"visualized" poems
Poet : " Hey peeps"
Singer : "sup"
Artist : " Hiii"
Poet : " I was wondering, its quite intriguing how we are all quite similar , yet different as well "
Artist : "How so ?"
Poet : " Well, we all show , some feeling or emotion or portray any message in some sort of form, one way or another "
Singer : "Thats true , I use my voice so that many can hear my lyrics whether cryptic or not "
Poet : True, but you also forgot...
Artist : "Poet does this as well , despite the words on paper for many to read , poet doesn't quite sing in melody , but speaks so that many can hear the words to tell the message "
Poet : " Exactly , thank you Artist "
Artist : " No problem , as for me I neither Sing nor speak , my art paint the words I want to convey in the mind as an image "
Singer : "Yes,Yes, But don't you at times say what your art means , so technically you do speak kinda"
Artist : " Hahaha , ******** yes but I would only say 15-20 per cent of the time , to convey what i'm trying to define "
Poet : " Fair enough but technically poets can do this as well , in fact there is a type of poetry called...
Artist : " Concrete, Yes I know , such a flattering name by the way, hahaha "
Singer : " Hahaha"
Poet : " Anyways! , to add to poetry we need not have to create art , for our message to be visualized "
Singer : " Thats all well and good , however in the rhythmic sway in the melodies of song , I quite literally move people , you could even say the way they dance to my songs to show how it makes them feel , expressing themselves, as well as painting a picture ...."
Poet : "Hahaha damnnn, are you trying to show your the best ?"
Singer : " Just saying facts , not my fault it might come across as me being the best "
Poet : "Do try and remember us Poets do move those who read or listen to our poetry , they can relate. On the words , they think and meditate plus with those lines an image in there mind they do, re-create"
Singer : " Really , you just couldn't help not rhyming ? "
Poet : " Don't hate , appreciate.. "
Singer : " Oh gosh... "
Artist : " Hahaha"
Artist : " Don't forget us Artists , our art , can move people , maybe not as physically as you Singer, but we can cause a sway of thoughts for a painting can have a multitude of meanings"
Artist : " Sometimes it is better not to tell them my definition of the painting, but to see what it means to them and how it makes them feel "
Singer : " Sigh fair enough you got me there... "
Poet : " Its like I said , we are similar in the fact , that we portray something in our own unique act , to wonder and see how the viewer will react , to see the thoughts and feelings in our different dealings... To..."
Singer : " Oh my gosh we get it... No need to rhyme us to oblivion"
Artist : " We all basically show some sort of message just in a different way "
Singer : " See , why couldn't you just say that poet ? "
Poet : " Oh shut up."
Artist ; " Hahaha"
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 9:04 PM UTC
Love, it's isn't like the movies.
And nothing like a Disney's cartoon.
Yes, you might find your Prince Charming.
And your Cinderella too.
Just realize, love isn't like the movies.
Or like one of those old religious drama.
Where the King visualized his Queen?
Or anything shown like the royals dramatized dreams.
Once reality kicks in and you adjust.
Then you come to the realization.
Love only works when you put your hard work effort into it.
You'll have disagreements.
You'll have arguments too.
Just remember, love isn't like the movies.
And it shouldn't be.
When it comes to you.
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 9:51 AM UTC
are you generally happy?
a semi-innocuous query
now actualized as a two sided bladed poker,
hot stabbing me smack dab in
the chests hollow crown bullseye,
continuously, as in all life long, and eternal longing for a
“yes”
it fits inside a pubescent aged wound that
refreshes with every breath;
a life long struggle for an accurate definition,
be a general of genuine happy,
that alone would deliver, bringing on bright day satisfaction
as a human, one operates on parallel continuums;
slide slipping on well oiled poles that over the years,
their lengths, increasing with add-on extender poles
formed by
twisty turny slips and falls of sundered hearts and sad loves,
marriages nicknamed Titanic, children found and lost,
complications responsibilities that are denied meeting the words
“The End”
a life that many would envy, questioning what’s wrong
with you dude, are you blinded to the riches yours,
reality is
shoulders permanently bent, a spine that’s held together by
spit and solder and curved by wearying wearing longing for
a straightness that is also called crooked unobtainable
and a piece of a peace that comes and goes
like a highway billboard that you pass too fast to be fully read
the body is corroding and worser yet to come and that’s a hand
you selected - luck of the self-selecting-drawing -
the opioids of the mind offers are rejected
the clarity of painful self exploration valued overall -
the place where the poems come from,
and go to die,
a landscape of a scene repeatedly visualized
but never been and never left,
the crazy contradictions come in two flavors;
vanilla smiles and chocolate weeping of tears that have
etched pathways cheek-chiseled
the city is a struggling strife for most,
the next red line on the side
of the measuring cup and
everyone has a cell, a credit card,
and a measuring cup
<•>
here I stop can’t finish
someone missing alerts me
to their real worlds troubles
making my complaints super superficial but
the silent running of the stilleto
cuts shallow
repeated hourly
the cut color,
pitch black
May 26, 2018
May 26, 2018 at 2:05 PM UTC
the mathematical statement in fluid mechanics that, for a fluid passing through a tube in a steady flow, the mass flowing through any section of the tube in a unit of time is constant
instantaneous our love defined,
a fluid mechanic in the realm of ethereal,
where unlimited immeasurable undefinable
mass time flow sweat pulse anger forgive caress kind
quantifiable terms of our equation unique
in this poem
no waxing poetic,
excellent pure licked lips
are quantums and quarks visualized
though invisible the flow constant per unit of time from
initial good morning kiss to intemperate
indulgent good night conclusions
submitted here for your
analytical digression importuned
the square root of the continuity equation's solution
is
.......
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 9:24 AM UTC
A moment, captured
Perfectly
A detail, remembered
Sharply
A recollection, visualized
Clearly
A camera given a soul.
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 9:20 AM UTC
I think I'm going blind.
I'm under the impression you've disappeared.
That you're gone for good.
That you've eliminated yourself from my retinas in order to escape my mile wide stare.
That you've constructed homes under tombstones hoping I'd mistake you for
A box of under-appreciated skeletal remains
Because all you've ever wanted is to be dead to me.
Like you wanted my eyes to forget about their day job and resort to conceptualized adultery
Because God forbid I commit to an honest day's pay.
I've never intentionally visualized imaginary fabrications.
But the truth is, my eyes do everything but tell the truth.
1. My eyes write monotonous picture books with your face plastered on every single page
Just to recreate your physical beauty time and time again
So the world knows your look tops my mind's best seller list.
2. My eyes climb mountain tops and skinny dip in stormy seas
Because sometimes crazy is the only way I can get you to look at me.
3. My eyes fly hot air balloons carried by the echoes of your soft spoken sentences
As if exhaust pipes could spew such sweet nothings into the night sky.
4. My eyes invade foreign lands with every intention of burning down
Prehistoric villages and discovering your secret hideaway because I too
Want to know how it feels to savagely destroy former sacred territory.
5. My eyes struggle out of bed every morning. Not even
Three shots of espresso can perk my eyes up enough
To allow the radiation you still give off enter my pores.
I think I'm going blind.
Or maybe I just can't see straight.
Or be straight up with you and tell you how it takes every part of me
To not gauge my own eyes out for betraying the rest of my body.
It takes every part of me to admit my misjudgments spawned the downfall of it all.
Because I told you I saw the two of us trekking through unfamiliar lands
With each stride another step towards our destiny.
Because I told you I saw something in your eyes
That gave mine the ability to smile.
Because I told you I saw us redefining what infinity
Looks like to the senseless visionary.
But my eyes don't tell the truth.
I'm going blind.
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 12:05 PM UTC
Visual delusions:
*Scrutinizing the acuity of
what is visualized.
But sight is only validated
by the morality glazed over.
Until narratives are edited
to mimic a reality of self delusion.*
Oral formalization
*Dictation versed within syllable
delusions, never sounding
the reflection of thought to breath.
But sour exhalation collects on
vacant windows, spelling other
than what is breathed outwards.*
Auditory silence
*Auditions drummed within,
echoing on shallow walls,
nothing wrote within
A tirade of failures woven with
three perceptions. Collective ignorance*.
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 4:34 PM UTC
Seductive being.
You have captured my eyes.
Blown away by an angel.
Tricked by diguise.
I'm lead astray by this angel.
The way she courses with grace.
So I follow the shadow.
Fooled by the veil on her face.
I have commited a crime.
I have visualized this affair.
Acknowledging this moment.
This innocent state of mind.
I admitt that this diversion.
Has corrupted me inside.
Leaving me empty.
Leaving me alive.
I'm drawn by her beauty.
Harmonizing her rythm.
While she harmonizes with mine.
Concious of this unlawful act.
Acheiving the impossible.
Acheiving this lie.
Aug 5, 2010
Aug 5, 2010 at 9:40 PM UTC
What's up?
Nothing much just a visualized image of a homicide.
Sometimes the mind wonders around thinking of someones death.
Imagining grey matter splatter across 4 walls, out of the 4 walls of your bedroom.
Your pet cat is fine and seems unmoved as it sits grooming.
Sometimes this event occurs because hopefully you've fallen onto hard times with ****
Other times it's just the usual thing, wrong place wrong time.
It's kind of a game of cat and mouse; the only thing Jerry is that my dreams don't come out as a cartoon.
Sometimes the process of muscle and bone twinges leave a sweet rhythmatic tune.
But the one I like the best is when you pay for your own suicide, it's only worth a dime.
The insides pool and leave such provocative tinges.
Your new found beauty is the only thing that can make me cringe.
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 6:29 PM UTC
As I visualized people in my mind, and wondered,"Who are you?"
I felt a real person within my existence. I felt like a real person even if only for a moment, I felt like one of the others, one of the ones I imagine.
Yet, it's fleeting, it only comes when I feel the deepest sadness, when the rawness of this perception throws me into the ground, gets dirt in my eye.
She is in so much pain, and I can't do a **** thing because I am not real.
May 15, 2017
May 15, 2017 at 5:20 PM UTC
Wish life was at least as explicable as The HMM,
But alas! It's even more complex.
You may understand The HMM one day,
But not your life and interactions.
In probability & statistics,
A Markov chain or Markoff chain or a Markov Process,
Named after the Russian mathematician Andrey Markov,
Is a stochastic process that satisfies the Markov property
And is usually characterized as "memorylessness".
Imagine an urn experiment with replacement,
Hidden Markov Model can be visualized likewise.
***Consider a hidden room with a genie inside,
The room has N urns with n ***** in each.***
*The genie chooses an urn in that room,
He randomly draws a ball from the urn.
He then puts the ball onto a conveyor belt,
Which is being observed for the sequence,
Only the ***** on the conveyor are visible,
Not the urns from which they were drawn.
The genie has a procedure to choose urns,
The choice of the urn for the n-th ball,
It depends only upon a random number,
And the choice of the urn for the (n − 1)-th ball.
The choice of urn does not directly depend on
The urns chosen before this single previous urn;
Therefore, this is called a Markov process.*
***Hidden Markov models model complex Markov processes,
Where the states emit the observations according to a distribution.
One such example is a Gaussian distribution,
In such a Hidden Markov Model,
The state's output are represented by a Gaussian distribution.***
Dec 6, 2016
Dec 6, 2016 at 6:02 AM UTC
Oh love, I dying each moment we apart.
No one has love me and understood my heart.
An as strange as it seems.
You was visualized in my dream, from your head to your toes.
Girl ,you're so beautiful.
It been said don't judge a book , by its cover.
But just the making of you.
Would get you on many covers.
Girl, you're so beautiful inside.
While it's true that many might exist like you.
I doubt if any could ever be as kinder as you.
You give.
You give so much to another.
And, I professed I'm glad I'm your lover.
You're just so beautiful to love.
And, I thank God above for creating you.
I didn't have too.
Because He knew why he wanted too?
You're so sincere.
Oh, you're so, so real.
You just so beautiful to love.
Feb 25, 2011
Feb 25, 2011 at 2:10 AM UTC
Endless laughs & smiles
That were shared together
With a feeling so profound
It always felt like summer weather
& a future planed to grow
On your exciting life adventure
**** It couldn't get no better
This feeling is too big to measure
Now you're consumed with butterflies
It sends shivers down your spine
U feel the warmth just taking over
Every time she passes by
Like a new world u have discovered
Loosing yourself within her eyes
Asking yourself if this is real
Or have u been dreaming this hole time
Cuz you've never visualized
A chemistry so divine
She becomes your one & only
A star placed right by your side
& her gourgous magnitude
Always lifting u up into the sky
Thankful life blessed u this way
The day paths had intertwined
Deep within a love
u get to know her story
Of how she once loved another
With a passion but then turned stormy
He left her on her own
Broken hearted & feeling lonely
That wasn't the outcome
She was expecting in this journey
Filled with blue emotion
Wondering where it all went wrong
& how the **** she lost his devotion
But with time she grew back strong
Gracefully flowing just like the ocean
Determined to move on
She found herself feeling unbroken
& so she carried on
That's when life brought u together
Instant attraction from the start
U both embarked a new endevour
Giving this feeling a fair shot
But now the time is rather worrying
U feel she's drifted off
Your future seems quite unclear
You're mind's consumed with fearfull thoughts
That this storm will never clear
& you'll both just grow apart
-Abraham Avalos
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 8:47 AM UTC
Poetry is not frozen.............
Still surged in poetry
A stream stemming from the crux
An energetic reflection
An external of internalized intuitions
The flow of the words
Attuned and harmonized
Umpteen snow, melodic tunes
Visualized dreams mending arts
A bursting imagination
A word behind the beats
A free energy of octaves
Pulses of natural architecture
HP our home of anonymities
Acquainted monikers broadcast
Poetry strum through the universe
The singular tones attached
Poetry a scaffold of true expression
A design encoded to amuse
The beauty silhouette on plinth
Hollowed ice with steaming warmth
Poetry the distributed condenser
Sliding from 126hz to 136hz
The domineering kingship
Posing the echoes in words
Keep going everyone at HP, you are all beautiful!Lets the words dance
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 12:24 PM UTC
Eleanor stepped from the rear platform of the caboose as they were sidelined to let a freight
Pass she mused how she loved freight trains how romantic they were the gust of night air from the
Passing train that and the sound the train made was intoxicating she too was a piece of heaven she only
Had a blanket wrapped around her body just above her breast her blonde hair was wet it had deep
Comb lines she presented the highest qualities of womanhood freshness innocence a wild freedom a
Tenderness her face expressed a look of longing a yearning the call that commanded wonder she picked
Up the natural richness from the golden sunset as they traveled west the silver stream that was wide in
The river they ran alongside for many miles this night it had been her bathing pool bemusement and
Wistfulness came from her eyes and played on her face there to was a sadness a mystery that spoke of
Pain she was travelling with a music troupe on the cheap she stated to stroll in the dark up the length of
The train first she encountered the only Spanish man in the group he was setting with his back against
The train on the rail at first quiet and thoughtful was his tune you visualized walking down the dark quiet
Street of a Spanish village then he increased with a fastness you could hear Olay the scene quickly
Changed to the famed bull fight in the great arena he played slow and softly making you feel the
Tenseness as the great Matador faced the great beast the first pass was letter perfect the grace the cape
Moved in a half circle then he spoke Toro the bull charged but in the blink of an eye the Matador saw
The bull turn his head with those massive horns it caught him in the side and then the terror of a human
Doll being tossed and stomped the cadence of the guitar told it all the day would go to the bull glory and
Honor would go to the dead Matador she continued to walk as the guitar sound faded only to be picked
Up by the sound of a rich trumpet it pierced the sweet night the distant pine seemed to sway in
Appreciation the lone Coyote not to be out done howled his plaintive cry to the magnetic moon the
Expanse of the dark southwest night was the fulfilling and telling of the tale many ghost rose that night
Native American people always on the move in their nomadic way the wild mustang were real they
Stood grazing in the lush grass just across the river Eleanor with her rich creamy skin seemed as a dream
Passing between them made perfection call out from a night train
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 3:41 PM UTC
Amicable, the vibration,
Getting to the Eden.
Elements sanctify the hurt,
Bonded like super glue.
Educates the visualized future,
Symphonic orchestra at the concert.
Adjudicated, the sentiment,
Layering me luscious lucidity.
Evening the odds,
Fit for four hands.
Destiny decided to
Trade compassion and serenity.
Sincere, the revelation
Always and all ways.
Sorry is deeply sorry,
Even when mostly innocent.
Let me contribute to the
Symphonic orchestra at the concert.
Bond like super glue,
Cue my disclosure.
(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith
(Originally written 12/9/10
Revised 10/2/14)
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 2:27 PM UTC
So, I am simple, not rude.
Perhaps a little crude.
But, people usually won't act.
So it's dignity that they lack.
Sure my edges are torn and shredded.
Not as though this can't be mended.
Asking simply for the chance
to spark a bit of romance.
This request was met with pain.
Though it wasn't all in vein.
All I needed was a glance,
to inspire a hint of forward advance.
Although it could have been nice,
at me she wouldn't look twice.
So now I spend my days missing a friend.
Praying for my loneliness to end
I just need this to go away!
Find some shelter, a place to stay.
Just to try and weather the storm
and get back to my original form
Yet it seems no matter what I seek,
my arrangements appear far to meek.
I just can't escape realizing it's all too late.
I came,
I saw,
I lost
No time to even pause
Now I'm left with a life un-lived.
Twenty years young with dreams well hid.
What is left for me to do,
but fashion myself a good ole noose?
Though I enjoy the sentiment.
I can't really deem it an accomplishment.
So now I retreat check the horn,
turn on the T.V and watch a little ****
...
These seemly men talking to seemingly underage girls about a seamless transition into a whole new world.
...
Not even a past time I can enjoy,
scenes just drift by the by.
With one click,
I was on to a new flick.
Not quite Cinimax.
So no more visualized ******
Just the tale of a bride to be,
and the husband she could not bare to see.
(Insert True Love...)
Apr 4, 2012
Apr 4, 2012 at 1:02 AM UTC
(B)
Cacophony vocal cords turned inside out
Folding back upon themselves in cruel creases
Vibrations resonating in strained harmonies
Against the dire fabric of my delirious oblivion
(J)
I stomp your echoes as they travel through light
Unleashing my fangs to sting your roaring mess
Frequencies lowered from baseline to internal signal
To form a wave at the quilted patch you weaved
(B)
Disregard all visualized fear firmly penetrating realms
Of thickening white-hot spirit a roiling boiling crucible
Inflamed fiery fleshly folds of terminated temptations
Drawing your musky draught drinking your toxic brew
(J)
Your sight announces epiphanies of me sinking deeper
A manhood you portray is my repatriation, prepare the shovel
Ruin me I plead! Packet and send me down to my casket
You can't stitch me, I am twitching, itching, iced in sorrows
(B)
Clawing at the world, hissing, spitting my deep disdain
My every defense mumbling, crumbling into its derelict dust
Welcoming my inevitable defeat, my tattered, blood spattered
White flag flies, surrendering all to hail the conquering pain.
(J)
The flag waves in bloodied winds, you wing wading wounds
Trying to reach snowy mountainous top, the ascending sledge
We fall inverted bumping, exposing our cranium, posing in disgust
Hold this hawk talon scratch the earth, its the only hope you hold
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 11:32 AM UTC
a new vocabulary is driven
as the authentication of genius
one that convinces a migration
toward imagined conjugations
of constellated false inflections
mirrored words on camera
dematerializing radical mutations
interspersed with graffiti and poster sounds
words, sentences in cadence
framed vowels, recordings of consonants
a punctuated acceleration of the visualized
the scanned and the incalculable hallucinatory
holographics of a language in which
communication is not spoken directly
but becomes the audible interpretation
of a microwave
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 4:07 PM UTC
*Water color painting of her mindscape
visualized by an artist of repute
and its map, though not drawn on a scale
yet shows the topography and neighborhood,
gives a concrete idea to plan the conquest.
A route map to her heart, meticulously prepared
marking all shortcuts and blockages of passages,
that may lead to confusion and mix up
is an essential tool now at hand
A modern day marauder is just that
he has no time for sentiments of a pusillanimous lover
sentiments are bothersome, portend troubles in store
if logistics are right, plan is great, any peak will stoop,
But yes, the moon they say plays havoc,
love poems that knead the hearts, songs and music
too, if comes between, the project may go bonkers
the problem here is the reign of unpredictability
when love starts its gallop and emotions the other horses
just follow without rules whatsoever,
isn't it unwise trying to stop a dam breach?
Not even the dam breach software be of any help here,
no study is yet available on dissipating such passion,
dynamics of love is an unknown country altogether
no intelligence available is effective to move
against it and make the conquest certainly possible.*
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 8:01 PM UTC
How can one describe
these hot-pheromones
flowing wildly in space?
Without the genetic code,
the scent-nature of animal attraction,
can these electrical-keyboard
love-lust-connections really work?
Word-whisperings flow like an avalanche,
such heated-moments visualized
through the placement of the alphabet.
The ooooohhhhhh's & aaaaahhhhh's,
do me's & give it to me's,
building of fiery sentence-structures,
creates raptures beyond our wildest dreams.
Then the aftermath.
No hugs, no kisses.
A virtual wham bam, thank you mam
& a good day to you too sir,
I'll write you next time!
;;), :), ^_^, -_-, 3:), :D, ;P, :-P, :)..., 0:), :x, B-),:-*, 69,=), >:)<.
O, I'm sure I missed a few!
O Darling, please please let me know...I'll text you...:-?
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 7:42 PM UTC
Walked to the lake nobody around
Watery clear mirrored no sound
Fish made their move taken by surprise
Divine Love entered the clearing in disguise
Appeared from nowhere crossed time bridged space
How did Love know where to find this place
Knew from the start Love wanted her heart
To make her stay from far away
Destined to meet had no idea why
Kind hopeful passionate romantic guy
Foliage reflection silent forest clime
A window a portal a wormhole in time
Peeked through the veil past the Divide
Clandestine link to the other side
A kiss a chain two souls linked together
A golden moment personified forever
To a river where the crowds gather
Followed invited welcomed her there
Visualized materialized the crack sublime
The crowd parted for her proof paradigm
Her mission veiled her purpose oblivious
Death lurked undetectable ubiquitous
Invisible Denizen of Fear
Behind in front at her side always near
Waited for a mistake hoped for a lie
A justified excuse to take her life
Stalked her everywhere dragged her around
Wondered when to take her down under
The ledge behind the edge set up high
Nowhere to hide Death always close by
Steeled herself gathered her strength
Lethal Weapon disarmed; Exigent Innocent
Luminous Numinis shielded on all sides
Taken to dark regions unknown unseen by eyes
Brainwashed cornered Captive memory gone
Stood her ground as Death stared her down
Lured to the river hard cold fast water slid past
“How Can I .... You, I Love You”, Death asked
Brutalized left for dead her sentence repealed
Death needed permission the plan revealed
Passed back through the portal unscratched
Delivered home safe to Divine Love at last
Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 2:38 PM UTC
and into the firmament
fumbling for visions
collapse under
disordered nerves
concentrate
need to modulate
a creative energy rush
that has been afforded to me
by the pills just taken
a need to feed the void
to appeal to the dead verses
that are waiting
a manifestation of poetic absolutes
a need to startle oneself alive
extract thought processes
a frantic buzz of possibilities
overdosing and watching
multiplying mirrors
amazed at the images
of one starring back
a poetic geometry
detachable used
and abused
in a copulatorey rite
of aural distillation
of the poets rage
frequencies that fall
upon catatonic faces
of artistic alienation
brought about by
a dissonance of attunement
to the vibrations of the verses
these spoken words
these living entities
who are oblique, cut up, desiccated
by a savage failure to understand
the visualized stanzas
a failure to disarrange all the senses
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 3:32 PM UTC
Oh, my Lord...
Why would You love me?
Your greatness exceeds human comprehension
and Your wealth surpasses the Earth's riches.
In Your mind's eye, my life has been viewed
and my judgment awaits its sentencing.
Before my existence, Your Blood was cruelly shed -
spilled for my sins, both conceived and committed.
You made Yourself vulnerable to man's hatred
for saving flawed souls, such as myself.
To leave the comfort of Your heavenly realm,
for the sole purpose of being slaughtered as the sacrificial Lamb,
prior to my knowledge and acceptance of You,
supernaturally defines the concept of risk.
I have visualized the silent tears
that stained Your cheeks during Your Crucifixion,
but I am unable to fully appreciate the pain
that You suffered on my humble behalf.
Oh, my Lord...
Why would You continue to love me?
Author Note:
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 11:15 AM UTC