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Alyssa Underwood Jul 2016
It's at the point of desperation that the soul finds its deepest desire,
and in that desire lies everything of which true life is made.
Perhaps the first and central question concerning surrender
ought not to be, “What am I willing to give to God?”
but “What am I willing to receive from Him?”

For it's only in the realization that I have nothing to give Him and
He has everything to give me that true humility and surrender come.
If I would simply receive all He offers me and let Him fill me up
I would have no room in my hands to hold onto anything else.  
But how often it is that we won't receive it until everything else is lost.

It's the secret and inexpressible dreams of the soul
which are the hardest things of all to let go and the last to go.
When they are finally gone we have nothing left to run to but Him,
and when we do we find that He is the beginning,
the end and the center of every secret dream.

Ah, blessed Peniel—that mysterious and holy ground
where heartache collides head-on with romance,
that deep and shadowed land where we struggle
with God and with men and we overcome,
that painful yet glorious place which we may leave limping
with a wrenched hip but we do not care, for we have seen God’s face—
like Jacob, may we not pass you by without being forever changed.
Genesis 32

~~~
Alyssa Underwood Jun 2016
O darkest night, what are you for?
Sometimes to wrestle, sometimes to rest
But always to cling to Jesus more

Though senses are dulled, desires awaken
Aching grows stronger, inhibitions are taken
Less seeing, less hearing, more hunger, more longing
Answers are dimming while questions are thronging

More drilling, more filling
The canyons of my soul
More boring, more pouring
Himself into the hole
More stretching, more catching
Away my gasping breath
More tearing, more sharing
In the union of His death
"But whatever was to my profit I now consider loss for the sake of Christ. What is more, I consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them *******, that I may gain Christ and be found in Him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which is through faith in Christ--the righteousness that comes from God and is by faith. I want to know Christ and the power of His resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in His sufferings, becoming like Him in His death, and so, somehow, to attain to the resurrection from the dead.

"Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already arrived at my goal, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus."  
~ Philippians 3:7-14

~~~
Alyssa Underwood Nov 2015
It's at the point of desperation that the soul finds its deepest desire,
and in that desire lies everything of which true life is made.
Perhaps the first and central question concerning surrender
ought not to be, “What am I willing to give to God?”
but “What am I willing to receive from Him?”

For it's only in the realization that I have nothing to give Him and
He has everything to give me that true humility and surrender come.
If I would simply receive all He offers me and let Him fill me up
I would have no room in my hands to hold onto anything else.  
But how often it is that we won't receive it until everything else is lost.

It's the secret and inexpressible dreams of the soul
which are the hardest things of all to let go and the last to go.
When they are finally gone we have nothing left to run to but Him,
and when we do we find that He is the beginning,
the end and the center of every secret dream.

Ah, blessed Peniel—that mysterious and holy ground
where heartache collides head-on with romance,
that deep and shadowed land where we struggle
with God and with men and we overcome,
that painful yet glorious place which we may leave limping
with a wrenched hip but we do not care, for we have seen God’s face—
like Jacob, may we not pass you by without being forever changed.
~~~
Andrew Aug 2017
Religion is like wrestling when it was kayfabed
The kind of immersive storytelling that is A grade
We became trapped
In the Walls of Jericho
Separated on the map
From the fields of marigolds
Shinier things catch our eye
Like Goldust in the ring
Not of Mankind
But McMahon's kind
We start to see behind the Big Show
Until they introduce the Boogeyman
Manipulating until progress is slowed
All according to plan

Jake the Snake offers the apple to Eve
And into calamity we are cleaved
This was something I never agreed
But Christian pushes me to Edge
No room in discourse to hedge
Swanton bombs fall in cities
The Million Dollar Man cracks a smile
Unable to feel pity
The billions of bodies start to pile
And I haven't seen the Hart Foundation in a while

These ideas pin us down
And we can't kick out
We end up indifferently submitting
To the Big Boss Man
A legacy we're cementing
Like the Ku Klux ****

I'm from Kentucky
Where biology is taught in the context
Of where it fits in with Christianity's teachings
I wonder how many people this knowledge is reaching
When we're trapped in Wrestlemania
We cheer for the Undertaker's victory
Because we're constantly wrestling with demons
Transcendence is only something we can dream of
mjad Aug 2018
Fun
Of all the fun Ive ever had
Almost all I've never told you
From beach days to movie nights
And pizza stops and wrestling fights
Almost all I've never told you
Car rides speeding at midnight
Walking on the frozen lake downtown
Scared that I'll fall through and drown
Waking up in his bed
To giving road head
All the fun I've had I've never told you
You never knew, never found out about
All the lies I hand fed you
Dozens and dozens of times I did what I liked
Instead of listening to you
And of all of those times of adventure and fun
I regret absolutely none
Except the fact I had to pretend I wasn't actually doing a single one
I'll tell them one day
Part 1 of 3
Nobody Aug 2018
Lying here reminiscing about the time we had,
you made me smile, and my heart fluttered in my chest.
Thinking how nobody can make me laugh anymore.
But imagining about the past never helps;  
or the constant daydreams of death, I keep to myself.
I’m so restless from wrestling with these thoughts in my head.
Strong, loud, and piercing; paralyzing me to my bed.
I’m busy listening to the soothing whispers, that all want me dead.
Looking for the coast to be clear, so I don't have to be fake again.
Since the mumblings remain, to sting and heighten all the pain.
I try and write out the disturbing sounds, to keep them at bay,
waiting for the right moment to come, when I can drain my brain.
Andrew Oct 2017
There are some pro wrestlers
Who always have to get all their **** in
There are people who expect things from them
And they give those things to those people
But for the rest of us
The match becomes predictable
As we await their signature moves

Which is why I think we need more wrestlers like Chris Jericho
He never had to get all his **** in
He served the story
Not his glory
He displayed the petulance of man
And showed us how we can say the right things
In the wrong way

Yes, we need more wrestlers like Chris Jericho
Someone who can host a talk show or headline Wrestlemania
Someone who can be comedic or vicious
We need people who understand the importance of looking foolish
As well as the obligation to maintain an edge
And people who can mentor the rookies
While hanging with the veterans

Yes, wrestling needs more people like Chris Jericho
People who don't depend on wrestling
He makes music
And has a podcast
Avenues being paved
For the crossroads many wrestlers face
Between business, art, physicality, and mentality
Where the road being left behind is physicality
It is hard to watch people hang on for the business

Yes, the world needs more people like Chris Jericho
He never cured a disease
Neither did he make one
He's a performer who creates
He creates for the benefit of himself and others
He's not a wrestler who has to get all his **** in
He understands signature moves can become crutches
On the path to a boring finisher
Tommy Randell Nov 2014
Clay

Not one particle of me
Dissolves readily
I am so immune to Love
These days.
My outstretched hand
Stirs but does not penetrate
Enacts but does not generate
Indeed Un-differentiates.

I have made
From deeper word-clays
Superior thoughts of you
And have thrown
Better pots upon the wheel
But daily life these days
Must take what it can get
The potter must ***.

This is not mere wrestling
With images
This talk of alchemy
And artifice
In the absence of you
I am forced to ply other clays
Toward lesser ideals
On my stage of words

That is to say
You were for me
Something seen into
More than friendship's patina
More than the creation of space
Something seen of imagination
Unbelievably
More than the clay itself.
Logan Robertson Aug 2018
My Sister, I Watched You Fall-2

My little nephew, I was sorry for your sorrows
When the whims of your mother stormed your tomorrows
You didn't know who your father was
Or why the branches of your tree sagged its paws

For you walked thru the halls of life mauled
By a lost paw that grabbed your mind and sadness walled
I could see it in your mind's eyes, the question marks
Of why other families have fathers at the parks

From the time you were a little child of two
You would love to go with uncle to the zoo
Then as the wheels in your mind started to click
Seeing other kids with fathers, it made you sick

You were young seedling lacking the nourishment
The parts of the puzzle missing fulfillment
But hear this, my little nephew, your uncle tried
And ... at the mercy of your mother's whims, I cried

We'd play the role of father and son
Fish a dream, toss the past, paint some fun
We'd **** weeds while wrestling through a reservoir of tears
Aborted in time, a lake, two swans and a duckling in good cheers

My nephew, I would take you around the world if I could
But hear this you were never, never driftwood
For I had spent as much time visiting you
In absence of a fathers touch, you never knew

I shed more tears today as I catch wind of your child
For its teeth bites and gust of whims, again, run wild
Do I offer congratulations knowing the lake is devoid
Of future swans and a duckling, walled in my mind's void

No. My nephew, I'm choked in tears that crawl
On the face of the earth, I sprawl
I thought you learned, child uncorked
On wings of albatross and not the stork

Logan Robertson

8/16/2018
Play on words-paws, mauled. At age two, he was a child prodigy
with an eidetic memory. He was a **** at math, count change impressively, knew the times' table, like how many donuts in five in a half dozen. We would study the map, he knew all the states and capitals. I was impressed watching him grow and blossom. Then one day at that young age he learned why other kids had fathers and he didn't. It hurt him badly. He recoiled. He rebelled. He purposely started to give wrong answers to my teaching, as he started to lose interest. And things waned after that understandingly so. But for a while there he was so bright. This is a sad page to turn.
Rickie Louis Dec 2016
Here I lie wide awake,
thoughts pouring through my mind.
How sweet the touch your body,
when craving after mine.

Playful eyes and dancing toes,
wrestling to shed our clothes.
You bite my neck and I taste yours,
we slowly kiss, our tongues explore.


I toss and turn, try to ignore,
these visions now vibrate my core,
the chance I'd take if you were near,
to breathe you in as though you're here.

Lips running down your heartfelt chest,
caressing them along your breast,
excitfull moans begin to flow,
the further down they go below.


With grace I trace, my love expands,
this sanctioned sin, no reprimands.
You feel me now, passions run deep,
quietly your sounds they speak,
and as they do,
I follow through,
through the depths of reaching you.


As inner thighs,
quiver and quake,
salty sweet your taste I take,
your fingers running through my hair,
you pace my face,
and steady,
there!
You groan in ecstasy,
your love receives the best of me.
I slowly give my all to you,
with rhythm we begin to move,
clasping our hands, you sway your hips,
you raise them up, as we eclipse.


It echos through these deep elations,
driving in intense sensations.

Entangled we begin to dance,
form beads of tropical romance.
You rain on me, and I on you,
our bodies moist like sultry dew.


Tell me now, where have I gone,
this feels like some celestial bond.
I'm but alone, in my own bed,
yet here you are inside my head.

Joining rapid beating hearts,
pulsating through our tender parts.
Increasingly your warm breath's felt,
together we begin to melt...


I must expel this lustrous notion,
to sinfully vow my devotion.
How can it be, to have not met,
yet yarn for you, without regret.
Perhaps one day I'll feel once more,
reality vibrate my core.

<3
Claire Waters Aug 2013
so i sit here
with a hole in my foot
with a hole in my head
with a hole in this book
with the hole in her eyes
when she gave me that look
with the hole in my face
when i saw what he took
the hole in my heart
i still don't know the crook
paper is just too easy to tear
and you think i'm easy
when you see i've been shook
i think i need a hook

now there's a hole in my stomach
and it's feeling tight and queezy as she ties
me up in knots of my poor esophagus
her knuckles white from squeezing
i breathing like a snake trying to shed
the desert sun is hot so
please lift this mask up off my head
i try to offer a white flag
but she kills me instead
cause she doesn't like the things
that she can't understand

and so she holds her fists like
they have holes in them
holds me like there are holes in me
cavities of ample opportunity
for punishment and further tearing, no tears,
none of this teething willful jeer
i'll split and rewire, i don't need old fears

i am only tired at best
the pieces did not defy gravity
they fell right out of my ****** chest
but landing is a skill you see
tear me apart for free and be my guest
ripping down the wallpaper
wrestling with the messes of stresses
no one will unremember
looking for the emotions
you desperately want to render
but while i'm still soft
i'm no longer tender
so remember when you enter that
no matter what the temper of the sender
or persuasion of the vendor
i will not surrender
to all these social mind benders

there is a hole in my flag
my blood is an involuntary badge
no more flags, white stains
too easily
Aaron Combs Apr 2015
I remember the garden
where we lived, it was
of such magnificence and awe.
The Charlotte roses filled the wild,
peace was uncaged, unbroken,
and the dragons and doves flew together,

And the thousand horses ran free.
and the thousand horses ran free.

I notice resting inside your eyes
and heart hasn't been so hard. Wrestling for you,
holding you,
like a child, it hasn't
been so different.

I'm taking you back there, Eve
into the Land of Eden,
just drink of my lips
a little longer and you'll remember
and see.

Do you like to dance, Eve?
Let me make your imagination full
Then let me bring it to war as  we step
into it's gates.

Let’s Dance.

For the wind of the evening
still weaves dreams between
the heavens and the earth.
There. Look.

For your heart outshines the moon, I see the hurt, the regret
The pain in the pool of you precious eyes.
And I still see you, I still love you
For you.

I hear the rhythm of your breath
and dreams, the electricity and earth
of your voice. I see the blood written
words in your heart, let me show you what
they are.

Now see the memories come
together, as you believe.

The endless garden,
the red cedars,
the cool four rivers crashing
near the rock, where we once slept.  

And look, where we hid.

See, like I promised you, we are here again,
we are here.

Where the petals sip the dew upon
the face of the earth.
where the rain and the moonlight has
not fallen.

Now look at the stars, Eve. Everyone of those stars
are named, the star of Orion, the Bear,
and Leo, everyone of them.

Everyone of them will fall
                            Everyone of them,
                            Everyone of them.

So don't be afraid in your pain
in your feelings,
just come to me.

For you can take my hand,
and be safe in my arms of
love. Even when it all falls.
Even when it all comes crashing down.

Just  
   Trust me.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx­xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

200 votes?

100 comments?
My 6th Poem. May it bless you all.
Chrissy Ade Jun 2018
How do I ask my mind to shut off?
How do I tell her "Enough"?
How do I ask my mind to leave me alone
when her very essence is to control my life?
She bothers me when I want to sleep,
I'm restless, wrestling with the thoughts and
uncertainties that I cannot put to bed
My bad days become her vice
My good days become her stomping ground
I'm a prisoner of my own mind
The feeling of constantly running away
but not knowing what you are running from
Always thinking the worst
but never really knowing why
My heart dancing inside my chest
bouncing off the walls while I
lay perfectly still
The incessant crying that drowns me
in a sea of endless fears
She calms down when she wants to,
but she never truly goes away
I always feel the storm coming
but I never know how hard it will rain
Constructive Criticism is welcome! :) I wrote this poem about my own anxiety hoping to make sense of it all :)
Donall Dempsey Nov 2016
SO PRIKETH HEM NATURE IN HIR CORAGES

Never did
help my Da enough.

Always
head-stuck-in-a-book.

"Donall son..."he call
"Can you hold this while

...I saw.!"

"Awwww Da!"
I'd wail.

Me lost in Chaucer
and his tale.

And so the saw saws
but all I see is..."Yo!"

"The Miller was a chap of sixteen stone,
A great stout fellow big in brawn and bone.

The saw cuts through the afternoon.

Pauses: then....
Chaucers on again.

"He did well out of them, for he could go
And win the ram at any wrestling show."

"Say what...?

Oh, don't get me
wrong I

adored the aesthetic beauty of
sawdust floating

in a universe of its own
suspended in sunlight and shadow..

The smell of pine
kidnapping my mind.

The green dance of the bubble
in a spirit level.

Didn't have time for all that
hammering and sawing.

I was a boy on a mission
ever since our teacher sighing

"Oh I...don't know why I
teach you scruff Chaucer

...you'll never read the book!"

But by the weekend
( furious at the rebuff )

I( ha ha)HAD!

My poor auld Da
only getting begrudging help.

"Whan that Aprille..."
( the words falling like gentle rain upon my mind )

"...with his shoures soote
the droghte of Marche..."

Words words oh sweet words.

"hath perced to the roote"

My mind
( "...bathed every veyne in swich licour, )

the bubble in the spirit level
poised perfectly...perfectly poised

"Of which vertu engendred is the flour."
Harry Jul 2014
You will die tomorrow.
So what will you achieve today?
Will your day become dictated by sorrow?
Or would you stray beyond your natural way
To try and accomplish all the things
you were once afraid of?

Maybe you'll fly,
Maybe you'll cry,
Maybe you'll waste your time wrestling with the thought of not wanting to die.
Maybe you'll shamefully realise
That every single day of your precious little life
Should have been lived as if this were right;
As if you were really going to die...
So open your eyes.

Tomorrow, you could die.
So what will you achieve today?
ryn Sep 2014
Partly darkened and part in light
A time when the stars and sun shared the sky
Bear witness to two behemoths wielding might
Impending clash foreseen to go awry

Two trains of thoughts charging from opposite ends
Each bearing their own solid ideals
Their flags that flew with conflicting brands
Convictions they carry on beaten, weary wheels

Almost an eternity, the time is soon
Seconds lasted before they finally would meet
Feeling of dread like the cloud covered moon
With war cries of whistles, they would greet

No possible way that they could miss
War waged in steeled wills and forged metals
Anticipate the moment, their couplings would kiss
Unleashing a barrage of predestined reprisals

Sheer destruction as they ate into each other
All in tow haphazardly derailed
A clash made of brute strength and power
A result of when decisiveness had failed

All was motionless save for the light of day
The two lay dead; spent currencies in coal
Fire and smoke had emerged from the fray
Signifying that the two have met their goal

Their cargo now freed, engaging in petty skirmish
Lunging and wrestling as they fought for dominance
Determination to overwhelm; never to languish
Jousting fists fueled by pent-up vengeance

Almost at end this long drawn battle
Much like a storm to be patiently ridden out
When the last of the debris should settle
Then would be lifted the dusty veil of doubt

The sun has now risen revealing the aftermath
Shedding light on the devastation incurred
Dark thoughts possess the most potent of wraths
But nothing could beat the muscle of the written word

Looking back I've realised the harm I've caused
Found great solace in the dark words I've governed
Life still hurls; it can never be paused
Just dust yourself off for you're better off enlightened
I'm back! (Well at least until the next train arrives... :))
Thank you everyone for your support throughout...

See "Doom Train"
See "Light Train"
Mary Gay Kearns Oct 2018
In the middle stopped by the breeze
A collection of colourful annual seeds
Filled out a butler sink wrestling with time
Solitary, silently completing seasonal rhyme
Regular rhythms of perpetual chime.

Love Mary x
Lacey Clark Apr 15
I’m tangled up in a matrix of concurrent beliefs.
How do I hold one value right next to another at the same time in my heart?
How do I posture two opposing beliefs at once?
It’s like arm wrestling; a warm union but not pleasant until it’s settled. Our brain likes to have one answer.
Though.. here I am knowing that reaching out to you after all this time is both regress and progress.
Hello Daisies Sep 10
I'm wrestling with myself
I want to do things
Fun, wild, new things
But no
No no no
That's too crazy

Stay in bed
Sleep yourself away
Remember the consequences
In your head

I want to let it go
Live the life I missed
Loosen up
Go with the flow

I get so close
I feel it in my bones
Tattoos, ***, parties
Being a little naughty
But I leave it at almost

I'll almost do it Everytime
Then I say it's not right
Then I feel sick and cry
It's a hard learned chime

It rings and I quit
I must not sin
I must not live
I'm too afraid
All I feel is a pit

I'm so confused
What do I want to do
There's fighting in my bones
It's leaving me broken and bruised

I just don't know
So asleep I'll go
It hides all my woes
In my dreams maybe I'll go
For peace and snow
In here the real me can show
With no regrets or fears below
I just don't know. :( And this fight is leaving me so depressed all I can do is sleep
MJL Mar 9
I’ve had it with you
We are always wrestling brah
Ready to tap out
Dennis Willis Nov 2018
Non sense fills void
better than anything else

and foreshadows
the outcome

No sense wrestling
these sounds down

to pale patois
of pretty pushes

when the page
is a sieve catching

eyes and what falls
from them

eyes emptied
heart emptied

shaken out like a trash can
On Tuesday

I read
Oak leaves

Under my porch light
they tell me no one has left

recently

I tell them
no one is here

anymore
to leave


[email protected] Dennis Willis
Ronza Jairy Feb 2017
My father
my lovely, unbreakable father
braved the Iran Iraq war in the 80s

My mother had just given birth to my older sister
and my father was to defend Baghdad, leave behind his beautiful wife and first born to live with missiles and miss the first decade's memories of my sister's existence, withdrawn from his love

He was young
but aware that he would need to survive this battle for 3 and that breaking was not an option

My father
my soldier of a father
had to fight in the frying sun, dirt and blood of his brothers for 3 years until the fighting was done
Iran then held him behind bars for 7 innocent years to stomach stale bread, spoiled soup, to rot his teeth and live inside of his head

My father
my prisoner of a father
learned that only so much pain will turn you numb
turn you to silence
when there's no where to run

My father
my hero of a father
stands today as if a war had never come

My father
my selfless father would rather not bare his stories for they have been buried deeper than the bodies he had to bury

When I asked him if he would watch a documentary called my country my country based in Iraq
he immediately declined saying
"Lay buyun takhren ichmendi"
translated into
"I don't want to remember anything"
how ignorant of me to think that it would be a fun thing to do...
while my poor dad is still wrestling with his memories
trying his darnedest to suffocate them
I'll never know what really happened because he is a vault forevermore
he would not dare burden his little girl with what he endured
that sole fact makes me proud to be my father's daughter

My father
my incredible father could probably write a better poem
yet I could not be more grateful for all the sacrifices he made to give me a life

Hell,
if my dad never made it home
I'd never have made it to tell you
about my father
**My perfect father
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