"undeviating" poems
It has always perplexed me
The unspoken laws of nature
The fowls swiftly follow their
Undeviating migrant patterns
Like long highways- better than man
Will ever hope to build.
The wolf never leaves the
Woodland heights. An invisible
Boundary is laid between the creatures
Of the desert and the creatures
Of the forest. The ones who live in the
Dark, dank ponds and the woodland
Shallows are never seen roaming
The grassy plains. What is it about man?
Is it his sense for adventure?
Or his passion for destruction?
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 5:27 PM UTC
“Uni” consisting of one - one God of consistence
“verse” - His expression to all existence
The universe is finely tuned in mathematical formulas
The Maker’s way of coordinating an euphonious orchestra
No algorithm can describe - It’s undreamed of!
no song can measure the depth of His love.
But there is method to His heart
an ensemble He has chart
He had the future calculated all along
Jesus Christ- the bridge to His heavenly song
To save the lost - He paid the cost
And wrote the words which cleanse - Unwashed.
Through covenant He’s derived a relational endeavor
In hopes that you and I will make music with Him forever!
Oct 29, 2015
Oct 29, 2015 at 7:39 PM UTC
if you feed an emotion, it will grow
just as if you place a patch of herbs
legal or not
with water and nourishing soil in the sunniest spot
the problem with an emotion
is that it has the ability to explode
tick tock
and there you are picking up the pieces of your broken heart
but while its path is undeviating
and your spirit soars in the thermals
utter bliss
is this a flight that you can afford to miss?
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 5:22 PM UTC
FATE! Father's precious time to me
Within you; in me
hearing, undeviating the constancy of weak wishes.
Remember the house?
Oh! Excellent days and nights
saying no to your attachment.
Sooner could the years pass
relive each word
how my slipping dress must look.
Indeed, none watched but you
by the river slick, wet, and gone
listen to my pulse alone.
Even with the voice of spirit others
such primal need has been
when laid that flat to it.
Something broke and He overpowers
when her heart kissed freely
Death too brought its inconstant love.
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 5:27 PM UTC
I've always been attracted to things I couldn't have. They lure me in with soft tantalizing pleas of "aren't you curious how much different your life could be with us in it".
All the possibilities come roaring to life
"You could find love"
"New friendships aren't all that bad"
"New experiences"
Now this new experience idea has invaded my mind, wringing around my brain with an embrace so tight that it's not a comforting hug anymore.
I want to experience everything life has to offer, both the positive and negative. I want to feel such a contrasting variety of things, I think this coexists with the high hopes I have. Maybe by feeling a lot i can cover up this numbness that doesn't seem to leave me.
Ironic how I can get rid of everyone else but I can't rid myself of this, I do admire consistency in anything and **** is it undeviating.
I didn't use you but you came into my life when I was in the middle of a transition. Someone wanted to get to know me and the attention made me happy, it still makes me happy, Which is where the problem lies. Despite all the sure tale signs that you may have only been wanting one thing, I took a chance and dove in. The stormy waves visible to me in the distance didn't seem to matter. I came to see you as my raft, keeping me afloat and away from the dark pit of endless water underneath me, that I was afraid I would drown in. You distracted me from it in the beginning, entertaining me enough that I forgot it was even there.
Then you became it, You began to drag me down. You grabbed a hold of my ankle, pulling me underneath the waves and I haven't seen the sun since. I would try to swim back up but I couldn't bring myself to break free of your grip, so I stayed and began to force myself into thinking this was how all relationships were.
Day by day your hold became looser and finally you let me go. I despised you at first but then I became grateful. The freedom was liberating, my mind was at ease for the first time in a while. No more anxiety triggered by you, no more useless effort from my end.
Recently I let you back in, did some things I'm not proud of but who doesn't. You didn't stick up for me, the thought of me being a bad influence is laughable. Now we are both forbidden from seeing each other. Never did I think I would see the day when a mother views me as harmful to her son.
Like I said, I've always been attracted to things I couldn't have. I don't think I am anymore.
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 11:06 PM UTC
plum night
plum veil
plum skin taut under teeth,
snap-
flesh then nourishment,
consumed with red precision
besides the night inked sea.
Relinquishing the philosophies
and the heavy, coexisted before
in flaw, misguided and resistant,
now surely
melodic intertwined anatomies
crafting the mid-morning mosaic.
This manifest with
shifting shades:
festive touch
and horrific liberation;
indirect and permissible
eye.
unnerving
undeviating
unconditional
unraveling
plum.
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 1:14 PM UTC
That day, a day like any other,
the tuxedo cat pads down the stairs while
a refrigerator hums in the kitchen, and outside,
leaves sway and drift to the ground into the melting of
dead, brightly lifeless colors.
But watch as her glass, dropping from her hand, bounces
to the floor, as the tea kettle screams and her hands blanket her mouth,
and notice as she’s unable to cry out. Now watch—watch as the TV man lifts his paper
with shaking hands, voice trembling as he introduces live footage of
crumbling and desolating powder flying through the air like a pound of
grey flour being thrown at the floor, exploding in every possible direction.
Watch as people scream, flee to anywhere, yet unable—unable to flee to
what we had before this,
one we were all begging for as
we watched her towers
desolate to the ground of New York City.
And outside, there were too many legs to find my father.
I saw the tears, a nervous and unsettling aura hanging over their heads,
how could anyone, any child, take in this fear
and understand it?
Once, when I was little, I heard a quote—I don’t remember
where from anymore. But it followed me, rang through
my ears, drumming with a hard, undeviating hammer,
at that moment. “We’re all as separate as fingers,
yet we are always from the same hand.”
Why were we all separated? Why—
why was this happening? I’ll never forget when I looked
and noticed the crossing guard give up on direction,
shoulders wilting as he turned his back and walked away.
Then there was Dad, and amongst the panic, the one—the
only one I knew would tell me, who would soothe me, who
would make sense of all the corruption, he grabbed my wrist,
pulled me into his arms and cradled me as if I was indeed the infant
I felt like in those short minutes. He walked home, not saying a word,
holding me in his arms.
I knew not to say anything. I knew at that moment, that
even if I asked, he would not answer. I saw him helpless,
the armor and strength ripped from him for the first time.
I decided to try anyway
and as I looked up and opened my mouth, his tears, silent
and unnoticed by me, splattered onto my face,
and I knew I would have no answer speak louder
than of that.
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 4:22 PM UTC
Somone
some day
might love me;
might gaze beyond
the terror
and doubt;
the walls that stand
like angels and gods,
shielding me from
all the Bad Things of Before.
Someone
might say I'm enough,
and make excuses for the pain
I inflict--
for the icy,
blood-soaked
blade
I brandish so easily.
The thousand cuts
that lead them
to their ends.
Someone might open my chest,
see the rose-colored
soul
that shivers there:
the terrified child crouching in shadow,
and long to comfort
and give her
a home.
To shower her
with recognition
and acceptance.
To promise peace
and eternity
and the weight of gold
in an undeviating
kiss.
But for now,
I know only memories.
Only the cold,
dawning
glow
of regret.
The sting of curiosity
behind a cracked
and dust-sopped
window.
The horror
and tragedy
in Truths I cannot challenge.
Sep 24, 2020
Sep 24, 2020 at 7:54 PM UTC