"unhealed" poems
It’s just the scale in me.
I’m a pure blood libra,
I’m not blind
I can see,
Exactly what’s going on around me.
Fierce indeed.
Money, clothes, wealth
I greed.
Empty souls,
And unhealed wounds,
I feed.
I’m kind,
Yes.
I’m goofy and bless.
I pick up anyone
Mess,
And put my enemies
To rest.
I am a libra.
I am the best
Marci H.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 7:52 AM UTC
.
The waves spilled the rising tide
back into the scattered footprints in the sand
deeply entrenched in life’s mystery,
receding into every breaking wave
A stiff sea breeze put back every grain of sand,
elements of a larger object gathers,
gravity firmed, into the silent shoreline chasms—
a beheld essence washed out to sea
by the fugitive tides and retreating sea-foam
Soon all trodden traces visibly vanish;
unmarked mileposts on a metaphysical pathway
slip away back to a windswept shoreline
and elapsing summer tide
Seabirds glide in slow-motion,
held sway into the shapeless gusts —
as if feathered puppets hovering,
hanging from the rafters
of the burgeoning orange sky
There's an uncommon peace in the renaissance;
effervescent crisp ocean air filling
the indefinable emptiness
marooned within each heartbeat’s echo
Each new breath inhaled, disappearing within
the unhealed hollow of every thing once believed;
fully aware this life is unholdable as time,
yet feeling many things deeply retained
in each passing moment—
slipping away like a handful of sand
sifting through all these hands once held
Presence becoming wreathed in a miasma of stillness,
space that levitates like an unpredictable fog
that seeps into the gnawing voids
of an unsated hunger
harlon rivers ... August 1st, 2018
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 8:34 PM UTC
As they walked along after the matinee, the older brother teased his sister, “Hey, guess what, Frankenstein lives in the attic and he’s goin’ get you.” With a flushed face the little sister responded, "Nah-ah, besides the attic door is locked." And her brother smirked, “Think Frankenstein cares about locked doors?"
Throughout their childhood, the brother jumped out behind closed doors, terrifying his little sister, and with each fright he gave his own fear seemed to lessen. After a startle the sister thought, ‘Does my brother love me, like I love him?’, and she concluded, “He must, why else would he try to scare me to death?’
Within the decade, a sudden brain hemorrhage took their dearly loved mother. Now, untethered in their mother’s love, the siblings changed, tightened, within, While their father, a traumatized, war veteran, swiftly fell off the wagon, and the brother and sister cast off, rudderless, uprooted into troubled waters.
And with their hearts snapped shut, immersed in relentless grief, they parted ways. Some years later, their father died, bequeathed them both his unhealed pain. The brother, the sister, slid secretively into alcoholism, conceded the family custom, invested deeply in their despair, the two went on, married, raised families, conformed.
And time went by, as alcohol soothed the pain until the brother breathed his last, his belly taut with fluid, his liver destroyed, a life sentence ended. While she, the lone survivor, mysteriously yielded unto Grace and was pardoned, recovered, she finally understood, she knew deep inside; everyone did the best they could, even her.
…and within a circle of one; I loved them all forever and ever.
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 11:53 AM UTC
Fishermen at Ballyshannon
Netted an infant last night
Along with the salmon.
An illegitimate spawning,
A small one thrown back
To the waters. But I'm sure
As she stood in the shallows
Ducking him tenderly
Till the frozen knobs of her wrists
Were dead as the gravel,
He was a minnow with hooks
Tearing her open.
She waded in under
The sign of the cross.
He was hauled in with the fish.
Now limbo will be
A cold glitter of souls
Through some far briny zone.
Even Christ's palms, unhealed,
Smart and cannot fish there.
5.6k
Wounds were opened
Lips were sealed
Hidden scars
Remain unhealed
Painful bruises
Once concealed
A secret taint
Will be exposed
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 5:25 PM UTC
my
poor
ugly fat
sister with her
ugly fat body blotchy
body and ginger ***** hair
yells in terror futilely begging
'no more Daddy, please, no more blows'
as my drunken old ******* of a stepfather
lashes her wobbly *** mercilessly as he yells
bible-inspired obscenities and hatred from the pulpit
of his demented brain and I am powerless to intervene or else
I know I shall be next and my many wounds from last week's thrashing
are still so tender and unhealed so I sit and watch and gently
********** myself under the cover of the odourous blanket
but things are taking a different turn this evening
as I see dear old Daddy taking out his ugly ****
and then ravish my sister's bloodstained body
and this really is too much even for me
to bear so whilst he is occupied with
the edifying task in hand I reach
for the rifle and taking aim
I blow Daddy's **** off
in filial love
and then I
come
with a grunt into my snot-encrusted handkerchief
OOOOOOOOHHHHHHHH!!!
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 10:21 AM UTC
Kindness is not nice.
‘Nice’ is soft and inoffensive
‘Nice’ is careful and non-assertive
‘Nice’ is easy and effects no change
she’s cotton wool trying to soften the pain
but not stuffed tight, just resting on the surface
ready to be blown away or pressed
under a muddy boot of disinterest
‘Nice’ is a damp whisper
a mouse cowering in the corner
hoping you will blink and miss her
lest she attract your notice
lest she presume too much
and cause a whisker of offence
Kindness is not like that –
Kindness pushes in, quick and nimble
a hero with no mask, unasked
unexpected, dodging the turmoil
leaving nothing unsaid and little undone
in her pursuit of creating a counter-disruption
Kindness defies convention
Kindness carefully aims her weapons of choice
and advances relentless and regardless
of any and all obstacles in her way
Kindness perseveres all the love-long day
Kindness doesn’t delay
Kindness is gleeful for the chance of invasion
ready to disarm with expert compassion
with her regiments of patience
armed to the teeth with gracious
placing tanks of good faith on all fronts
Kindness confronts
Courage is her currency, boldness her language,
trust and hope are her passports to lands long unexplored
happily wearing all-weather clothing
for any and all unexpected storms
Kindness transforms
Kindness weakens all defenses
and challenges all camouflaged pretenses
Kindness pours itself out to fill unhealed wounds
and on shrapnel-seeded battlefields
she - blooms
Kindness is not 'nice'
Kindness isn’t in this for the likes
Kindness bites
She’s a take-on-all-comers, undefeated delight
Kindness never bails from the fight
never fails, never takes flight
Kindness is nothing casual,
nothing incidental
This Kindness is elemental
She is Avengers-Assemble,
End-Game-level
monumental
Kindness is not 'nice'.
Kindness is loving awe-ful.
Oct 12, 2020
Oct 12, 2020 at 8:45 AM UTC
Crimson maple buds magically pucker
under brightening skies
Lenten rose reluctantly unfolds
absolving the shadowed snow,
stemming the wintertide
Spring's impending bloom
mystically stirs the delicate human heart
soothing from outside its sheltering shell
A converging pleasantness
of a sunshine sown awakening
cleanses each morning breath drawn
to sate an urgent restrained longing
The wilderness carpet comes alive
with a burgeoning salient sweetness
drawing out a glimmer of gladness
from stale suffocating darkness’
wallowing in the winter ennui
Another kind of poignant balm sinks
from the tall mountain willow tree
touching the sprouting blue sky
Furry fragrant catkins blossom sweetly
like the remnants of a love once known
softly brushing against a fading memory
of unerasable stains begrudgingly beget
Like fawning flowers falling fallow
in a passing season’s pollination breeze
Manipulating frayed heartstrings,
unhealed as the deer peeled scars
and rubbed bark of a mountain willow,
scarred from another season past
Some protective shell ― never grows back
when benign heartwood is brought to light
harlon rivers ... Spring 2018
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 11:59 AM UTC
my sadness feels like
i'm swallowing sea water -
every gulp down my throat is a step closer to
dehydration
sinking to the bottom
no flotation
lacking foundation
my sadness feels like
vomiting frustrations
stagnation -
my sadness feels like stagnation.
sensations of vibrations
surround me but do not reach
my hands
or any part of me for that matter.
I see it -
i know its there
the energy is flowing in the air
a devious glare - i swear
i stare
and stay aware that this
illness
does more than impair - it's unfair , really.
My sadness feels like everything around me is dead -
i know its really in my head but
i look at the evening sky and see not
yellows and reds but
grays instead -
i used to imbed the colors into my
brain but lately its been filled with
tar - seeping into unhealed scars
its making a home here -
till i disappear
its not just me it's "we're" that's here -
its overstayed its welcome.
My sadness feels like a man putting his feet on my
coffee table.
My sadness feels like an empty chest -
one that rots with dust and
human rust it
echoes and howls when opened -
like its terrified of its urge to leave.
My sadness feels like a parasite that *****
until it falls but
it doesn't fall -
only crawls
through the hollow parts of me
and creates substance.
My sadness feels like accepting to drown.
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 2:08 AM UTC
Curtains, veils of virtual vice
So, gaze through the ****** intermix
of positional latency,
nano-notions lost in frantic phantasm,
requisites of an idle, unhealed mind.
Draw the virtual screen curtains open,
bring forth the lustful images to
feed the circuitous appetite, lurking
front-row-presence, at the keys.
Unknown, undertones
of desirability, poses in patient wait,
online implication of fallen ways,
predication of unveiling moments.
As any-time-porn pours its spill
of sickest gratification behind
the curtain tab selective viewing.
It is someone’s child the glides on rails
of drawn conclusions, through windows
where drapes of cyber mindlessness
hang on dank walls of seedy buildings.
The ***** grinder always plays the tune
to which monkeys happily dance,
in a world where Neanderthals hang out,
unperturbed with new technology.
May 22, 2012
May 22, 2012 at 9:44 AM UTC
In the love note
To someone
The old man highlighted
Love flourishes
When fear dies
If all else fails
Time heals
If still
Unhealed
Love heals
For all that
You are
From all that
I am
Dec 24, 2021
Dec 24, 2021 at 10:06 PM UTC
As a teenage boy I used to fall asleep at night
listening to the graveled voice of Ernie Harwell
fashion for me word-images of the exploits
by a band of superheroes called the Detroit Tigers.
In those semi-lucid moments before slumber,
I could see the shimmering outline of my destiny:
you see all American boys are meant to be Tigers.
So imagine my confusion, when I fractured
the right talus bone my Junior year of high school,
even putting on weight around the middle,
where no athlete worth his pin stripes would gain.
My karma had begun to take on mass.
I began to acquire knowledge, as the only perceived defense
against some parallel universe impinging upon reality.
Oh, I had everyone convinced, even my keenest teachers
believed I was destined to make my mark in scholarly pursuits.
But no one saw the crying ego of one meant to be a Tiger,
nor how that bottled up the emergence of the Man.
Never reconciled, the Man curled up in fetal dormancy.
Lifespan became synonymous with interstellar drift.
And every encountered star of knowlege was dwarfed,
having long ago collapsed of its own gravity.
Still the heavens of knowledge are auspicious,
so I looked outward, when all the answers lay concealed within.
Only as my life left the outskirts of occluded reality
did I then begin to inherit from my instinctual id,
begin to listen to disconsolate internal voices,
who had known me all along, perhaps better than myself.
The thing is ... the stage has long been set on middle-age,
what props lie about are encrusted with patina,
laden with a dust impossible to gauge or preempt,
made worse by the lack of cast, save one.
Neither Beckett, nor Pinter, could have absurded this.
So, when my acts strike you as quixotic,
when I cut with a penknife through propriety,
it's because I finally remember what it meant to be a Tiger.
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 7:15 PM UTC
Tears.
Salt water
mixed with fire
from my core ,this molten
center; Where viscosity erupts into
the cavernous third chamber, sufussive.
Hands. Feel across the valleyed surface, touching
the unhealed; A perfectly clean circle sitting upon solar plexus;
Cupid’s sharpest hit. Unseen. The fissure runs deep into a chamber
nestling betwixt red pulsing atrium. Only I sense the tremors here.No beats sing
out in this vast ethereal emptiness. Silent. Vaulted edifices shining bright with colourful
minerals. Molten. Lovers leaving stains upon the walls, as pure deposits cool. Crystallizing
in the aftermath of each eruption, my volcanic heartrock shines like a diamond in the rough.
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 6:24 PM UTC
In darkness
I left you
was when your heart was slow
instructed by the western strand
'gather clothes and go.'
I missed you
this morning.
We moved from where we strayed,
slipping free of drunken vows
fevered flesh had made
Your soft,
small picture
commands me now to kneel,
deny the gods I knew before
and drop this broken shield.
I'll ask you
tomorrow,
'please cut this tender thread.
it bleeds and binds my all to you,
your body, and your bed.
That simple
small mercy
returns my broken life
where your kiss can never hurt me,
Orion fades from sight.'
I know how
you'll answer
'we are so lightly here,
it is in love that we are made,
in love we disappear'
too wise or
too simple,
it's either black or white.
Unhealed, I'll tear at stitches
bleed out this fatal life
Remember
years later
onto those soft lit eyes
your warm belly fluttered
in a melody
of sighs.
Then drowsy, low rain
will beat us
'till we float.
we'll drift through
wet desert
in a folded paper boat.
Jan 12, 2018
Jan 12, 2018 at 1:49 AM UTC
I look at her,
her sad eyes and juvenile wrinkles.
A face riddled with scars and red bumps,
interweaved with healed and unhealed flesh.
I wish I didn't care about what I see in the mirror.
I wish I didn't care about how my skin feels against my fingertips,
or what I see when I search for my reflection.
They talk about loving yourself
but how can I,
when all I see is a hideous monster?
I know,
I know.
There are sorrows much painful,
woes more pertinent than mine.
But how do I tell my mind to stop crucifying itself?
How do I diffuse these electrical impulses,
from my eyes to my brain,
carrying an image of my face and interpreting it as
unnatural,
ugly,
pitiful?
I wish I didn't spend so much time,
trying to wash this dirt off me,
trying to pick and probe at the scabs,
when I know it's a part of me,
arising from me.
How do I stop myself from judging my worth
as the sum of these scars
that lie skin deep?
Jul 1, 2019
Jul 1, 2019 at 10:12 AM UTC
****** **** such a tragedy.
Between kin bloodlines abominations of unrighteous unity.
Speak loud and spare not, victims stop keeping it hidden.
A sin so scandalous so forbidden.
This secret is the reason for some insane things.
Punishment on our Nation it brings.
Stop the transgress it’s time to progress
to detest the ugliness of ******
The sin of ****** put out from us such wickedness
Crimes within the family.
Outcry why oh God why.
Emotions cry spirits die.
Survival with scars somehow.
Child kept secrets at least for now.
Innocent sweet nectar just taken.
Abused shattered then forsaken.
Inwardly hating the humiliation.
Lingering curse. Bound to be rehearsed.
A bloodline search, unthought-of curse our generation.
How can we cleanse this crime from our nation.
Child **** such outrage of wickedness.
Such a corruptible trespass.
Men lusting after little boys. Using them as ****** toys.
Outcry iniquity. Loss of innocent purity.
Killers of purity, thieves,
bandits doings malicious things in secrecy.
Abused children in mind body and spirit.
Hear their voices silently cry who’s close enough to hear it.
Legal laws. Often with flaws
Putting children in harms way.
Hard to prove it allowing perpetrators often to stay.
Courts judicial systems poor outcome.
Criminals getting counseling with their worst still to be done
It’s a unhealed spiritual condition.
Warriors do our best to rid ourselves of this affliction.
Wrongful unthinkable vexation.
Impure affections of ****** connection.
Between the bloodlines.
Children with Children sexually learned crimes.
Scares of a lifetime.
People wake up let us not be blind.
I beg you I pray.
Let’s do more to protect our children in any way.
Feb 12, 2018
Feb 12, 2018 at 2:15 PM UTC
I was born from the ashes of fear, guilt and shame.
Cut me into pieces and I will grow separately from all the blood-spattered pieces of my being.
Freer than before.
I have those cuts hidden somewhere under my skin.
I still breath through unhealed wounds.
I still bleed every month.
I still believe in lies.
I still choose the wrong path.
I don't need your religion to believe in myself.
I don't need you to wipe my blood stains.
I don't need you to tell me what's right.
Not this time.
Burn me and every inch of my flesh will explode viciously to reborn again and again.
Fierce than before.
My blood is still boiling and running through my fresh veins.
I won't let you drown in the hollowness
I won't immolate myself
I won't give you a chance to carry my burned flesh.
I won't follow these path of illiberal rules.
I don't want you to compromise your love.
I don't want you to devour the poison.. alone.
I don't want you to suffer ..just because you are supposed to.
Not this time..
Not this time.
Jan 11, 2018
Jan 11, 2018 at 1:56 PM UTC
that moment of terrifiying beauty
for which there is no language
only a foam of primordial letters
and the possibility of cosmos
the hours cascading in his veins
it was so natural and shocking:
he was my hidden black whole
(the black whole one thought crosses to another)
and with my bare feet on the blade of the horizon
I was bleeding curses
promises to the unknown
confessions of sublime intensity
the terror of beauty so real
as we danced that mysterious dance
of light turning effortlessly into darkness
of darkness turning effortlessly into
light
it all starts in pieces
maybe I was his morphine
and he was rebelling against
every fragment of unhealed time
in his shoulders.
with him I discovered a new sea of time and
fused with my roots
I rest suspended in the chaos of possibility
to the end of my undreamed dreams
as he was hallucinating my younger selves
anew
we opened the other dimensions of time
descended into flesh
without really knowing
how coherent pain can be
and I could go on and on and on, like the beat
we were only a poem
without destination
but the possibility
of cosmos
Dec 1, 2022
Dec 1, 2022 at 6:08 AM UTC
I love her
I desire her
More than anything
I can imagine
But I am unsure
I dreamt of her
I weep for her
I struggle with myself
But I never conquered
‘cos I am unsure
And at night
I hug my pillow
In my sleep
I held her tight
But I couldn’t keep her
For I was unsure
She kept coming
She kept smiling
But never opened her hands
To give me a warm embrace
Which is all I desire
And the more I am unsure
I never told her
I love you
I’ve never held her
In my hands
But I love her
Though I am unsure
The wound remained unhealed
The vacuum remained unfilled
The tears flow unstopped
And I’m losing her
Who is the remedy
‘Cos I’m unsure
And I’m losing her
Fast than I expected
Though she still smiles
The fear increased unmeasured
She loves me
I don’t know
For I am unsure.
Mar 23, 2018
Mar 23, 2018 at 4:52 AM UTC
but a scar;
marring the freckled skin of my arms
&
the dips and valleys of my thighs.
an unhealed wound that
echos in the cavern
surrounding the pieces of my heart
that lay scattered along the shore
of my spirit.
each day glides across my skin
like a knife,
cutting deeper and deeper
into the depths of my body,
bringing nothing but sorrow, pain,
and the whispered words:
"be strong."
Jul 7, 2022
Jul 7, 2022 at 2:09 PM UTC
A heart that’s filled up like being buried alive |
“Occupational hazards” that slowly poison you |
Bruises getting sourer than
an astronaut’s vertigo |
Bruises are left to be unhealed |
Sorry, Doctor! Your medicine isn’t working
Looking so sipped off and drained
Devoid of any humanity’s stain
Thinking of drowning down
the system that’s already dead and down |
We haven’t heard from them longtime and again |
But please let me take a more cautious,
loyal approach to you all over again |
A slow poisoning of carbide, formalin
to finally having pure, clean cyanidical mayhem… |
No vertigos and no more spinning please |
No vertigos and no more spinning please |
No vertigos and no more spinning please |
Peace with myself at last |
Peace with myself at last |
This is my final epitaph | my choking heartache |
No vertigos and no more spinning please |
No vertigos and no more spinning please |
No vertigos and no more surprises please |
But still what a wonderful feelings I had I remember now |
Such a wonderful heavenly bliss it was |
No vertigos and no more spinning please | (let me steer up to eternal bliss) |
No vertigos and no more spinning please | (let me steer up to eternal bliss) |
No vertigos and no more spinning please | (let me steer up to eternal bliss) |
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 2:41 PM UTC
Ultimate preservation,
A cleansing of the spirits,
Keeping a pure soul intact,
Bandaged but unhealed,
Bandaged but mortal.
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 7:06 AM UTC
A love so deep, it rips apart your unhealed skull.
A mystery of illusions, inclusivity is dared to be dispelled.
May I hold you?
Or am I too far away.
Can I feel you?
Just a touch to make me beg of your despair.
Unwritten poetry, a querulent secrecy of written misery and longing.
I want to love, may I love?
Whom can be loved more than the love of thyself?
I fall to my aching pits.
I feel you...
But you are not here.
Sep 3, 2021
Sep 3, 2021 at 2:17 PM UTC
23rd April
She is a snowball in the ebony coloured sky and I am so in love with her.
Her full face comes into my view tonight and I watch her, sitting peacefully in the cold, surrounded by diamonds who are glittering in the dark.
There's always something I've found tragic about her expression, like an old lover broke her long ago and now she is an empty case. Sometimes I wonder if I could fix her, though she is only my imagination, my friend when I am alone.
I feel her endlessly, so deeply and intensely.
I am hers and she is mine, and no being may come between that love.
The stars hang around her, kissing the black, and I imagine them all dancing in the shades of midnight.
The way her light shines on me makes me feel so renewed, like i have just engaged in the most passionate of kisses.
But I am alone, and alone I will be, always.
Maybe this pain is permanent, I will learn to walk with this limp and leave my flesh unhealed.
I have a tendency to love things out of my reach.
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 10:06 AM UTC