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ryn Jan 2015
I feel your heart's heavy
and your mind trailing off to places
I'm not allowed to go...
- Dajena M


My body...
Lays battered under unforgiving weather
I amble forth with unsure
In search of pastures much greener

My face...
Wears my despair
Mirrors wouldn't recognise
Reflecting back a faceless stare

My eyes...
Stung red with tears
Conveying the murmurs from my soul
Clouded by despondence that never clears

My limbs...
Bent awkward with time
Arms hang lifeless; legs sore from bearing
Load of my past of crime

My mind...
Trails in the wake of fallen dreams
Searching for an oasis
Instead finding only brackish streams

My soul...
Holds the weight of an anvil
Still I trudge to the farthest reaches
Through barren lands where all is still

My heart...
Yet beats with rhythm so true
It keeps me alive
It gifts to me...

**you...
Line take off Dajena M's "I... is hier", for Frank Ruland's, "Let's Do A Line!" challenge.

I am big fan of Dajena's poems and very much inspired by the depth of her writes.

I chose the line I did because I could relate to the message being conveyed. More often than not, we get caught in a place where we're left with only questions. We know the "what" but not the "why", "when" and "how". We only know so much therefore we can only afford to speculate. Then poem just wrote itself.

Thank you so much Ms. D for your continuous support and being such an inspiration!
Nat Lipstadt Jul 2018
~weary weighted~

flummoxed are the sea watchers;
the long rhythms of sea change reveal only minor modesties,
difficult discerned are the tidal subtleties

though repetitive thrashing extracts it toll,
only the weary-weighted see the true meaning of the beating,
knowing full well,
it beats for them

recalling their early day’d fascination with its endless chaining,
now knowing all are similar
detained-chained,
and  the ******* churning but a cover up masque,
they need not longer conceal,
an unrevealed confess:

water is heavy-weighted, you cannot forever float,
constancy is of a thing to be wary,
its sadder longevity,
a chipping away erosion of wearing,
‘tis is the knelling noise of  sad respite,
an unlight lighthouse



~for Victoria, a year later~
Why is it so hard to breathe
with feet planted on dry land?
What chains itself tight in
our throats?
Can you flee until your limbs
snap?
Can you run from the raindrops
before they fall?
Maybe one day the sun will shine
on a candid smile
Maybe on day we won't feel as if we
are tossed about in dark waters
And maybe, one day, we will feel at home
on dry land.

-Esther L. Krenzin-
-Roguesong-
This earth is such a foreign yet familiar place.
Jordan Rowan Jan 2017
Six strings fell from his fingers behind the Café Miel
He sang French ballads and smoked by the church bell
The gospel choir left and gave him a penny each
Each one a blessing towards redemption out of reach
The coffee-drinking couple kissed and passed him by
Both gave a look but neither looked him in the eye

He slept on rocks and was kept warm by the news
He dreamt of silk and of oceans painted blue
He begged for life and thought entirely of death
He gave his soul to love and music was his breath
He searched for purpose until the final day of rest
He was buried by the wind that carries his songs to the West
Elena Mar 6
To Our Weary Souls,

If you build a wall between us
How long till you break it down?
Will it corrode over time
Will it continue to make us blind

If you grow acres of fields
And call it yours
Will you **** the unwelcome
Or will you let them explore

Will you tell them to leave
As the night tells the day
Because when you close your eyes
You want to keep the threats at bay

So I ask you now
Who do you turn to?
When your fields flood
And your cattle is diseased

Will you turn to your neighbor
And what if you have none?
Will you turn to the sky
That’s been ebon like your eyes

Is your heart broken from the loss
Do you long for a change
From this god forbidden place
Are there parasites in your skin
Do you feel them deep within

Well so do they
But you refused to hear
Instead you built a wall
A wall too near

Just so your hand could push for miles
As all of our cries, echoed to the heavens.
Alyssa Underwood Nov 2015
come if you're thirsty, come if you're stained
come if you're weary, come if you're pained
come to the water, the bread and the blood
come to Christ's soul-saving covenant flood
there's no one too *****, no one too poor
no one too broken whose faith He'll ignore
come if you hear Jesus calling your name
come to be free of all guilt and all shame
come if you're willing to cast out old strife
come lay your burden and take up new life
~~~

"'Come to Me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light.'"  
~ Matthew 11:28-30

"Jesus answered, 'Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.'"  
~ John 4:13-14

"Then Jesus declared, 'I am the bread of life. He who comes to Me will never go hungry, and he who believes in Me will never be thirsty.'"  
~ John 6:35

"On the last and greatest day of the Feast, Jesus stood and said in a loud voice, 'If anyone is thirsty, let him come to Me and drink. Whoever believes in Me, as the Scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him.'" &nbsp
~ John 7:37-38

"'I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in Me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from Me you can do nothing.'"  
~ John 15:5

~~~
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2018
<>
The Instigation:
Edmund  Black, commenting on “weary weighted,”

I agree with Kim; This is poetry at its best :)“

<•>

both of you shush!

there is no “better” in poetry

mine yours theirs, alive or not,

just gasps tears and blood
whimsical smiles and isles
cuts and burns of pained revelations,
hidden in fog,
that words try to delete away,
through the shrouded mists of
human tissues,
unconstrained by the
bounded shape
of the human cell,
our first, our own
self-imposed jail

tissue, too,
baby soft, or,
purple beating majestic bruised blotches
by those weaklings whose
kindness never
fully developed;  
or old man mine whose
skin cells erodes, so poems and light
weary weighted, lightly flake off
for your “betterment”
mostly tho for worse

good humans all await,
in patientce lightly hidden,
residents of dark sunspots
in the glaring existence exposer
of the unlit lighthouse whose time will come

they get it

how we get there unimportant

get there

GET THERE

get there
that is the poetic
mission critical

no path best or style preferred-
no compare just, but,
any path that
lifts and elevates,
to the commonplace


the common place

where all costarred, universal,
where common is the temple mount
of highest praise, holy smoke rising,

a place that
that discloses and closes,
is scribed/described honestly as
a connective,
which is the simplest
successive

call my poems,
blessedly common!

that an honorable,
so gladly accepted
and
so much more meaning-full
than merely best or better



for that,
I’d gladly weep,
for no praise
ever been
bettered





8/2/18 406pm
on the jitney to my isle
the instigation: Edmund black › “weary weighted, I agree with Kim .... This is poetry at its best :)“
A horror movie scene as the heroine escapes.
Everything is still besides her convalescing breath and the distant, chasing wind.
Not a noise is heard except the fall leave's rattle and the birch wood's moaning bark in the moonlight.
Her body slouches into the protection of a lone shed, and shrouds itself in the aroma of cut grass.
A tense brow relieves and tired eyes close, thankful to receive the momentary peace.

A possible misstep turns the wary peace on end with the jagged cut of broken leaves. The once relieved brow now concedes surprise as wild eyes are cast towards an opaque barricade.
Sly pieces of garden equipment leash the woman's weathered jacket in place as she attempts to stand.
A cackle is heard, a shriek undone.
To spite the brittle wood, that formulaic jump-scare-skeleton-hand bursts through the shed's solicitous walls, set to declare the last of a weary soul as his own.
The wind catches up and spearheads any hole it can find.
It begins whistling around the dim room like a tornado elated to havoc behind a castle's walls.
The tree bark howls, the leaves, now delight.
We learn there is no reprieve for a begging champion.
The camera slowly backs out of the splintered hole, and pans over a silhouetted forest to face the waning moon.
The hero succumbs with muted screams to a gore far below and out of frame.

Our only closure, a silky black screen, with bright white letters, slowly scrolling up.


The end.
Just something I had fun writing, figured not posting it would be a waste despite it not being "poetry", just an experiment I guess. I feel like it would be good, in like, a high-school, short story competition. *****.
jonni inferno Feb 2018
sailing down
a sunless sea
downward to
infinity
no stars above
to give me hope
or guide me to
an island shore
with every change of course i make
my destin--y
remai-ns unchang---ed

no escape
from this wilderness
no running from this
empti-ne---ss

...da-da-da-dahh
duh da-da da da dahhh

ta-ke
my ha-nd
and come
and come with me
fa--r
so far be-yond
this storm
this stormy sea
rest your weary heart within
leave the wor-ld
behind my friend
you've heard me calling
for a long long time
just take my hand
and you will find...

...da-da-da-dahh
duh da-da da da dahhh

so i turn my ship
into the wind
and fa-ce the tru-th
that i have seen
softly singing
she calls my name
with open arms
i release my pain
and as the sea closes over me
my hea-rt at last finds
ser-en-it---y

... oblivio--n
a broken heart's best frie-nd

ta-ke
my ha-nd
and come
and come with me
fa-r
so far be-yond
this storm
this stormy sea
rest your weary heart within
leave the wor-ld
behind my friend
you've heard me calling
for a long long ti-me
just take my hand
and you will find...

... oblivio--n
a broken heart's best fri-end

so i turn my ship
into the wind
embrace the heart of
obli-vi---on...

"hello friend"
she welcomes me within...

so ta-ke
my ha-nd
and come
and come with me
far
so far bey-ond
this storm
this stormy sea
rest your weary heart within
leave the wor-ld
behind my friend
you've heard me calling
for a long long time
just take my hand
and you will find...

obli-vi-o---n
obli-vi--o---on
obli-vi-o--n

" i'll be your bro-ken hea-rt's
be-st frien--d... "

.
Pic Poem
http://oi57.tinypic.com/10qb7tz.jpg
.
no matter what the song says
- oblivion -
is not your friend...

added link to the pic/poem
Hannah Christina Jul 2018
why must time progress??
i need to take a rest
each falt'ring sentence brings
me closer to my death
LolaPark Aug 2018
I’ve gotten bored of
The ticking sounds of the wall clock hands
Of sitting around and wasting moments while,
I wait for that moment that will change my life
“Will it be a second, a minute, or an hour?”
As the world twirls around the sun
And we run wild “chasing vapor”
I stretch my legs, lean on my hands, and contemplate
“Where will I be when the world ends?”

I’m gotten bored of time.
Stretched as a massive mountain I have to climb
While gazing up at if from a stand still
I’m reminded: it is a gift that I must seize.
Not as neatly wrapped as my sister’s blue box bows
Yet as precious as my mother’s lesson from her woes
Don’t worry, the world will go on she says,
But don’t let your eyes glaze - for
Moments, they do pass by like bullet trains.
For the times you can’t stop looking at the clock.
Amoy Mar 25
Coffee stained lips
Kiss of tiredness
laziness seeping through my veins
I cant get out of bed, no!
not today
CK Baker Apr 2017
Sunday sermons are spilling on the inner city streets
through the green heaps and brown bags
through the downtown whisperers
and sage solitude souls

Army bands prepare for march
(their trench members filling packs with canister and cane)
the high command and tricked militia head pinned
quick on the look for splinter, lorry and skuttle

Traffic patterns change at the COP connect
camouflage bearers break formal stride
battle men slip between colorful floats
unsuspecting slumlords (vein pricked and weary)
grin in their second suite dying rooms

Twitching men and rubbernecks
sit discreetly on the corner wall
JJ and the chief revere a 21 gun salute
holy rollers raise cheer (in a moment of silence)
chess men hold steady
with ivory cues

Flames belt from the distant foundry
streets come alive with crackle and dust
members of the attic group glance down from their perch
an elderly man in a straight jacket (happy in the now)
sits solemnly with a cold reflective stare

It’s not far from the steely mud holes
from the flying fragments and sharp broken dreams
from the arsenal digs and madmen (who quietly turned the *****)
the ivy trellis
and flowing white gown
are a nocturne fit
for this elevated rolling highland
Nat Lipstadt Jan 2014
a  flawless poem
if such there were,
will always be,
the next one

my poor soul,
my rag tag heart
has no censor,
so careless, reckless,
as if words were but
frivolous treasures,
easy spent, easy get

if only, how I wish I
could harvest my best,
with golden cutlery excise
the single flawless poem,
that I know in my possess

lay down this hand so weary
from cupping tears,
be satisfied at long last,
so much so,
that my casket lowered,
hands in repose companioned,
clutching his best, easing the rest,
a paper record to join his ash,
his flawless poem,
at long last
Written in ten minutes when Frivolous Treasure, Ingrid, and SE Reimer
excised it from with me, a triage performed and a poem delivered, fluid and tear wet,  while Mozart's Serenade No. 13 for Strings harmonized what ever music the man has left.

flawless? Perhaps one slightly less flawed.

give us all your names and I will write someday
what my heart knows exists

Words are hopeless, poor substitutes for what they in vain,and we too, we call the heart's decay but this poem give unto me a deeper satisfaction than most...
English Jam Jun 2018
The air is perfumed with fresh rosemary's
And the wild springs with lush berries
Their presence colours the nursery with a sweet loom
It bleeds into the forecast for tomorrow's gloom
Nostalgia hits hard, heartbreaking and eerie
For a day when I wasn't paranoid and weary
Well, I'll be down by the Brighton pier
Watching birds float past in lonely fear
I'd love to turn away

The pristine sun shines like Hades
The outside scent is yellow, maybe
Little daises laugh in the foreground
Gardens sow a loving sound
Once I could see hope in the trees
And the love that whispered on the breeze
Now the trees foreshadow longing
And the gale howls with wronging
I'd love to turn away

The intimacy in my yellow tinted flowers seems to have faded
And the soft orchards have been invaded
My words burnt in a smouldering pile of dust
And steaming with the heat of my lust
I told a crowd I had something to say
But the people turned away
away
away...
Alyssa Underwood Jul 2016
Can it love you like God loves you, with a love that is better than life?
Can it connect you to eternal beauty? Can it save you? Can it redeem you? 
Can it lift you out of the miry pit? Can it make you clean enough to finally feel acceptable?

Can it delight your soul to the core? Can it take your breath away with its faithfulness to you? Can it paint both sunrise and sunset across the sky to beckon your attention? Can it cause the breeze to blow and gently caress your cheeks? Can it send hummingbirds and wildflowers across your path to romance your heart? Can it parade before you the starry host and call them each by name?

Can it probe you to the depths and fill you with itself?
Can it rush to your aid riding on the wings of the wind?
Can it satisfy your hunger and thirst with bountiful things?
Can it give to you feet like a deer that you might dance upon the heights?
Can it arrange every detail of your life to draw you and drive you to itself?
Can it pursue you with all the resources of the universe?
Can it know you through and through and still desire you?

Can it raise you up and seat you in the heavenly realms and bless you with every spiritual blessing? Can it supply your every need out of its glorious riches? Can its grace be sufficient for you and its mercy help you in your greatest temptation? Can it pour overflowing comfort into you through all of your troubles? Can it reach down to draw you out of deep waters? Can it set you on an unshakable foundation? Can it bound across the mountains to come to your rescue? Can it make you lie down in green pastures and lead you beside still waters?
Can it walk with you through the darkest wilderness and never leave you or forsake you? Can it carry you when you are weak or have fallen? Can it let you rest between its shoulders when you are weary or burdened?

Can it escort you to heaven’s banqueting table
and spread its banner of love over you?
Can it hide you in the shelter of its wing?
Can it be your daily portion and immerse you in the boundlessness of itself?
Can it clothe you in robes of righteousness and garments of salvation? 
Can it give to you praise in exchange for mourning?
Can it bestow on you a crown of beauty for ashes?
Can it turn your wailing into dancing?
Can it flood you with peace like a river?
Can it fill your heart with joy in the worst of afflictions?
Can it know the way to lead you home?
Can it refine you in its fire and bring you forth as gold? 
Can it capture you fully even as it sets you fully free?

Can it ever truly be your Everything?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VeKgfUGtcI0
Anna Jun 12
I am a kite
lightly floating in the gentle breeze
I am a cloud
dancing in the skies delicacies

I feel only wind
I see only light
carried only by the sky's currents
I am almost out of sight

As I dance the winds settle
the clouds and sky are now more
brutal than they are gentle

I am no longer a kite being carried
fooled by the skies shifting
by the dying breeze
I am wearied
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
Cress Rosario May 2014
I saw you standing there
I know you cannot bear
With weary eyes and skin so dry
You looked down wanting to cry

You want to hide in unknown places
Kept running away from your fears
Covering up your ears
To the words you don't want to hear

Storming days suddenly passed
You didn't moved until the sunlight flashed
You looked up and surveyed the sky
Finally found a reason to smile
A new chapter in life is a simple reason to keep people stronger than before.
Cné Aug 2017
The weary mind in turmoil writhes
and slumber will not come.
The moonlight seeps
like latticed withered vines.
I listen to my heartbeat,
in the silence like a drum,
And through my shuttered eyes....
see strange designs.
The night will not take me prisoner,
and bind me to restful sleep.
No dreams, or any respite,
no way, my soul to keep.
Groaning as I turn myself
to rest beleaguered pain,
I stretch to ease
my tortured back and sigh.
Then I fluff my pillow
to deactivate my speeding brain...
Rolling in the covers,
as my body sweats and strains,
seeking to lose myself,
discarding all, my pains

But my eyes are wide...
and still the question..."Why?"
Brains on hyperdrive
Esther Krenzin Jun 2018
(For Eric Killmonger)
A little boy stared in the clouds
Forgotten tales screaming loud
His word small and nothing wrong
It all shattered after too long
Stories of cities that touched the sky
Clans of people untouched by time
Hope soon filled his boyish dreams
But not everything was as it seemed
One night he came home and saw
His father dead, struck down by claw
Weeping over his fathers head
He begged him to stay, not leave him instead
Shattered dreams and shattered hopes
He held the myth achingly close
Alone, no one there to guide
He locked his humanity deep inside
Battling for a way to free them all
Seeking power and in deaths thrall
The world had taken everything away
And all in one single day
So he would take everything away from it
His soul a star no longer lit
Now he lay there quietly dying
His enemy close, no longer fighting
The world it seemed would take him too
His glittering eyes full of rue
There was nothing left for him here
Breathing ragged and full of fear
Finally he took his very last breath
And slipped away as his life left
And as the sun left the sky
The night descended with a sigh
The little boy was dead and gone
His life a sad and weary song.
-Roguesong-
-Esther L. Krenzin-
I loved this Eric in the Black Panther movie, and I felt so bad for him.
His whole life he believed in a dream.
His whole life he believed that he could make a difference, and fight for those who are oppressed.
He just wanted to help.
Chris Dec 2018
Seek it and Don't resist it
Say more
Seek it and don't resist it...
Fate..Say more

Except for people you can't save.. Mislead yeah..
The rhythm and diamonds off
And there all flamed up

Don't need em to make a hit
Metaphor Metaphor
Let's run this ****..out..

No weary rest....
Unless ending it
They are who
U should be fine.

NOW NOW DON'T RESIST IT..
Off with the wicked...

Cause in the minds mind mind
Yeah that's right
I'm in the middle

Now you should accept the fact
This is how you reach the stars now..
If ur sure they serve the mark
Ill show the passion...
David R Jun 2018
Round about is deep black darkness,
Darker than the blackest night,
Whispering deep 'n dreadful murmurs.
Bird dropped dead in midflight.

Blind and weeping, lifeless attle,
What you see is your own soul,
Burnt and weary from the battle.
Disenchanted from its goal.

In the ash, a spark she smoulders,
Crackling, rasping, wounded warrior,
Briars squeeze her neck and shoulders,
Suffocating in smog-fill'd air.

Deep within stagnating water,
Crystal-clear elixir tear,
Rippling movement, life astir,
Phoenix rises from the slaughter.

Still she rises, Golden Daughter,
Fears no longer yonder fright,
Strength within from those who fought Her,
Blackest night turned brightest light.
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