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Diana Sep 2018
I want to look at someone
Someone who's been through
Great sorrow
Or loss
Or heartbreak
Or anything traumatic
With eyes filled
Not with artificial pity
But genuine sympathy
And even to a certain extent
Empathy
I want to look at them
In a way they wish
Others would
In a way that's different
From the fragile being
Many see them as
In a way that makes them
Have hope
Hope that they won't be fragile
For long
But that they will come out
Victorious
And stronger than ever
Before
With my eyes
That see a
Beautifully
Temporarily
Broken
Yet strong
Vessel
He slipped too many times for it to be accidental,
Gurgling underwater; and sinking from the vessel.
He too, had supplied the deaths aboard the deck,
Where drowning and breath paddled; all atop his neck.
Do you know his struggle, until you've met the sea?
Where fish swim past on their way, and you clamber just to breathe.
Sputtering on bubbles, his exhaling's a crusade,
But please don't feel bad for him, that's just an average day-
All feedback is welcome and appreciate!!:)
Black surges, forges piling emotion,
Foraging, attaining such predicted erosion.
Color the rubies to a diluted amber,
Brittle, dripped gems are toxic, I clamber
To the lamp as to see my implicit devotion.

Vitals ascend, and I can't perceive
This motionless forfeit I often receive.
Aid is essential, it holds potential,
To cure this conflicted, addicted vessel.
My heart on my sleeve, I'm undeceived.

I implore to explore, as breath, I leave,
So close to dying, I'm on the eve
Of darker clothing, and flowers to family,
Hallucinate my abnormalities.
Yet somehow, I am still on my feet-
All feedback is welcome and appreciated.
JustJune Aug 2018
You rest in voices and visions
Mixing my reality with yours
Now dreams and days blend smoothly
With indistinguishable taste
Let the transformation be complete.
Until, I have drifted away and you are found.
Amoy Feb 2018
Is self  the vessel that holds our souls?
or is  the soul our true self?
should we look to our outer appearance  and the world to define ourselves,
do we search for the love of self through what people see and say about us?
someone once said "self cant help self"  what did he mean?
if self cant help self then who can?.. after all.. our self is the only
true companion we have in this world. here is one thing I've have learn.
when  we love our self for who we truly are inside,we defines our essences  and it is our essence that define us.
Deb Jones Jan 9
The only reason you can’t say she is scatterbrained is because she doesn’t have a brain to scatter
Eberhardt Nov 2016
Four limbs
Branching from a peach tree
My skin is a shield
My fat is fuel
A vessel for my weary soul
I will let it carry me
Patrick Mar 2018
I am a broken vessel, searching for the soul that has slowly leaked since the day that you went away. There was no warning of rapture, nor apocalyptic gore, that could scare the way you did when you walked through that door.

Your love I felt breath into me the soul I thought I did not contain. But truly spoken, you only awoke it. The love inside I held tight as if my last breath in the dead of night. For dead inside is what I was, a soul repressed with no ever sought rest.

Love I felt but could never own. Know this I did, but even so; When you find love so bold, so blindingly bright, do you turn away? Cast aside your eyesight? Or do you simply stare, perhaps take action, and hope that you can one day hold the love that is the only way to repair?

My soul, my heart, my life.

All of these I offered you and asked only to share in your golden light. But a fool I was, not just once or twice...But again and again until the flame that once had tempered this bridge destroyed what had blossomed before it could bud.

I was not honest and tried to deceive this paragon of love that I saw in front of me. Instead of my soul, I showed only this mask; The one without substance or mass.

Now here I lay, here I think back. The empty vessel; Broken glass. To love so pure, beyond even Divine grasp. For even God punished, even God became irate, but with you, I felt nothing but a calm sense of fate. If I had only shown you my soul, instead of this mask, I have to wonder: Would we have last?
In torturings and pains,
all arteries and veins
.

You stole my heart.
Why couldn't you have just
taken every vessel
with You too?
</3
Ivan Brooks Sr Jan 2018
The world's gone mad but my mind is made up.
Time to let ya'll into the darkroom of my mind,
A place where I'm the referee of a poetic world cup.
This is where I am creative even though I'm blind
Don't get me wrong I am not leaving from town.
No more radio or TV saturated with all the sad news,
I have got enough breaking news of my very own...
Breaking to me each and every moment as it brews.
Come and meet the hard drive of my creative doom,
That contains my beautiful and liberated mind.
Welcome to my one bright side I call my darkroom,
It's a place that's so special, I reckon it's one of a kind.

You have to know that I always act blind but I see.
In my mind, I can walk stack naked and levitate.
My mind is where I remain totally black and free.
Come join me set my poetic dial and help me activate,
The code that will outshine any power on this earth.
My mind is where I live and where nobody has access,
Here I can run a poetic marathon without taking a breath,
Call it my playground and intellectual fortress.

My mind is deep, a place of absolute calm and refuge,
Somewhere I will always see as the final frontier.
It is dangerous and toxic like a nuclear centrifuge.
In there, I am all alert and vigilant like a soldier.
My mind is a darkroom where I give birth to new ideas.
It is a vessel and place in which I do magic with letters.
It is my holy land of thoughts, my own creative Judea,
Where each idea is sacred and light as bird feathers.

Welcome to the epicenter of my creative mind.
This is where I turn letters into spoken words
A front line of creativity where no one leaves behind.
Come and see where all words become useful swords.
My mind produces powerful words like some light beams...
Courageous and powerful words for extra motivation.
Spoken Words that will light up people's faded dreams.
Now you know that up in my mind are no limitation,
There exists an enormous capacity of time and space.
Welcome one, welcome all to the darkroom of my mind
Take a seat and be calm, be quiet this is my place
For this here is my personal creative post of command.



www.poemhunter.com/IvanBrookssr
#Vanguard-poetry23
#IvanBrookspoetry
twitter @ivanclappers
@Bassapoet
My mind is the final frontier..the bright side I call my darkroom where I process loose letters into spoken words.
Cné Apr 2016
The truth is ...
Life is perfect,
With no problems that conflict.
Though naturally, improvements take effect.

The truth is ...
Nothing needs to be different,
Although everything in moment
Constantly changes and becomes different.

The truth is ...
Nothing is lacking in me.
Every moment is as it should be.
Evolving into what I am, paradoxically.

The truth is...
My life is fragile,
As my body a mere vessel.
Although, I am eternal,
Divine consciousness in spirit.
Although, I am not always aware of it.

The truth is ...
My nature is goodness.
Although that is not always my experience.
God made me always lovable.
These truths are immutable.
ren Jan 2014
I am irrelevant. 
I am nothing but a vessel.
I am a lantern to carry Light,
And a candlestick has never pled
"Someone please love me".

I am irrelevant.
I am assured in hope.
I am a stain glass window;
My purpose is to color in His plan
With the humble crayons 
I've been given.

I am irrelevant. 
I am here to serve.
I am here to wipe the dripping tears
Of crying candle wax
And light the oil in others.

I am irrelevant. 
And the only relevance is His light.
-ren
The lord lives
The devil too
The symbols of blood
The symbols of faith
And the lost ones too

He knows the lord
But they want his blood
He lived a thousand years ago
At least that’s what they remember
The pledges they made
It’s his turn to be the lamb

They want his soul
And he knows it too
He is away falling far from the lord
But silently his fragmented soul yearns to touch his cloth
Like the women with the flow of blood
He cries loud and loud
Is Christ going to save his soul
He says he has answered his calls
The devil’s and now he lives inside of him
He has build a shrine
If you stare in his eyes
You see what’s written inside in bold letters
Cold cold eyes
THIS IS NOT THE TEMPLE OF THE LORD  
THIS IS THE DEVIL’S VESSEL
As he journeys into the world
Looking for blood to feed his blood hounds
His soul fades away slow and..slow
Skaidrum Jun 2015
-



Lead dripping from
empty sockets,
a clock hissed in serpent hours,
it's venom oozing from the crystal walls

it's 4 a.m. you insomnia lunatic.

I'm too busy admiring,
how the man in the moon slithered through
these blinds on my soul-swept window.

That night I was a canvas,
as the moonlight stripped my arm raw of shale,
and tinted my skin with

silvertongue.

And when he was finished,
tiger stripes tattooed my thinning vessel.


-
When I can't sleep I leave myself
the stupidest of poetry.

© Copywrite
Patrick Mar 2018
I am a ghost.
For I exist but do not live.
We take these bodies as if some host,
That is not us; Not even close.

I continue moving through the waves of contempt, battering against my soul like waves against some ancient ship.

This old vessel is coming close to a breach; What it needs is to find some beach. The rough waters of life are tearing it apart, turning brilliant blue to as black as my heart.

Poisoning every drop that washes against the body of a man who cannot ever win. If he does nothing he will surely drown, but any effort will also bring those around down.

So this ghost haunts the vessel, and at least for a time, he watches the world slowly fade to black; as he exists in a life upon which he turned his back.
elaine hart Mar 2010
Held up by its wind, a flag will ******.
The motion, so liquid,
so solemn and yet lucid.
Floating in its own breath,
meandering,
unleashed along nature’s footpath.
The wind ponders with instinctive movement through and around this clothed vessel.
There are no regards nor any purpose. 
The movement, the romance within this dance with nature is fearless.
The wind has its sweetest of palette – a flag.
copywrite: elaine hart
1.mar. 2010
ryn Jan 2015
my
          ethereal vessel
which...                            
     had just set sail...

with    
          me
in it...
sent deep into a    

          lover's frenzy.

          a frenzy
so intense,
a frenzy    
never going    
             stale...

a frenzy
that is us,              
sailing into...

                    eternity...
ryn Dec 2014
Cradle my emotions in the gentlest of whispers
Lace my heart with sultriest of ribbons
Fill full my sail with the worthiest of winds
Engulf my being in the sweetest of notions

Colour me beautiful with the most vibrant of rainbows
Propel my universe into the farthest reaches
Soothe my aches with the most abundant love
Carry my vessel to the sandiest of beaches

Embed my thoughts within the fluffiest clouds
Let soar my dreams on the bravest of kites
Set my destination in the furthest horizons
Present me with life's buffet with the tastiest of bites
celestial Jul 2016
she is a bird in a cage that you keep,
whose songs you ravage and reap,
but she is a silent, catastrophic storm;
she will requite and destroy your form,
until your own ashes and dust you adorn,
and to your bones, your flesh is torn—
bare flesh, bearing every sin and desire,
and in her claws, these she will acquire.
the bird abandons her feathers and skin:
she is the aethon, and she will soon begin
to devour you and eviscerate her suffering;
while you shriek, she will laugh and sing.
on your empty vessel, each fiery kiss sears;
her mocking cries echo in your hollow ears.
the birds chant to the rhythm of your torment:
"for the stolen fire, you will atone and repent."
for every woman.
Deluded sailor
on his vessel
Set out to drift
on sea, it lies

Smiles.
Dawn only,
merely,
but a distance
to the eyes
May 12, 2015
Kevin J Taylor Sep 2015
I am the fulcrum, the base and the lever.
I am the space and the form and the game.

I am the maker, the vessel, the dreamer,
the teller, the namer—I naming, un-named.

I am the vision, the vista, the seer.
I am the lintel, the door and the frame.

I am the lock, the key and the knocker,
the handle, the pause and the knocker again.

I am the palm and the fist and the shoulder.
I am the sole and the road and the stride.

I am the still—all that echo, and echoes.
I am Freedom. My counsel. My guide.
Sammie wells Apr 2014
An hourglass figure
For an hourglass mind
Each turn of the glass
A new chapter begins
Each grain of sand
Pathways of thought
Subconsciously explore
Driving the vessel
Positive negative
In worldly battle
Tug of war

Let go of gravity
Embrace individuality
Be extraordinary!

You are your own creation!
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