" ~ "Us" ~ 'dichotomy'
… of threefold myth-informed souls
living the 9 + 2 = 5
tragedy.
May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 3:48 AM UTC
Go ahead and dig your own grave
I'll be the first to shovel dirt in your face
If every lie you ever told
came true
Your devils, death, and nightmares
gas chambers and electric chairs
I'll just be glad that I'm not you.
your silver knife and that star you wear
You have your inverted cross to bare
you shouldn't play
with what you don't know
It's all healing and love
things below and things above
but you'll reap threefold what you sew
for the sacrilege that you have made
you'll trip and fall on your own blade
and throw away your chance to grow
with your , devils, death, and night mares,
gas chambers and electric chairs
In the mirror awaits your foe
So, go ahead and dig your own grave
with the profane sacrifice you gave
and all the wicked things you do
Wrong in each and every way
you missed the point
you've lost your way
Now you can't hear us calling you.
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 10:20 AM UTC