Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
I fear! I tremble in horror!
I am a witness,
and right before me
bloodstained grass

Oh, not because of the terror
of ******

;

the colors don't mix.
is this something that the joker would say?
Nat Lipstadt Feb 2015
this is a very important poem to me,
about me, and how Obama slurred my people. and never apologized

<•>

there are mornings when I wake up
in my nativity,
in my born/bred,
these struggling to be happy,
United States,
strangely hebrew-speaking,
Jamaican coffee
morning-thinking,
tallying up
what I am,
who I am,
commanded to be,
on this Earth

the labels that the
outward-looking apply,
the tags,
that you have caused
yourself to be defined,
been staked
to your claim,
in infamy and in fame,
that you have
by action and indeed,

have allow
to be presented
as entries on your
global entry passport,
with visas from the
lows and highs,
places where
your have sinned and saved,
all the acts accumulated,
and those,
in pain,
you have been a witness to

word titles that
tinge and suffuse,
summation of my presentation,
sampler of words
like
father, poet,
American,
even,
a for-real
community organizer,
and of course,
bien sûr,
a
Jew

the quality of all these life's papers,
which I grade myself,
I,
the harshest marker
of all

once a young man,
safely away in college,
under the fresh-air freedom of the
university's in loco parentis,
in the early years
spent quantifying oneself

nearly fifty years ago,
now he,
revealed and recalled
when
his college typed-letter,
lately uncovered amidst his,
recently passed mother's papers

"Don't know what kind of
Jew
I will be, but be assured,
that I will be a
Jew
all my life"

so here I am doing my post-sabbath,
top of the week,
right it down,
qualifying myself,
coffee enraged engaged,
a new Sunday tally

taking all my terms,
reordering,
re-prior-itizing,
what was prior, first,
is no longer

decades decay,
events sway,
simple words change me, stain me

nearing on five decades later,
when this
son of speakers,
son of humanists and 
son of
 writers,
son of proud
Jews
rewrites his list

today I write/substitute,
a new order,
a tag gladly taken,
a marker given,
some what in pride,
some in shame too,
first and foremost,
à la manière d'Lincoln
I am
of, by and for

"a bunch of folks in a deli"

proud member of them
that so identify,
for they are among those
that shall not perish from the Earth

those
happenstance-not,
bunch of folks in a deli,
I claim as
mine own,
as they would
have claimed me

no subtly professed,
a diminishment intended,
and now
an honorific taken,
Medal of Honor provoked and embraced,
proudly inscribed,
visible on my forehead,
in the black ink of mourning,
a Presidential Cain Citation,
a tattoo of letters,
not numbers,
now moves up to
head of the list,
I am
now and forever,
a member of that corps
(appreciate that double entendre)
I am
Je suis
JE JUIF

*"a bunch of folks in a deli"
Just google that phrase

Obama’s slur
Selcæiös May 30
You’re wide-eyed blinking at that wall,
You’re on the other side
You’re still shocked n' pretty shook
thinking that you just can’t die

But please don’t be surprised
if the next time
You're staring down
the Sewer’s Porcelain Eye,
The clock strikes 12,
it chimes for midnight
But this time
you don’t make it out alive

No resurrections
No second tries
You already used them all up
On the times you OD’ed
All alone on those
Solemn weekday nights

So better luck next time
In this game we call life
Because this time
you ****** up;
Made mistakes so bad
even I couldn’t revise
Befrilled Godfather, why tune Yours to mine
These Rightful Verses your Country observes
I, an Eastern Bun's Lord in Mind consign
Put my Pun in-place for their own Reserves
Now this, a Muse if your Clock does witness
Would burn me at stake or hang me condemned
All because such Organs defy Fitness
And thought the ****** I will reprehend
I grow tired of this evident Trough
Whilst you once scribbled Trademarks with your Quill
How, my Heart-Nosed Configure such enough
Yet wish to join you in your White Pipes, still.
Your Epitaph stays; I dare not complete
Just press these Roses your Approval, meet.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
I wish you lower your Glasses a bit
Then try to witness what you have Ignored
For Praises Sundry are much apt to meet
Though such Configuration keeps you bored
That you, a Technocrat I'm not surprised
Such Mages and Bards you kindly eschew
For whatever Purpose which you advise
I'll take as the Brother I always knew
And I'll LOVE you still; No Set Values bake
Since your Blessed Genesis I do voice
This is not a Tomb; Nor white-painted make
But another Graced Name I will rejoice.
Now it's up to you, which you interpret
On Pop's Face-Memos the Meaning you get.
Rob Rutledge Jan 2016
She gazed out long and far,
Past half closed curtains  
And dozing, docile cars.
Witness to a world double glazed
Dampened by a passing rain.
Sound drowned still by fragile,
Stained glass pane.

Skies lay grey, like every other day,
Shrubs shrug and trees sadly sway.
She feels for the trees,
(And to an extent the shrub)
They're not so different from you or I.
We all plant roots, grow, love?

Thoughts disturbed by a startled dove,
Flew the coup, done, had enough,
Rose as Icarus toward the sun.
Basked in light of new found freedom.

Never heard the hunters gun.
Marie-Lyne Sep 2017
Nobody can make you feel unwanted nor sad
Because what you have felt this evening was sacred
Three souls playing, fighting, crying
As if I have witnessed a conversation of people
who understood how to make life a
living, a misery and a land where we could forget our differences
To become one in their little world of music
To witness magic
Endless shadows
To feel so happy
A sentiment of pure excstasy
To experience patience, rage , sadness in a second
Is  rare in our world
To experience pain, nostalgia and a piece of your
distant country
To close your eyes from all this madness
To see lights in Ouds
To witness a cozy litlle night filled with
nothing but candles
and people making you forget that your soul
is trapped into a body that constantly suffers
Our deepest selves have found a shelter
We have visited our loved ones
with our invisible wings
We've known what made us human
We've seen three persons merging
into one for the sake of music
We've seen them through moments of excstasy
but most of all hard and severe body movements
Giving life to a woodly instrument
Making the robotic and the technological a human for once
PawanTube May 7
neither it’s lit nor it’s
worth to say
that something we’d
have to pay.
the most expensive in the world,
yet upto, no more hope we’d gain.



like a spider searching
their prey on mesh,
we' been searching
beauty on flesh.
why make presumption on
someone's characters,
when phrases complie to faith.
not every men knows
mirror on the witnesses,
makes pretend to fall.
accept it things we're looking for
is "VIRTUAL"

by:- pawanTube
07/05/19
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2013
What poem will you wear, when first we meet?

How will I recognition-you,
when you transverse my land?
Unknown our faces, our voices,
Only silent words electronic exchanged

Will lantern, it be: one, if by land, two, if by sea?
Will your ID badge, passport stamped and state,
Your chest bear a witness-sign?

The Arrivals Board flashes:
                    une poétesse est arrivé
                    eine Dichterin ist angekomme
                    a poetess has arrived
                    una poetisa ha llegado

Will there be a haiku in your hair,
A limerick exposed by raucous grin,
Or just ten words
allotted for your entire visit?

Desperate to locate
Urgent to sensate
Matters I take
Into two cupped hands,
On the shoeshine stand
Climb and recite-shout

Know me by my words,
Know me by the lilt lyrical
Of my American accented,
Canadian Tongue of my mother

Know me by my words,
Carved by time on my forehead,
Poetry is the blood of this fool's soul,
Hear me, find me, look upon me slamming

Poems are the thorns in my palms,
See me crucified, bleeding stanzas
Upon my shoeshine stand cross
Recitation resuscitation welcoming:

Benedicting Gloria, Gloria, Gloria

But if this should fail your attention to secure,
Or the TSA unappreciate my second coming,
Look for the crowd gathered round,
A man of moderate height, in a tall hat,
Beard scraggly, looking sorrowful
Reciting the Gettysburg Address

Either way,
Should be easy peasy to find me,
Grab your bag, off to short-term parking

This is how an Americana poet meets n' greets
Arriving poetess from a foreign land

Is there any other way?
------------------------------
Postscipt
Alas, five years on and I know in my heart
that you are not coming...
Aug 2013
Allah has brought my heart to bear,
          become a witness to an Arab plight.

The call to arm's it beckons so...
          division it aches and cremates the care.

Oh Great Holy Prophet show me today,
          as sadness covers heart, soul and mind.

Let judgement pass before it's too late,
          redeem my soul or the martyr's way?
Lamentations 3:60; "Thou hast seen all their vengeance and all their imaginations against me."

I personally enjoy Al Jilani.

7 meter, 8 verse, 4 line rhyme encapsulation 7 x 8 + 4; 60
Patricia Soriso Jun 2018
---

1. how long have i been awake?

2. my eyes are heavy from witnessing the same ****,

3. like i’m stuck in a cursed time loop of desolation,

4. but i’m more than scared to close them for i might stumble upon the ending of my unfinished dreams and decide to not open them anymore

5. how long have i been like this?

6. i hum a good song in my head to silence the thought of entirely giving up

7. hoping that a perfect rhythm and melody is enough to imprison the horrifying memories that’s been living in the corner of my mind for too long

8. i wish that i hold more words to tell my truth

9. and that my body is strong enough to handle its aftermath

10. i wish that i still have time to witness the sunrise

11. even if every time i breathe –

12. i feel myself fade away
Dissapating clarity
An invoiced heartache
A handpicked flower, lost
To gullible hypocracy

Dreary, windy, however bright
Mute songbirds terrified
Of the silence after the storm
They have wings, why do they fear height?

The life ending natural cause
Who you thought would give warmth
Left your eyes hungry for more,
For just a little bit more applause

The benefit of circumstance
Keep the leaves hanging on
Wanting to fall, needing to fall
They will learn the meaning of distance
spacewalker Oct 2018
I see the sympathy pour from your lips,
A waterfall of meaningful words I'm sure

but I'm fixated on the twinkle in your eye,
it reminds me of the midnight sky
The midnight sky my lover was taken under
The stars stood witness yet they took no pause in their dance above the clouds
Now the stars are hidden well behind the sun
Still,
blue skies don't make you smile
at your lovers funeral

The stars in you eyes make me sad,
Obsession with revenge takes hold
so I mutilate them.
   a slurpy cosmic soup
sits behind your tired eyelids

A small victory in the war with the sky
Fighting an unwinnable fight can turn a man into a monster
One day I will depart the train at a station without a name,
Pull emergency cord and take the plunge thru parted doors.
I'll pack no suitcase or bindle, in my head young, free and single,
I will be a living swindle - wherefore art prat poet of before?
New job doing something I've shown no interest in before,
Change my name to 'Neville Moore'.

I'll do a Reginald Perrin, leave red herring threads at Sherring-
ham, then dice-rolled palookaville of new self I shall explore.
When Palookas call me Neville, they won't see this wasted rebel,
But numpty Neville, on the level, who misplaced his wasted days of yore.
Amnesiac clerk stoical over mist-shrouded days of yore.
Only knew my name was Neville Moore.

Neville will moonlight at night-school, pick up a trade that's practical,
In minimalist digs post-dossing on unforeseen saviour's floor.
Time's sandstorm obscures lyrics, John Doe-penned hieroglyphics
- lost soul Lysander's from Norwich. His mind shut like a shoved closed drawer
To Poesy's Pandora's box of ******* in indigo iron drawer
In Norwich. No bones to Neville Moore.

Neville will be a straight arrow, nice chap whose mind is narrow,
Tepid tryer temping at call-centre, lockjaw forevermore.
The blandest of mystery men, what was Neville's name again?
Man with no memories blends in; my dead ringer, stunky, strong-jawed.
Eye-witness testimony of 36 years will gladly be abjured
- done myself good deed poll: Neville Moore.

I'll  abscond so left Lysander might be eternal loose end, the
Inner poltergeist confined to an indigo iron drawer.
Tomorrow I'll do a John Stonehouse bog-snorkelling, a grandiose
loser who fled being infamous in his own dinnerhour, a bore
Unto myself.  I'll abandon ship,  then life will be less of a bore,
Being much more boring Neville Moore.

And I'll meet a girl called Sybil, Palookashire an idyll,
Where a man with no past can just wash up upon the shore.
For if child is father of the man, Neville'll be an upbeat orphan!
Labels torn off the clothes from Oxfam what Memory's Outlaw wore,
Newfoundhometownbound Mister X such clueless clothes wore,
Clean the pockets of Neville Moore.

Sybil won't be the type to probe, at night she'll pop her Zopiclone,
Cuddle up to normal Neville, earnest the embrace of average amour.
We will rent a little bedsit and expend a lotta effort
To make our place seem white-picket-fenced, tho'  we resided on 3rd floor.
Down updrafts of Fate, untempted to faceplant from the 3rd floor
Is plain ol' sane ol' Neville Moore. 

No temptation, but something racing, the unexplained midnight pacing,
And murmurs in Nev's sleep there's reams in an indigo iron drawer.
But in daylight we'll have daughter, from nowhere the name 'Cobania'
(Nev wouldn't dig Nirvana, fin de siecle scream's aural chore,
nihilistening not for Neville in zen of playful household chores).
Shrug-a-lugs of numb Neville Moore.

Neville wouldn't get promotion, Neville doesn't have much gumption.
Frankenstein's **** domesticus by design, Nev's a swollen snore.
Lice would have mocked, 'Call this living?' Lice is dead, would always give in
To windmills' wheeling withering, watched like a raven, set no store
In what life we have worth living, which is what life life has in store
For unquestioning Neville Moore. 

Neville, don't be snarling slave to snafus by another self made,
Be complete now the only piece is the missing piece of the jigsaw.
Radio receives no 'roger', they won't see Cobania as a toddler,
But for famalam, there's succour: lines left in indigo iron drawer.
For Lice did leave literally living will in indigo iron drawer:
Poem entitled Neville Moore.

Nev and Sybil will have ups and downs, in facades cracks gouge frowns;
Castaway's fury in his eyes curdles Florida coleslaw.
I don't need Sybil's mithering, I mean 'Nev' dint, thinking about writing
- did we do Jack Nicholson in 'The Shining', too nuts too soon in Neville Moore?
Polter-Lice rattling in indigo iron liar's den re Neville Moore's 
Writer's shock swan-song for Neville Moore.

And sweet phantom Cobania, I hope she ends up saner
than her Canoe Man old man, sent reeling by subconscious southpaw
Of split personality punch-ups,  one-man-band fight clubs,
punchdrunk on bad self burps, tho' he burped Cobania with awe.
Pneumatically patting doting dad, errant soon so overawed
By humdrum Heaven, Neville Moore's.

Witness protection program to hide me from self-hate's hitman,
But Miltonic Satan's heart held Hell, for killer within is law
Unto himself. Thus phoenix photo album of my alter ego
To ***-end before Year Zero was burnt down, act of soul at war.
Greener grass scorched earth, everyman Eden sacked by selves at war,
Lysander negging out Neville Moore.

His ship's sailed ment'lly down the toilet - can't see the dream, it's ultraviolet!
Sybil wagging her finger with ****** of a fishwives' wappenshaw.
Cobania's cantankerous tween, Nev hears fin de siecle scream
- call the toilet 'Kurt', it's flushing the dream! Behold:  tombstone beneath 
                                                        ­    a sycamore,
Man from nowhere nowhere now beneath suicide's sycamore.
Quoth the engraving, 'Neville Moore'.

Beneath me to quote Ocean Colour Scene, beneath sycamore willow-leaned,
But day I caught train derailed: no malaise of glory, Anon no more.
Cobania in black with ***** highlights will grieve Daddy on the quiet;
Sybil indignant that the senseless,  existential eyesore
Option all her lost-and-found, found-and-lost, haunted hubbie saw.
Quoth the engraving, 'Neville Moore'.

Nev won't see Cobania grow up: she doesn't exist - s' good job!   
Yet I'll miss driving lessons and wedding, even if shaggy dog's dewclaw
Scratched itself out, vestigial scythe: Neville was never alive.
But this 2.4, 2.0 narrative smelted indigo iron drawer.
Cenotaph recast as mask, new visage's vista dark as in a drawer
Now quoth the engraving, 'Neville Moore'.

After Poe's misnomer, well, misnumbered: one short, 17 stanzas  
Ironically encode birthday of old dud cub who overroars
Last-ditch striped leopard, tame un-me. Lord Lucan, he WAS lucky
-  there's freedom in fake ID! But Neville grew sick, sick of me no more
Now as one two selves expire, same sigh of relief 'low sallow sycamore:
Thank **** Lice is nevermore.
My birthday is 17/05.
K Balachandran Jul 2015
The soliloquy of the night,
what we think as
falling stars and meteors,
make time and space immaterial
in the transmission of pain across light years.

Sitting here alone, a sentinel
to pain's interplanetary travel,
and witness of it transforming
in  to other forms, eloquent,
I hear them when my eyes,
acquire a sense, primordial
receive the dark waves
of pain in my veins
a volcano palpitating to blow up
in to  fireworks of emotions.

Everywhere eyes could travel, is filled
by night, thick, gooey, agglutinated;
then the meditative darkness,
dreams up a beam of  gentle light,
out of its deep transcending yearning,
to speak to itself,to get  an alchemy work on that pain
then, the pain itself becomes a haunting journey with words
this ,is how  my love, my songs
in the midnight of my lonely soul, are born.
grumpy thumb Sep 2018
She sleeps
I'm outside under the eaves sheltering little from the rain
smoking late into the a.m. wide awake,
coffee for company and her scent
clinging to my skin.
There's isolated bouts of traffic  
late night revellers
returning
shadows
there to witness between
lamplight neons,
but I'm cocooned away
restless in the washes of rain
thinking of one in slumber within
the walls on which I lean
Mystic Ink Plus Dec 2018
Raise slow
or
Raise fast
Raise step by step
Reach to love
I'm here
The Moon said
In her shyness

Too fast can be I
Too slow can be you
Let's get together as
Synchronize soul
The Sun replied
In his boldness

Believe me
You were the witness
Genre: Romantic
Theme: Reciprocation
幽玄 Jul 2018
Today or should I say what was left of yesterday, the most important time during the day when the moon is in a modestly transient display, I would consider taking my life. It is early evening, I couldn’t hold onto what I thought I could live for, giving into intolerance too easily, was like life for me was cracking in two and I was unable to cause cohesion for the diverging halves. only the effect remains unhinged and hidden inside me, without notice I go on missing from society. I’ve greatly deteriorated over the past few months which felt to me like decades in a room resembling winter. I often open the window only to my dismay that the air out is uncomfortably thick and moist, enough to suffocate my concentration for concern to what lies around instead I retract into this niche I resent completely spectating this limited view found underneath monochromatic inverted shades, for something that might not be much greater than I had wished it to be, I let these ideals of mine run wild in an attempt to let them be real momentarily, to burn out eventually unseen. Nothing should be able to live in such a way, I’m as stagnant as the trees that lie ahead near the streets. They witness every passerby freely sauntering trails laid out for the day, perhaps they, these beings, take it for granted not giving much attention to anything else besides the very goal that keeps them afloat and moving toward for execution to whatever it is they have their minds eye simply on. I’ve known all too well that it is pointless to do the same, I can’t squander what I have right in front of me over a simple goal, although I might not live in life’s given moments pleading for the very attention I sometimes don’t give in to, nothing ever goes unnoticed, these impressions are all that I could ever ask for, the smallest of gifts for me to cherish. Anyways I was only wandering my sight around outside looking for a movement I could possibly run to for help, giving my ears away for barber’s melody to play out loud. Nothing more showed up, only a bitter heat wave, the trees left unshaken from vacant winds. Washing over me was the penetrative structure I felt his sorrowful life flash ahead of me wondering how misunderstood he must’ve felt in such a time where everything was unrightfully wasted from a society that never knew how normalized repression began to feel, so they went about it by going along with the feel other than freely being expressive about internal conflicting issues. Maybe to one or none at all. He deserved better as did all the others. Maybe I’m wrong and only being reflective of myself. For what reason I don’t know. I was telling myself on the car ride somewhere else that I won’t disclose, for it doesn’t matter. I imagined everything I was to do, or should I say that I was accepting of what was to come next reciting in my head that all the dreaming and envisioning I had done up to this point was my life possibly lived, the love I couldn’t help to resist myself from attaining, the opportunity to save the world from collision from and through a great work that could possibly impregnate every sensible mind with a broad spectrum of what an extra day of the week might feel like, more time to spend freely from life’s never ending demand of what is to be expected by and from each and every one of you. I daydreamed of everything I missed during my lifetime so far, I should’ve traveled but didn’t, I’m not filled with fear but that of insecurity always wins the day. I slipped on by to memories that never had the chance to be made, only the threading lies there on a timeless lot gravitating toward evaporation. I left no more hope for myself because I’ve chosen to give it to the others who could actually implement change, those of whom I know I can entrust the life that I wasn’t living to. I made a choice, to disperse this existing body from and to a place where time is stilted upon my departure outside the fields wherever that may be, music guiding me out of the overriding blur beyond the wilt— my memory subsided inside this symphony somewhere that is made up of very early mornings and the light that follows afterward, kindly implying, that maybe, they never existed. I’m without anymore words, Thank you
I’ve decided to lay this one out exactly how I intended it to look; in its most free format, untouched from editing. maybe to expose the half crumbled city that lies in the way.  

I have this thing to get carried away into needless thoughts. 4 am is the time when self-reflecting occurs.

It goes deeper than all this, this is but a simple opening to more uncovered doors.

0202, is when I will be leaving
onlylovepoetry May 2016
wondrous words,
shades of colorations,
this pain,
artfully slow, steady stalking,
finale staking into
my hardened heart

with tireless twinges
of loss and constant regret,
painstakingly plinking away,
leaving pockmarks of bullets shot
at the concrete ring-fencing,
failing to protect me from just another,

oh god not again,
have no mo' time

for jes one mo' time

love's aftermath regret,
bitter acid wash,
that cleanses nothing,
for you are already nothing
when love loss wrenches/rents your
soul's garments with knotholes of
unfashionable distressed
distress

better not to have loved,
better, better, better,

than this battering silent hurricane
invisible thunderstorm internally,
than respects no seasonality,
for which the meteorologists
can predict neither its path or its
final cessation

painstakingly,
did I build my walled shelter,
only to fail-fall to the siege machines
of beauty and desire,
and
once conquered,
with fire and heat,
they burnt me
from the outward edges inward,
and I am not a
Phoenix


see the stooped slow white walker
more than dead, yet alive enough
existing to be witness to
his own devouring,
his hands wrapped round
the stake in his chest stuck,
painstakingly
protecting it,
lest its removal
be one more undoing of the
painstaking man
ryn Aug 2014
Standing at my window with an aching in my chest
Looking out the window as the rain poured down
Pondering hard if I could withstand this test
Fixed in a lost gaze; in tearful helplessness I drown.

The raindrops burst as they fall and hit the ground
Into a million droplets merging back into a puddle
Like muffled drumming, chaotic yet calming is the sound
Spellbound by it's sight, so beautiful...so subtle.

My eyes grow weary but still I wish to witness
These glassy beads falling enchantingly from the sky
Hoping it'll wash away the miss and all of it's madness
Felt the moist in the wind as it kissed my cheeks dry.

This magic before me, I can stare upon all night
For I love it so, it brings the solace I so have craved
Much like my love, I'd gaze upon her till the break of light
Wishing I could tell her of the love I've saved...
King Panda Jun 2016
the artistry in you
snapping bubbles
through your hair
resting feather
the coop
the hibernation
every bit of your work
a statement of
beast and sacrifice
sweet mother
holy sister
undying scientist
like windows
like soil
in which life grows
good earth
good prairie
miles and miles of you
swaying in the wind
inculcated within me
this immortal passion
to watch you sprout life
to watch you work
to watch you love
a blissful void
a simple kiss
a wonderful purple
this incomprehensible galaxy
makes sense
when I see your eyes
scanning billions of blades
of grass
when I witness the tortuous
beauty
of your smile
when I hear you
read your poetry
it’s the gift of nature
unprecedented
unexpected
un-censored
unlike anything I’ve ever
experienced
your love
Jessica
your love
is ineffable
How can I reach the unreachable..
teach the unteachable who's  comprehension is unbelieveable
But the fact  is unbelief is more than lack of knowledge..
Cause the truth is even Satan knows who God is..
Is it blindness...
truth on deaf ears..
the embracing of silence..
should there be surpises ..
when behind your eyelids enter a random act of violence..
A vision of darkness ..there's no light that why the pupils dilate the use of the iris..
But when use to darkness and the lights hits one close their eyelids..
I.e. Christ the truth the way the light..
Being unsaved is like living in the womb..
Darkness equivalent to that of a tomb..
Flashes of light is like labor contractions..
The unknown conviction hinting..
Considered a distraction..
Pushed out now watch the eyes reaction..
To the light cause from darkness there's a detachment..
If given a chance a adjustment happens..
An embracement of the light..
A rebirth Christ in action.
How can i reach the unreachable..teach the unteachable ..
With a script the director unknown Its more than the shout of action..
Living life like a movie unaware that the villains not acting..
Now could u imagine..
A movie set full of madness..
All the cast dead like really dead from a stabbing..
No equalizer the villain the only one left standing..
You may say excuse me..
Life is not a movie.
Truly
But a witness not performing there duty..is bystander..
No innocence exist...
No bliss in ignorance...
.Cause we all birth into sin.
So many questions with wrong answers given like the truth don't exist....
How can I reach the unreachable
teach the unteachable
who I tell to this body of Christ they should enlist
But  when a pass is given and the shot is missed..
It negates the assist..
A reason for the lost of the game..
The thought of a lost soul has me ******..
I'm the point guard I help the scorer sustain..
Chris Paul with rock which is the gospel..
Passing the truth like Paul the apostle ..
Too many people out for a win like Christ didn't settle the score...
Adam severed the relationship but Christ rebuilt the rapport...
I am trying to reach and teach but there's no trust any more...
Pointing u in the direction of accepting the Lord..,
Embrace the word of God that double edge sword..
Them cuts is conviction..
The sword swinging is What it means to be a witness..
Led by the spirit A Christian
Yes we are made in Gods image..
Trying to reach every soul because the wins and losses count..
Life is not a scrimmage..
How can one soul have a  blemish..
Only dirt that can touch the soul is the ***** hands of sinning..
How can I reach the unreachable teach the unteachable..Who mistakes knowledge for ignorance...
And reject truth because arrogance..
blackbiird Dec 2018
If I could rearrange the stars,
I’d put the moon in front of the sun
So I could witness your beauty from the darkness.
Andrew Oct 2017
I'm on the run
And not for fun
The police are chasing
My heart is racing
When my life is at stake
My morality I'll break

The police release the hounds
I can hear their deadly sounds
They want to maim me
I want to stay me
I decide to fight the charging canines
Because I just snorted a ******* line
My judgement loses length
To my influx of strength
I break the dogs' legs
Until they beg
That's not enough
Sorry Scruff
The steel gun I fire
A furry cop retired

The police attack me
For defending myself
They refuse to see
The danger to my health
They chose to use crazy canines
So I feel the fault isn't mine
That doesn't change their decision
For me to die slowly in prison
I am in the teeth of the government
Much to my human wonderment
This is the way I'll spend the rest of my life
For the decisions I made at the end of a knife

The irony is cops **** dogs all the time
Yet they obstruct their vision of the line
Where it ceases to be man versus society
And becomes man versus nature
When a man is in peril
He must turn feral
But in a country that blindly idolizes aggression
The police don't acknowledge this discretion
They dig their teeth into our skin
While draining us financially
The only way we'll ever win
Is if things change substantially
Sadism fervently fuels the flames of conflict
With an exasperated public sick of being kicked
Cruelty is what they witness
To lose their mental fitness
How can they protect their babies
When the police have rabies?
The police relationship with the effected public will never shift
When there's a Cereberus between them maintaining the rift
Patrick Austin Nov 2018
A girl, a woman, lover, friend,
liking me more than she should.
I want to love someone again,
I know she wishes I would.
I love the joy and pain of her,
our hearts are an open book.
My wounds are fresh from this mad world,
when life was harshly shook.
Portrait eyes are such a treat,
looking up at this new man.
Simply, silly, kind and sweet,
She reminds me who I am.
Her witness down inside of me,
exposure to all my tools.
Teaching each other honesty,
we're reinventing the rules.
She has a look she can't disguise,
whenever I look her way.
Optimistic hopelessness in her eyes,
bittersweet each day.
Moving on and on and on and on...
Next page