"whisp" poems
Heat beats down upon the street
Birds too hot to fly,
Blistered sand you cannot stand
Drenched with sweat am I.
Cows collect in shadow deep
Panting sheep hang head,
Goshawk flies in cobalt skies
Hills of grass stand dead.
Whisp of smoke, a puff of breeze
Sirens scream in air,
Running men in squads of ten
Emerge from everywhere.
Now the rising wind takes charge
Runs with leaping flame
Into crown of eucalypts
To rage across the plain.
Too late the tenders hoses pour,
Too late the fireman’s shout
Inferno hot has run amok
And all control a rout.
Generating mighty winds
The fire charges forth
Spiralling in furnace air
To incinerate for sport.
Vanquished men exhausted stand
Watch with useless eyes,
As raging flames consume their truck,
Inside a good mate dies.
A live thing in the burnished night
It writhes and spirals high
Across the flaring treetops
Hot, red smoke fills the sky.
As sudden as it starts, it stops
A wind change in the air.
Ravaged forest stark and black
Hot ashes everywhere.
Hills of cinders smoking now
Stock in death’s repair,
Homesteads rendered charcoal like
Farmers in despair.
A silence in the ravaged hills
Birdless in the sky,
Bushfire horror, death and smoke
Enough to make you cry.
Marshalg
In support of my Australian brethren and their torched nation.
30 January 2013
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 8:16 PM UTC
Warm whisp'ring through the slender olive leaves
Came to me a gentle sound,
Whis'pring of a secret found
In the clear sunshine 'mid the golden sheaves:
Said it was sleeping for me in the morn,
Called it gladness, called it joy,
Drew me on 'Come hither, boy.'
To where the blue wings rested on the corn.
I thought the gentle sound had whispered true
Thought the little heaven mine,
Leaned to clutch the thing divine,
And saw the blue wings melt within the blue!
7.9k
Eternity is closed !
- come back another day with
flower smears for eyes and sincere
passion on your
palms (weathered)
I need another Russian Doll -
Princess to frequent curtains
fashioned from fire & lead
equaling out to crimson folds
which mysteriously call to
the mystical hierarchies of
imagination
Silent requirements signal beneath the steps
which welcome
one (a stranger/
an Ibis-Beak cane & dark coat
stamped with August rain)
They arrive unexpectedly, as if to play the game
of cliches, they carry promises fashioned in foreign ports
tapping my knee
instead of my shoulder
having only known or recognized
entombment
(there is no hyperbole which lacks within
Nature's haunted heavens)
My strange visitor leaves / glass umbrella
in hand / to privacy / our brief interaction begins & ends with simple eager undertakings implemented
in the afterword
What is in another's contemplation of me?
whiling in manifest Theosophy -
- Thought form -
Primal child-rage / whisp of violet smoke &
inksplotches abolished, mutually panting.
Our decorated
four-legged hunter
has arisen and impatiently
craves for the Earth to partner at last with
the Sun
..The Sun a blazing dime
I can smell crispness
in the air
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 1:20 AM UTC
Lo! where the rosy-bosomed Hours,
Fair Venus’ train, appear,
Disclose the long-expecting flowers,
And wake the purple year!
The Attic warbler pours her throat,
Responsive to the cuckoo’s note,
The untaught harmony of spring:
While, whisp’ring pleasure as they fly,
Cool Zephyrs thro’ the clear blue sky
Their gathered fragrance fling.
Where’er the oak’s thick branches stretch
A broader browner shade,
Where’er the rude and moss-grown beech
O’er-canopies the glade,
Beside some water’s rushy brink
With me the Muse shall sit, and think
(At ease reclined in rustic state)
How vain the ardour of the Crowd,
How low, how little are the Proud,
How indigent the Great!
Still is the toiling hand of Care;
The panting herds repose:
Yet hark, how through the peopled air
The busy murmur glows!
The insect-youth are on the wing,
Eager to taste the honied spring
And float amid the liquid noon:
Some lightly o’er the current skim,
Some show their gayly-gilded trim
Quick-glancing to the sun.
To Contemplation’s sober eye
Such is the race of Man:
And they that creep, and they that fly,
Shall end where they began.
Alike the Busy and the Gay
But flutter thro’ life’s little day,
In Fortune’s varying colours drest:
Brushed by the hand of rough Mischance,
Or chilled by Age, their airy dance
They leave, in dust to rest.
Methinks I hear, in accents low,
The sportive kind reply:
Poor moralist! and what art thou?
A solitary fly!
Thy joys no glittering female meets,
No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets,
No painted plumage to display:
On hasty wings thy youth is flown;
Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone—
We frolic while ’tis May.
3.1k
On the table , over there by the woven chair,
a box of prize possesions still line up there.
Left unattended, as if in a rush...
something is now missing...something he used to touch.
Let us flip the page of time, perhapes a few days back.
Count the items that were in the box, perhapes something
is a lack.
A ball of string, so carefully rolled, a coin with faded date.
A photo of a lovely girl and a flag of the United States.
A ring and then a whisp of hair, human one would hope
and then a little soldier of tin , the hero of the show.
This tin soldier had seen the world, in the hands of the holder.
Seen him slip and fall, civilian and a soldier.
Listens to him as he thinks. Stands by as he cried.
Looked away when words were cursed, felt warm when he saw him smile.
The night was all as usual, the holder had been gone for a few days.
He entered ,sat down at the chair, all seemed normal one would say.
First came out the flag, quite moments would follow that.
Then the photo, ring and hair, normally the holder would sit back.
This time the holder knelt by the fire and the tin soldier strained to see,
the holder cried more then usual, the tin soldier wondered what could it be.
Then came a string of curses and a rush of air,
the tin soldier was caught up in the moment, quite unprepared.
As he layed to close to the flames, he felt his time draw near.....
the final moments as he left he could see the holder clear......
So now the room is empty. The table left untouched.
The holder left and never returned, he had lost all so much.
Tin soldiers they say are a dime a dozen, funny, kind of like us.
It's how we are lined up for the play, what we see or touch... the tin man melts away...we return to dust.
Feb 28, 2011
Feb 28, 2011 at 10:28 AM UTC
the lapping water drifting to the sand,
the smugglers hurry o'er the silver wave,
a rose-moon blushing where the waters lave
and moonlight glistens on the breezy strand.
the oars are steady, gliding to the land
the stroke of midnight near a watery cave,
their whisp'ring feet run silent as a grave
to its dark reach to hide the contraband.
the waves roll mistily with honeyed breath
the sky, a vault of iron, weeps a tear,
the sweeping waters break and start to veer,
a gold tooth glints, the night as black as death,
a dreadful shout, the watch is drawing near,
how suddenly their faces pall with fear!
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 2:17 PM UTC
Keen, fitful gusts are whisp'ring here and there
Among the bushes half leafless, and dry;
The stars look very cold about the sky,
And I have many miles on foot to fare.
Yet feel I little of the cool bleak air,
Or of the dead leaves rustling drearily,
Or of those silver lamps that burn on high,
Or of the distance from home's pleasant lair:
For I am brimfull of the friendliness
That in a little cottage I have found;
Of fair-hair'd Milton's eloquent distress,
And all his love for gentle Lycid drown'd;
Of lovely Laura in her light green dress,
And faithful Petrarch gloriously crown'd.
2.4k
False memories and track marks pave your arms
Sudden revolt of youth pressurised to fail
Painkillers doubled and stacked for a head to slumber
Soft heads and dead leg spasm attack pillow piddles in *****
Fictitious tesla coil blue breath mortifys mortality
And your goggles won't fog out the underwater current miscellaneous
Digital tectonic pushing ideas you brainstorm
Shadowed reluctance to consume the musk of infrared roses
This romance is one that was jealous of itself
Pre-divorced in its own certainty on incompatibility
Basin top full too top heavy to predict precarious
Living in a shaded sense of erased memory lapses continuing truth
Toward magnificent still life categorised by perdition
Forward thinking ruby gold phong shaded hatred quantum conversate Unthinkable
Nebula of gas
Face first head in hands
Euthanasia between my thighs crush my head
Choked neck
Throat
Strangle me and give me breath
I roll and the conductor pulls apart my mouth
Diseased by euphoria lips separate and teeth show
Pupils land home and iris jumps ship
Perfume gum dry bitter butterfly kiss
Head held back in place tongue falls back into the razor-front of the mouth
Caution held simultaneous irrelevant body load carries my smile
Jump knee deep into the silence of my own lungs
It's been a while
I breath vindictively in time with the respiration of the country
Somewhere out in the hexagon sun I burn candles and whisp
Hold in smoke
Die
Twitch forward in palliative peace motionless and still
Cuspids and lochs
Spread across the grass the harmony touches yours and mine
A hole and whole dream
Conscious and dead
Content
Voices rattle in unified mono-chromidity
Sadness
Carrion
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 2:52 PM UTC
She chases autumn leaves
As though they’re
Wild scurrying mice,
Of brown and red,
And yellow ochre.
There’s a flurry of leaves
As she pounces onto her
Imaginary foe,
Which barely escapes.
She carefully peers beneath
Her soft playful paws.
In a whisp of crisp air,
It vanishes.
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 11:02 AM UTC
Introduction
I stroll through green fields and realise I am home.
I bump against soft sandalwood: a fence –
And hang my head and weep
For Ginsberg, Whitman, and all the other cats clawing for tender acceptance
Strolling through ashen fields in rainbow night
Tugging on tender trestles of old mother crop of hair south
Casting to sky thine eye as black and white lights
Of rainbow night do fizzle and pop and – Oops!
Great incomparable fusion atom generator on the fritz
Once more the Centre of Cosmos choking and clouded with splutter.
As thine eye doth dissolve and revolve and resolve and see, from vantage point on high:
O Hell! O Eternal abyss of Chiaro-night, I am surrounded!
Thy Holy field lies cut and sliced by old tree corpses – lined up in terrible order by tender hand imbued
Thou might turn and run and screech impaled or whisp inhaled by gasping trees, by dying trees, by dead trees who breathe.
And spat upon the lawn whence thou were born,
No matter the crop nor scenery.
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 7:43 PM UTC
Today, I want to sink my chest into yours.
Your heart pumping blood through my veins for a bit, mine doesn't want to anymore.
Let's trade.
I'll put my brain on ice.
Wash this skull cavity with some minty fresh chemical while my wrinkled pink mother board discovers cryogenics.
When I place it back Into my tingly, almost numb now, chemical washed head
I will still feel heavy.
I want to turn to a whisp.
Like the Night Elves in World of Warcraft.
A floating blue orb of energy
Just a spirit, weightless.
Let me live as electricity, like that spark you felt .
Like that spark they all felt.
Place me in the power lines so I can power houselights and televisions.
Let me be usefull for something again.
Don't convert my head though.
Keep that on Ice.
Better still, creamate
everything but my heart.
Let the ashes get caught
in carpets and drain pipes
Kept in little ziplock baggies,
Tucked in a wooden box,
Kept back seat of my mothers car,
So she can hold it once in awhile.
Until she parks her car in a bad part of town
And a homeless man breaks in
Doesn't steal the gps, or her wallet on the front seat,
But snorts me three hours later
Thinking he just hit the jack ***
That's where I want to be.
In the lungs of some car burglar
Where his addiction should have been,
coughing on my ashes.
He won't get my heart though.
Keep that frozen in a white room.
Smelling of copper, by a tray of tools,
Latex gloves and paper masks.
One day, thaw it out
bring life to someone.
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 3:33 PM UTC
I dont know if its just these pillows,
but my body doesnt want to get up.
But sweetie when you leave me,
and my side feels vacant,
I dont want too, becomes a common phrase.
I am not sure if thats good or bad.
That I want to always be with you.
I'm in love, what can I say?
and being in love means never going away.
Honey, I dont mean to tie you down,
But next time you leave,
whisp me away with you?
I want to adventure too.
I dont like sitting at home, and waiting for you to come back.
Take me next time, or else dont go.
We've spent to much time apart,
and though I want you to go and explore,
never truly depart from me.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 12:23 AM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
Out in a whisp, I call your name,
Sitting under it would make a change,
For the both of us,
Its you or none of us,
For the strong affection we have under it,
When I love it's like....
looking up to a sky once blue,
begging for the world to turn back,
treating the heavens to a gift of life,
crying a name when it's only just a face,
ruining the things that you love,
staying and participating in the fight,
no need to put to rest or be afraid,
happiness and joyfulness can be restored,
we cant afford to lose you in other words die.
This mistletoe predicts our future.
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 1:25 AM UTC
They touch
With a featherlight, brush of the fingertips.
Their prompt is a mere insinuation....
And their influence offered
As the slightest whisp of a wafting breeze.
But the impact made
Can be utterly monumental
And a driving impetus
To the receptive, creative soul
On a mission!
[email protected]
Apr 30, 2025
Apr 30, 2025 at 5:12 AM UTC
I'm caught in a forest
My glass frame is jagged and shattered
I give in to a distant call to rest
And I search for somewhere to lay my head
The forest is quiet
A whisp broke me and left
And I'm alone to care for a grove
I am broken, I am scared, I am upset
Something ahead of me
Trapped in the overgrowth
It can't be!
My armor, my friend, my beautiful cog!
Oh! What have I done to you?
I check it's inner workings
Gears clogged with vines and branches
Iron rusted through
Until I wander deep enough
And I find the source of my distant whisper
My hearth
Once a great and burning flame
To move my cog so powerfully
So patiently
Subserviently
I climb in
And flames long dead begin to burn once more
It melts my glass
And smooths me out
And I lay my head to rest
I close my eyes
When I open them again
I see through the juggernaut's eyes
And I burn so hot from my pain
The overgrowth burns away
Rusted parts shatter away
A plume of smoke billows from me
I am a cog once more
I feel so heavy
So tired
But oh so powerful
A great machine finds me in this grove
And offers me a place in it's inner workings
Other cogs inside, made of shining steel greet me
We grind and toil away
And I feel so at home
After harming and being harmed by a beautiful whisp
Who I now understand never truly understood me
Nor did I understand them
They fled from me
Left me so alone
But I am strong once more
I am so tired
I feel safe and complacent
So I will rest and let my body fall into routine
I will sleep
I will obey my new machine
I will dream
Feb 20, 2021
Feb 20, 2021 at 11:46 AM UTC
The silky touch of flesh against the rough texture of leather
The exotic smells of *** mingled with fresh candles
The pale *** unmarked so different
Than the well marked ***
A cane with a wicked whish falls across porcelain skin
The cries of pain, anguish, despair
Actually in reality are cries of pleasure, need, and desire
No No she cries when her body says YES! YES!
Writhing against binds that hold her
The muscles strain against the ties
Pulling against them as the cane continues to mark her fine flesh
Straining for release
But afraid to release
The Man’s firm touch demanding nothing yet everything
Whish
Whisp
Whish
Nice stripes across the ****** ***
Lovely welts of color across the thighs
Well placed marks
The girl dazed as the moisture drips from her ****
Unable to stop the bodies response to this brutality
Her mind fighting it over and over
Her body relishing it like a wonderful spa treatment
The cane firm as the girl fights
Whish
Whish
Whack
Each mark landing in that one particular spot untouched
The feelings building inside
Hotter, oh god so hot
Panting through the pain yet the immense heat exploding within
Twisting, pulling, yanking on the binds
Feeling the pressure growing moving to the edge
Eyes closing as the well placed marks continue to thrash her flesh
The cane moving to another spot
The rigid ******* then the dripping ****
Sliding the cane back and forth
Back and forth against that swollen ****
Finally submitting to the fires that burst free all at once
Screaming out as the desire bursts free
FREEDOM!!!
Body jerking with intensity of the ******
Body on fire from the stripes of the vicious cane
Crying out as spasm after spasm soars through her aching body
Tears fall from the overwhelming emotions that rage within her head
His hands smoothing the tears away as He cuts her down
Carrying her to the bed
Cradling her through the turmoil
Always there for questions
He is there for her fears
And most of all there to heal any wounds
Thank You Master for freeing me
Thank You Master for showing me just how ****** I am
Thank You Master for all that You teach me
His hands begin to explore her striped flesh
Pinching the stripes until she is once more putty in His artful hands
Crying out for more
Begging and pleading to pleasure Him
His whisper reaches her ears
My pleasure love is seeing you let go
Seeing you surrender your all to Me
Show me
Let it go
Give Me it all
And of course she did over time
then time
and time again
Written By: Niyahlove aka niyah2 All rights reserved
Mar 9, 2010
Mar 9, 2010 at 4:38 AM UTC
North cornered near the glass ain't gonna' last
Cause the money is running out
It's running out fast
Nickel and dimed' burning money burning pride
With the liquor stores all closing and mother mary praying whispering
"Sarah, sarah, sarah..."
No names in these streets empty touched' defeat
The meat is getting angrier surlier burlier
The heat is getting heavier breathier and touchier
Blankets burn in the Connecticut sun mother mouths something
But I can't make it out
With these posters on these white walls falling for their own droll
Committed to the picnic that is not life at all
Putrid in these notes that sail through the air never fail
With the heart that once was held
By a women that I thought I'd take the time to know
But then the winds came with the side ways rain
All that pain that I couldn't bare or understand to stay
There was the window washing maniacs pinching pennies
Letting go of their soul for another side dish and entree of dough
Ploughing through their TV screens which falls through their skin like
Love used to do but in the blue hue there was nothing
They could bear to do
Bear man breaks open the skin flecked electro heart machine
Shocking every last one of us past the point of divinity
Already through the heart and mind and limb of man
Into the skin and the blood and the beating eye lids
Of a brother I never had, that man named CID
Jesus named me no name so I wander wherever my feet may carry
Never had no religion only long lesions through the seasons
Cut wound bleed break breakfast dinner bird
There was a glint in the sun
The way she gripped and held Her sword
Graining through pages of past history ***********
Seeing visions of kaleidoscope faker ***** with their blisters
Gripping their panoramic sisters
Beauty in the eye of the hair that twists
In the mid-west chilling winds of the whisp
Forests burning boringly gripping the last hope of
Mother murdering herself just to stay alive
In a stride of elegance tides of benevolence
Roaring rewind curb side b-lines
And a mix-tape that spins and spins and spins
But plays nothing
No nothing
At all
May 16, 2011
May 16, 2011 at 8:25 PM UTC
a silent scream in my bones
hollow harrowing thorns
acid rain cacophany
words whisp off hot sidewalks
vanishing into thin air
intentions crumbling
dried black roses
poison darts
my rice-paper heart
alert and acute
to the wrong signs
a child digging worms
for a sunny fishing day
freshly hatched baby vipers
deadly fangs felt like kisses
somehow betrayed
by youthful innocence
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 7:36 PM UTC
From distant space in between
spaces,
we watch plotting out the course.
The Human Race blind to its fate,
asleep controlled beyond the stars.
Through eons old and light years cold,
we came with sinister intent.
We've guided history for centuries
toward the doom of men.
We watch from the quiet spaces between
where no mere mortal has ever gone.
We watch as we always have; still unseen
and we've been here all along.
We watch for a moment soon to come. They
have no clue as they drift through their days.
The Moon is full, the stars are right. We rise
from the places where
we watch...
In darkened cellars of old
buildings
and in remote mountain woods
exist faint traces of our race;
fragments of knowledge no one should
pursue at all. When darkness falls,
some half-remember our dark names.
Cover of night hides ancient rites.
Our moment's drawing near again.
Our names leak from whisp'ring lips all quiv'ring
spoken low beneath audible tones.
Foul symbols in air shaking hands tracing,
memorized from profane tomes.
We wait as the ritual's unfolding
poised to take our rightful place on top.
The stars are right, the chanting's high. We rise
from the places where
we watch...
World turns through the ages and
we watch.
Ancient ones, our time is nigh.
We watch.
Don't resist. We're coming through.
WE WATCH.
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 11:39 AM UTC
I can feel the winter frost
The cold breeze biting at me
I can see the cracked ground
I know its the end of me
The days are shorter
The nights are colder
The trees are dying
My bones are shrivelled
Now I'm getting weak
Dry and brittle almost gone
I'm tearing apart
Winter brings my death
And I'll be gone away
Forgotten like a whisp
Something I used to be
I don't have nine lives
But I lived to only see
A world too big for a leaf like me
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 4:41 PM UTC
:::::::::When head wears a crown
of cumbersome thoughts... confused, in a crowd...
and heaven and earth drop clouds that shroud
followed by roaring thunder and flashes of lightning
God, they are overwhelming---
we take moments to reflect...try hard not to panic
it won't help, to think we're depressive, or manic,
we know ourselves well...yet, when we feel the end is nigh
gasp, for precious air...try to give out a long sigh,
an Energy leads us, to persist...walk on, head up high...
there's a quiet, sacred place, our heart and soul know,
visible, or imagined quiet space, where we're heard, where blows
a whisp'ring breeze...ripples softly hum, rivers peacefully flow...
our sanctuary waits, a Voice leads us, what to do, where to go:::::
:::::::::::::::::::
Sally
Copyright July 31, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Jul 30, 2016
Jul 30, 2016 at 9:15 PM UTC
Shadowic heroic ornamental's, false breed's cometh as incense breather's betwixt lively instrumental's. Macrogram plaza's to abrahamic venue's. Caller's calleth upon themselves to saveth what is not theirs;
Morning breath, to winter's dew, hath thou been born yet? Is the baby yet due?
Constant pain's to loss taken gain's maketh brain's and vein's out of organically made flesh; becometh thine own creator, thou creed of selfishness. Anchor heavy soul dragged away by chain's of past forget-not's, wherein the ground stayeth hot to ruin moronic window's.
Maketh thy bed of silvered spring's thy own rusted medieval pillow; thou grand ol' operatic theme, thou patriarch to a dream, Art ourn day's but a whisp of a second's last?
Thing's hath cometh to the listening one, the earth's spinning to fast; the mechanism's now begun.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Prison writing's
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 2:18 PM UTC
My how my muse desires you.Deeper you are is it your insanity.
Is it mine. Intoxicating. Born
Ouside dimensions you emit a constant hum or is it me the antenna born to your freakuency.
Every answer is a question. My inquisition.
Raw as a flicking lash..subtle as a midnight whisp.
Irish eyes awash with irony. You swiftly pull my pathos a querry in constant posture.
You are a devine girl/woman
Neither young nor old ...a vessel,a wonderous curiosity. Hannah you are what ?.
An ovation of thunder?
A Dickensonian verse ?
An ancient curse ?
A raven ?
POE ?
Bitter...Sweet enigma.
A sand siren self aware
You have my full attention every sultry deed.
God I feel the tide draw ill.
Against my will.
The mirage persists even to the touch.jagged rocks a starboard aching need a larboard. Simply Hannah.
But sad to say, I have seen you before sitting on beached and rotting vessel ashore arms oustretched your sisters have sung that
Sweet beguiling song to me before.I have surrenderd and run my boat ashore
At times turned the rudder and put my back to the breezes
Your song.
Your smile.a reincarnation
An ill wind sweet stench of forbidden. Solitary lilac standing tall beneath a waning moon..sweet
A portrait.
Succubus.
Cloaked in plain sight you are open as the sphinx. Too young to be this ancient too wise to be this.Hannah.
Brash as brass knuckles backhanded on bruised cheek. Soft as overspun cotton candy.
Add water and stir girl
All around the world girl
Proof positive that god has a wicked
Sense of humour.
Beautifull
Hannah.
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 3:55 AM UTC
perched,
on a tendril whisp,
of a synaptic vine.
the half formed
thought,
chirped and chirked,
as it chipped away
at the ovipidal embrace of
sleepy, slothfulness....
sublime.
it wanted freedom,
to fly and sing....
no longer,
sleeping or,
being held within...
no longer,
hiding away
from the sun.
no longer,
fearful of becoming...
undone.
influencing,
nada and no-one.
just happy to be,
a small, but clear...
clarion call.
now, standing strong
singing out it's
life embracing, life renewing
song.....
this thought, now has,
substance ....
bright coloured wings
and pride....
in the joy, it brings.
it has grace and grattitude.
a name so wonderful....
to go with,
this bright and energetic
attitude...
meet my new, paridigm...
all bursting with love.
his name..... brio
and he is the bringer
of my new zest, zing
and vivacity......
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 3:19 PM UTC
The heart that beats within me now
Was silent for a while:
Shouldering the guilt of years
And clothed in my denial.
And when, those blurry months ago,
It stirred to life again,
I tried to still my beating heart
The way it was back then.
I should have known, I should have seen
Through my soul's sad disguise;
But ev'ry time I saw the truth
I quickly closed my eyes.
The heartbeat in my shackled chest
Was loud, but I was louder.
Sticking fingers in my ears,
I hummed to quell the doubter.
"Your heart's alive! It beats again!
The fears you loved have faded."
But I felt safe behind the bars
My jailed heart had created.
So, silently, this gentle Trust
That I had never known
Came whisp'ring through to save my heart
Of flesh, and not of stone.
Trust wrapped its arms around me
And lifted up my soul
From depths of blue obscurity
And I gave up control.
I opened up my eyes that day
And though they shone with tears,
The hurting heart inside of me
Felt stronger than those fears.
Feb 4, 2017
Feb 4, 2017 at 7:02 PM UTC