"THERE HE WAS HOLDING HIS HAND OUT"
God, can I hold your hand and follow you?
My child, it is I who will walk with you! You walked down my path with and without faith. You took my protection to ease your pain. My shielded wings comfort you during your moments of suffering while your life staggered across earth. Your love and devotion are what made you strong. Every time your dreams were broken. You managed to build more dreams in their place. You called my name during your happiest and saddest moments. You ran to me when you fell behind. Your secrets became our private talks. The key to your heart was always unlocked. I was there during your trials and troubles and tribulations. We could not speak, it was my light that kept you from going weak.
God, are you a dream of beauty? The holy book.
My preacher spoke of the afterlife, calling it paradise.
I remember now, I felt this company once before, this light.
Many times, I forsake the light and still you never left my door.
I felt it on the day I was born,
the day I became baptized in your holy name.
I felt this light before, can you explain it once more?
Lord pleases clarify the day I fell down to my knees, accepted Jesus as my savior?
On that day, I felt as if you stood away and walked on by, allowing me to face my failures’.
Was my life a waste in this impossible world?"
My child, this is the everlasting light you will feel every time your body is re-born onto a new road. This light never left you.
My sweet child did you not listen,
Matthew *19:26* MY SON looked at them and said, "With man this is impossible, but with ME all things are possible.
My child, you were not searching for the right answers.
My Lord everyone told me if I prayed you would come. Did I not pray enough?
My child sometimes your heart asked for more than life itself,
I always answered even when you shunned heaven away from your eyes?
The obvious question is whether this is the final immersing of your soul's disguises.
Lord, I have other questions to ask.
What should I expect out of my personal sins?
My testimonial sits in the palm of your hand
My mind and my heart's inner core have been wicked since my adolescence--
How is it that I am in your promise land?
Getting right with me has brought you here!
One more question My Heavenly Father
Can I see My Daughter, Mothers, Sisters, family, and friends?
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2012
The function of a human hand?
Writing a message, making a bed,
Opening a jar, dialing a phone,
Putting on pantyhose,
Touching the face of a child,
Or a lover.
And in its absence?
Yawning space and phantom pain,
And an oddly-shaped bandage
At the end of Angie’s arm.
PFC Hernandez, home in El Paso,
Watches her family watching her,
Writing awkwardly with her left hand,
Brushing her black wavy hair,
Watching Dr. Phil
Wearing an old gray-green T-shirt
Bearing the faded words
“Proud to be a Marine.”
Gasping and choking,
She wakes from thick, dusty dreams
Of shimmering, endless sand,
Echoing hollow with hatred,
And the feared but half expected
Roar of fiery amber heat,
Breaking the angry stillness,
Searing through the night
And Angela’s right hand.
Copyright © Ginna Wilkerson | Year Posted 2006
You made the mistake and now,
your afraid to face this day.
Your thoughts are racing through
You wonder if your family looks at
you as a disgrace, but you'er mother
takes you and reasures, your very
much loved in grace.
Even though your much to young
for this breathing little thing this
You couldn't just throw it out
like it was a peice of trash.
So you grow up and take the
path that led you to your best
mistake for years to come.
Copyright © Emily Kroeger | Year Posted 2009
His fragile fevered brow is soaked with life’s sweat
Nearing the end, his death has not arrived just yet
Shivering, his body is on fire, he makes a gentle sigh
His frame broken down by the years now passed by
The end of the final chapter, his book has grown old
Soon in a faith filled church, his past tales will be told
He’s a person, loved, surrounded by his living history
His family hold one another, parts of his closing story
Go quietly now love, for the time has come to move on
Hush now, your wearied tiredness, is oh so nearly gone
Soon the warmth of living will become so stiff and cold
Leaving this earth’s dusty soil, so as to join an eternal fold
He enters deaths doorway that will close quickly behind
A peace beyond imagination, a kind welcome he will find
Tears flow, fond goodbyes are spoken a kiss of farewell
Do not mourn too long have faith, know he is now well.
Patrick Brennan © 2010
Copyright © Patrick Brennan | Year Posted 2010
I do not know?
Trapped in this world in this body not mine
I am stranded here on this earth alone
stuck in a shell that is not my own
Small is the world that has taken me in
here in my body, under my skin
Out of this pod, is my heart's pine
Swirling thoughts capsize my brain
they thrash and smash against these walls
until the mass of this body tumbles and falls
Trapped in this world in this evil flesh
where light and darkness have no room to mesh
in this body I sin, again and again
Copyright © Tiffany Demske | Year Posted 2007
The sweetest sounds of burning trees
A gentle stroking in the breeze
The calm has lasted past the storm
Cloudy visions, Satan’s roar
Too many sights have passed my way
A time found only in the haze
The softest screams are running bare
My aching bones creak as I stare
You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark
The battle’s started at the end
No one is coming to repent
The sinners grab their wine from prey
No judgment calling here to stay
The sport is reckless to be told
The one is laughing at his souls
It falters nowhere to be sure
The power grows forevermore
Like a spirit in the wind
I have no say in where you’ve been
But cross the line to come to me
And pay the price for ecstasy
You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark.
Copyright © John Paluszek | Year Posted 2013
She is the muse to her own sorrow;
She is the digger of her grave.
She is the painter of her ocean view
and every fatal wave.
She is the shadow of her Father;
She is the darkness in your sight.
She is the night without the stars
surrounding pale moonlight.
She is the music with no words;
She is sweet love without the reason.
She is your dreamer with submission
cold by warmth with every season.
She is your pet with cold intentions;
She is your baby scared and shaken.
She is the bold and pure- the lost and found,
She is a soul awakened.
Copyright © Dana Smith | Year Posted 2013
" From the debt of my heart"
The African child
Sat behind the bamboo fence
He was sober and tense
Sputtering and wondering.
He forsook the bush meat
And the gathering under the moonlight
For sobriety and the causes of his uncertainties.
His clothes were like dried leaves
His feet like openings in the eaves
He longed to see a brighter tomorrow
He clarified the causes of his sorrow;
Sins of the father,
Fighting not to make things better
Therefore darkening the weather,
Making his destiny falter and bitter.
Tears exuded from the sound of his flute,
His fears enlarged like a parachute
But one thing he never understood,
Watch and pray, oh! African root
For your foundation is stinky, filthy,
Faulty and guilty...... watch and pray.
Copyright © Charles Melody Lightning Ink | Year Posted 2011
There once was a day I would watch every airplane.
Praying you was on it to come take me away.
As a child I wanted you around until the day, you actually came.
The day you came is the day my life forever changed.
I remember as if it was yesterday when you physically violated me.
Mental visions as early as the age of eight, but old enough to vociferate.
Visualizing mental pictures in my mind while I am awake very aware of the improper abuse I take.
Your body on me feels something like an autopsy of a dead body.
While you lay on top of me as you press aggressively on me.
Against my will your force kept me still.
I am trying to understand if you recognize who I am.
I try to say no hoping you can comprehend; I am weakling as you apprehend.
Mentally and physically I became involuntarily your property.
A main character in a horror story, and you were my predatory.
I asked “God why?” as I bare to stare into his eyes.
This is not thee love I seek; all I wanted was my father to love me, but not like this injustice of violation of my rights.
This love is not real; not the love I wished to feel.
As he tries to stick his tongue into my mouth too young to know what this is all about.
I grip my lips painfully tight as he tries to slip his tongue inside.
I close them tighter with all my might, as he whispers, “let me love you right”
I beg him to leave as he pried my legs open with his knees my insides scream “somebody please help me!”
As he whispers how much he loves me I’m praying for God to just kill me.
I rather be dead then a man’s punching bag.
As I lay there my body was dead, and I laid my soul to rest.
I looked around the room and seen the Old Spice on the desk the same fragrance he wore around his neck.
The sun began to rise as he began to close my thighs.
In that moment in time I had made up my mind any man that ever say they love me was just telling lies.
I learned the hard way that love does not kill your inside; love does not take your pride.
A fatherless child I shall forever reside.
Every day that passes that little eight-year-old girl dies slowly inside.
Asking Jesus,” Why permit this?” and he slowly whispers…as I gently whimpers, “faith is the light that guide you through the darkness, my words reflecting as a lamp unto my feet.”
“Walk unto my path I’m here to carry the weak, come into me you are weary and overburdened. I will carry the pain you have obtained.”
“I am your father and you are my child you are never fatherless because I’m always around.”
Copyright © twanna Irisha | Year Posted 2012
THE HOSPITAL FAIRYLAND
They walked together, hand in hand,
Into life’s magical fairyland.
Where there was no trouble, where there was no pain.
Where life could really, begin all over again.
Where were no men in little white coats.
Forcing you all, to stuff drugs down your throats.
Forcing you to do, what you didn’t want to.
Telling you it was all for the best, for you,
People shouting, people crying.
Most of the people talking about dying.
What is this hell, we’ve all come to?
It’s called coming off drugs, we all have It to go through.
Where will it end, what will we do?
None of us really, has a clue.
We are given more pills, we are told, we have to take.
To the men in white coats, life’s a piece of cake.
We are the prisoners, they guard the doors.
Some try to creep out, on all fours.
Into hell and back, we go for a ride.
Eventually if we’re lucky, we come out the other side.
Where we can walk, hand in hand.
Into life’s magical Fairyland.
Where there is trouble, where there is pain.
But at least we can start, living again.
Copyright © pat dring | Year Posted 2008
I am whatever you say I am...
but, let's get back to reality...
Three short years ago, this room shined welcome mats across a screen of doldrums.
A place of unfamiliarity that screamed,
"You don't belong!"
Yet, a voice of reason spoke and said,
"Expand yir' roots. Venture beyond the comfort zone. Academia resides inside that room, but know you won't be alone."
Repeatedly,brainwaves declined what my wife and editor had told me.
"no way, I'm givin' up my soul for free, they read, they pay, like it's always been, the way it's going to always be!"
Unbeknownst to me one day, and with a slight of hand, my "Open Sores" were put on display and surprisingly more than a handful of great ladies and nice guys began to give feedback on what I had devised.
This interaction was something very new, helpful, and impressive. For a change, it was something real.
For years, those around me were quick to give praise with hidden reasons. Constructive criticism is amazing, and I welcomed being corrected or set straight.
Now there are those who choose to shut me down without explanation, and call me names.
DO NOT mistake me for sophomoric! These words bleeding from my guts have no style and need no approval. There is no thinking involved here, no plan. If you don't like it, fine...don't censor or bracket me in. So what if I am illiterate? If you don't like "street poetry" or the pathetic stuff I write, don't read it. If I offend you, tell me.
We should welcome those who are different than us.
Words of truth inspire movement, like fire.
I came to this room to expand my horizons, step outside the box, learn, help, grow.
There will be no apologies dealt for being different, or for being labelled as something uncomfortable to you.
This has been an ok room so far, but there is some clique trickanery going on.
If the dictionary must come into play, let me recommend looking up the term "Poetic License."
True, I may not be the writer you prefer, or aspire to be....but tread carefully my friend, for you have no idea of my profession. I've made a fine living, for a good long time, spewing words onto paper. I came from nothing, and may still be nothing to you...still, I do what I love, have no boss.
I am not an aspiring writer who dreams of a life, I live my dream. In conclusion, I must wish you luck in finding what you peddle poetry for. Until then, keep
Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2011
Silence can deceive
One's quiet to understand
Another to destroy
Copyright © viviane leite | Year Posted 2011
A strange sight upon a lonely road.
A dream ripped in half.
Looking closer, I wonder what was the travail.
An old price tag attached, making me wonder at what price it was sold.
Along the edges, tattered and torn, it gave forth an evil laugh.
As if some sly devil concocted a way to turn someone pale.
Onward I traveled, with pack upon my back.
To the left and right of the road were littered with more broken dreams.
So many that one could not keep track.
Some having been blown into the parallel stream.
So, I checked the pack upon my back.
And, yep all my dreams were there in a stack.
Cold winds howl, trying to rip my back pack to shreds.
Freezing were the winds, but forward I march.
Never losing sight of my dreams in spite of many dreads.
They all hold up strong even though many times I'm in a lurch.
Suddenly I see people returning to the road.
Going back and picking up their dreams.
Dusting them off and restoring them to their pack.
Each and every one said to me, you are quite bold.
To go forth and not let the cold winds of fate not destroy your knack.
To face life as it comes and not give up even if offered gold.
Good, bad fortune, are likewise of no importance.
Put a failed dream back in your pack and maybe a new day will appear.
Where you can unpack that dream and give it another go.
But, for today, march forward, today's failure might tomorrow's dance.
You gave it your best, and win or lose, that game has ended with a spear.
Win or lose, that game is done so pack it's knowledge away in your pack and grow.
Suddenly down the road a new vista appears and a brand new game.
Left high and dry or victorious are the two possible ends of any venture.
But in truth, knowledge is all you will have, win or lose.
For tomorrows game is just around the bend, all the same.
Win or lose, the game of life only ends for the moment within sight of the new adventure.
So, to quit and call it the end, only makes you look like a goose.
Copyright © James Ray Morris | Year Posted 2010
She is a loving mother,
her pain is like no other.
Kids taken all at once away.
A price too steep to have to pay.
Holds her head up high,
when all she wants to do is die.
She thinks her pain is masked,
but as you see, its no easy task.
She's strong and still fights,
even when they say she has no rights.
She dreams of seeing her kids,
trying hard to keep the pain hid.
She goes to court and really fights,
only to come home alone and cry at night.
Still, she continues this uphill battle.
Her confidence, they constantly rattle.
Goes to work and tries to smile,
as her heart is breaking all the while.
Wish I was a much better sister,
who called and let her know I missed her.
I had my own tumultuous issues,
it was she who really needed the tissues.
I just had a crappy, low life man.
By her side her family should stand.
Instead they all give her grief.
Do they not see her pain will never be brief?
No, they all say they are sorry, but they're full of lies.
Didn't they know it was her LIFE in demise?
A better sister, I'll try to be.
Her back she never turned to me.
I hope she knows she's loved and cared for.
Her smile I'd like to see more.
I know that's no easy task.
But that I will still ask.
As they push her to the brink,
She's stronger than she ever thinks.
A combined effort for Kristy.....
Copyright © Aleera Canino | Year Posted 2009
my heart breathes its last breath
Embraces its own death
Ready to be reborn
and made anew
Can’t live a lie
Refuse to “do”
and I’ll DIE....
Focus now on why I’ll live
And never touch the sky.
I have to forget you
I have to reject you
But I will never love anyone
like I loved you.....
I heard you whisper
and you never knew it
I wiped the tears from your eyes
But you couldn’t feel it
You’re lost and you’ll never find you
And neither will I
And I’m so sorry--
but I’m NOT.
I'll attempt to reset
Try to forget
But you know, I never will.
Be my dirty little secret
My very worst-kept secret
Sweet, smooth, beautiful poison
My infernal and endless attraction
towards complete and utter self-destruction
I fell in love with the devil
And it will take one heck of an angel
To save me from the likes of you....
my dream never to come true
Oh, I’ll never forget the times
we never shared
I’ll never forget
how you were never there
Always me, the stars, and tears
And I ask you,
what kind of life is THAT?
I have to face the facts
I don’t know what happens now
but it happens without you.
The stains will always be there
the scars will never fade
But the memory of you----
it HAS to.
I could carry the torch forever
But it would only consume me
I can’t cry another tear for you
Or I’ll dry up completely
It doesn’t affect you
and you never deserved me
You’ll go on with your life, too
All, all alone
Because you’ll only ever be in love
Copyright © SLS It Is Rife With Ambiguity | Year Posted 2011
Looking dead at me in this smeared mirror...
a lost man
the longer I stare
this stress abuses
my conscience with a glare
a guilty reflection warns
my mind is the prison I fear
as I long to escape
from the hell I dwell in
who have I become?
what have I done right?
crossroads appear suddenly
as fog fills the mirror tonight
darkness owning the room,
prefers I suffer slow
so I proceed with speed
because it’s the only way I know
flood my life’s hard bound chapters
while this smeared mirror reflects tears
dripping from a face
which was once filled with laughter.
Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2011
I walk a mile to see the self in me that I believe to be,
I knew the road I choose to lay my head to sleep is called my home,
times in need I could barely see that in myself I will set free,
the act that held me down, something about me I could not see,
I lived a life when I decide that day I said that I don't care,
so young, so bright, I dim my light, traumatized for me to share,
love me please regardless of what you heard and what you have seen,
friends say that I'm only human, yes you're right, a human but who am I being?
My life will move in the direction I choose,
this I know I have always been taught
that I choose to be a winner or lose,
its entirely up to me its all in my thoughts.
Copyright © Ken Fepulea'i | Year Posted 2010
Mountains crumble no more to be
Oceans of woe since you left me
Thunder rolls and my heart it breaks
Humbly life ends, my soul it quakes
Everlasting grief with no mend
Reminds me daily, it will not bend
Inconceivable, this pain I bear
My love's not gone, together we'll share
In lasting glory at Jesus' feet
Serenity and grace, oh how sweet
Salvation unites on heaven's shore
Yesterday's gone, tomorrow brings more
Only a moment in time we wait
Until we meet at heaven's gate
Copyright © kanzazy hutchins | Year Posted 2009
Iam Hungry...Thirst is uncontrollable
It nearly kills me,Cries a poor one..
A dirty wasteland that is his home
but its a heaven for him,His mom
sick in the bed,He is handicapped.
Worms are eating his skinny body,NOBODY to help him!
He is helpless...he want to live
But waiting for death,Help him god i pray to you....
Copyright © Nivitha Ann Paul | Year Posted 2009
“WHAT IS A SAD DAY IN AMERICA?”
It is a “Sad Day” in America when you wake up every day worrying about being
black, educated and female.
It is a “Sad Day” in America when you wake up every day and there is a new battle.
It is a “Sad Day” in America when you wake up living on the outside of the
American Dream, but you live within America and you have nightmares about
walking in the shoes of another race in your view.
It is a “Sad Day” in America when Civil Rights begin to regress over 40 years.
It is a “Sad Day” in America when you have to worry about what religion or
denomination you belong too.
It is a “Sad Day” in American when the words “I can” in the word American does
not represent “I can because I am free.”
Instead it becomes an obstacle because others continue to suppress me---
because of my race, religion, sex, ability or disability?
It is a “Sad Day” in America when we accept mediocracy.
It is a “Sad Day” in America when we cannot accept our fellow man or fellow
It is a “Sad Day” in America when others cannot hear or see.
It is a “Sad Day” when we can no longer show empathy.
It is a “Sad Day” when all we do is “nothing”.
The “Glorious Day” will come when we learn the history of others, walk with
others by empathizing with others and consider ourselves brothers and sisters
in “One America”, one fight, one battle, one love-- until that time “it is” and “will
be” a “Sad Day” in America.
copyright@2006 by Carrie M. Love-Atkins
Copyright © Carrie Love-atkins | Year Posted 2006
Descending eyes piercing the starry nights
Deeper yet, unto hearts of men
Crossing thresholds shattered darkness
Behold, the fallen angels unbeknown to sin
That of weakest appetites malign
As heaven's tears spilling city streets
In futility cleanse what's evil-wise
From beneath, us vagabonds of broken wings
Empty rooms loneliness desperately
Weary hearts for yearning error in love
Far off stares and blank faces, harrow in oasis
And inspirations forgotten, never peering up
Divine light cease upon closing heart
Earthly flesh feeding frenzies
To another piece of faith withdrawn
Humanity continues on and spirituality dies ending
Some pretentious fly toward false sanctuary
Never escaping whispers, persecutions within
Hissings soft, but brimstone in our heads
Countless fallen angels iniquitous deprivation dins
"Criers" define us as the times most desperate
"God, forgive us, please" hollow words that we pray
"The wicked must be punished" God's eternal now and tomorrow
His arms outstretched further still but, where are we today
Copyright © Michael Smith | Year Posted 2012
The meadow's radiance gradually dimmed
and evening littered far and wide
it encouraged the unfamiliar
and everything uncertain.
The night accelerated sounds of anticipation
as a thousand strangers loomed
and I thought him to be a foreigner
until he glanced twice
as his smile slightly dropped
astonishment plagued him
Insecurity encompassed me
as I turned away in doubt
betrayed by the numinous...
that often guides my thoughts
He left with lady and child, to merge
With a thousand anticipating strangers
and the northern lights sheltered me
the explosions across the sky
gave satisfaction -to so much expectation
that unexpectedly emerged
Then the night was briefly soundless;
the applause prolonged
as were my duties...by my immersion
and within what felt like only seconds
he was passing,
through a thin pane of glass
all I could yield was a smile,
a smile to the incredulity within his eyes.
Enclosed with the evening...was the meadow,
and the difference was indistinguishable.
Copyright © Angie Mae | Year Posted 2006
How Can We Hurt The Ones We Love?
How can we hurt the very ones that we love?
How can we easily neglect our God above?
It seems like I often heard about many victims
Many times, it’s from a loved one who’s been with them!
The hate and the anger that boils from deep within.
Often “boils over” toward our family and friends.
It’s the love of Christ that we need to find!
His love can totally cleanse our life and mind!
The hearts of many families are bruised and broken.
By the harshness of many of the words spoken.
If we would allow Jesus to rule and reign.
We’d have little reason to murmur or complain.
If we would yield our lives to the master’s will…
The emptiness and brokenness, he shall fulfill!
If we could allow ourselves to sit at Jesus’ feet…
He can make any family totally complete!
If we could just listen to what Christ has to say.
His words of life would brighten our day!
As a family… Won’t you give HIM a chance?
And allow his love to change your circumstance!
Won’t you allow his spirit to bind you together?
You can experience his peace today and forever!
He can change your family throughout!
This is his will and what God is all about!
By Jim Pemberton
Copyright © Jim Pemberton | Year Posted 2012
Blue or green?
The color of the sea,
Going up and down the waves,
To be my unexpected mood,
Sweet or sour the feeling of me.
The question of my mind hitting it through the divine,
The passion of art inside a deep mind,
With full of imaginations,
Hitting me through left and right.
Perspective comes along with me,
Seeing it in my mind,
Looking at the blank paper,
My emotions run down the pages,
Forgetting my visions along,
Looking down on paper,
Loosing my focus ,
Is getting hard to draw.
Speaking with my wild heart wide open,
Thinking of the world we live in today,
Standing amongst the people not knowing what to say,
Hearing the music flowing into my ears,
Beating myself inside these walls of hate,
Wanting my eyes to cry with full of tears,
Hating to be on this earth,
Seeing people fade away,
Sinking through lies in my face,
Stabbing me in the back when I need them the most,
Seeing people with unwanted faith through their eyes,
Anger comes my way,
Looking down at the world with full of questions in my head,
Going crazy with frustration and confusion of me questioning God,
Deep inside my heart is burning with poison,
Is breaking me apart like glass,
At peace without a path in mind,
Falling down somewhere here that I never belong,
I'm not perfect yet,
I like to lead not to follow others.
Life is like a tree that grows inside me,
Leafs on the tree come and go like people in my life,
Taking the road of life,
Things can change in a minute,
When I look away,
My goals would fade away,
Going back letting noting stand on my way,
Trying harder to focus on my goals,
Looking around with a smile on,
Reaching my goals slowly without a distraction.
Copyright © shirin neshat | Year Posted 2009
Tonight I thought I shook off a roach. Swore I felt it approach. Imagined it crawling down
my throat. My Dad came out from the den and asked What’s Wrong? I said, Nothing, I’m fine
when I still felt bits of dead roach nesting in my spine. That’s Divine.
I feel the Holy Spirit in me tonight. Jesus Christ! I must have done right! Don’t come
near me, I’m contaminated, clearly. Oh, God, need me! So that the sky doesn’t turn black
every time I look up to seek your advice. My chips are stacked, I’ve got them wracked.
Roll the dice six six six every time. On my Dime. I think I may have crossed the line.
Maybe I’m sick. Maybe I’m not hip to this.
Maybe I just need to settle down. Take a breath. Take a pill. Sit real still. Stare until
I become comatose blare my music so loud that my eyes become brazen and I can’t hear what
Do roaches bite? I wonder at night. As I hide beneath the covers that used to shield us
from one another. Protect us from the evils in this world, bring no harm to little girls.
Now they just cover up old condoms and dirty food crumbs.
Numb. Numb. Numb. Can’t move. Limbs feel numb, limbs feel wrung, limbs feel slung,
stammering and slurring like grandma after her stroke.
This is a joke. The world’s a joke. We’re a joke.
Then why aren’t we laughing? Why aren’t we guffawing until our paws fall off, our mittens
become smitten and we cough up our dirty lungs with joy.
Oh boy, here I go again. If this is a joke why aren’t we laughing? Why aren’t we guffawing
until our paws fall off, our mittens become smitten and we cough up our dirty lungs with joy.
Copyright © sara ribar | Year Posted 2010
She cried, She died inside over and over again, She was trapped in herself
and she had no way of escaping. Taking drugs to dull the mud that's been in her
for years. She's so far away from reality that it's like she is constantly
She has to remind herself what's fictional and what's fact because the
hallucinations wouldn’t let her breath, they’d lie to her every chance she gets.
Turning her mom into a monster not butterflies suddenly this high becomes a
nightmare. One she had been fighting for so long, 16 and still traveling the same
rode as so many younger than her. She didn't listen to all the voices that tried to
tell her what she was missing because truly reality is the thing that makes life
worth living. To her reality was the guy who had raped her constantly when she was
young, Why choose reality when you could live in a dream world where everything had
excuses. Not only could she not recognize the girl who cried constantly in the
mirror but she'd done so many things to herself that even her eyes were a different
It hurt so bad not to remember so she continued to fade until soon it seemed
In an idiotical world where there were always smiles, It wasn't until she got help
that she realized the real world was never always pleasant. It was filled with hate
and lies and pain but that's something real and something she needed to face.
Something she needed to open her eyes to, life would never be cake and she couldn't
have her victory without tasting poison at least once. So when the tears dried and
the wounds healed she signed up for a special thing a thing called GED and she got
Copyright © Shahana Jackson | Year Posted 2005
The man with the plastic bug in his head
monopolized my dreams last night
in the place that the horsefly of my dignity
finally surrender to the impresario without a fight.
Seven days and 7 hours transplanted in my memorabilia
reminding the rustiness of the purple child
flatterers danced beneath the clouds of melancholy
and morality spreader the master plan inside my mind.
The disinheritance of my immortality the final day
discouraged my desire to see the forbidden love
restored my will to escape
manipulated the deep of the uncertainty above.
Released from the plastic bug in my head
try to cover my yellow child in the purple sky
seven days and seven hours before he dies.
Copyright © Teddy Frustiente | Year Posted 2009
Pondering and wondering; what should I do?
Knowing that God is able to see and carry me through.
He knows my sadness and feels my tears,
And how I am often overwhelmed with fear.
But I am silent before Him, for I don't want to ask,
Him to do for me another difficult task.
It's not hard for Him, its just hard for me,
Because the way out of it; I just can't see.
I am always asking Him for His help,
He has always been there for me, there is no one else.
So I just sit here silent, wondering and pondering,
As my troubles and problems around me seem to be thundering.
So sad and empty and lonely I feel,
Is my love and trust in God for real.
Or do I just give Him lip service as I speak,
And it is not His face I truly seek.
I know what He said, but I am sad and blue,
I am sitting here acting as if He is not able to pull me through.
My God ain't weak; He sees, feels, understands and hears;
My sadness, my silence and especially my tears.
I need to arise and shine and be for real,
'Cause my God truly knows just how I feel.
But my relationship is not about feelings,
That will have my soul rocking and reeling.
My relationship is about believing what He said,
And not being blown by the wind, but standing on His Word.
I have to stand firm and can't be moved;
For God and His Word has been proved.
No matter what I feel or what I am going through,
He is able to save, deliver and help me and you.
We must have confidence and trust; also called faith,
Lean not to our own understanding, and accept His grace.
I cannot be moved by every wind that blow,
I will stand on the Word, because I do know,
That through my sadness, tears and fears;
God is able to deliver, for He is real.
Penned 6/11/2015 at 11:00a.m. for Mystic Rose contest
Copyright © Daisy Marie Yant | Year Posted 2015
Copyright © Tom Wright | Year Posted 2008
I do not know?
Where are the secrets, the faith and the passion?
Money and business are now in the fashion.
There is no romance, there is no love,
there are no bird songs in the skies above.
There is no green grass, and forests and flowers,
only shriveling deserts and pale fading colors.
Cables and wires are strangling us tight,
smog hides the stars, you can't see them at night.
There is much science, but not many wisdom,
too much revolutions, but not enough freedom.
Wise man, and prophets and heroes are vanishing,
everything good is perished and banishing.
Dragons, elfs, fairies are facing extinction
even kids don't want to read that old fiction.
Undiscovered lands are no longer remaining
from adventures and brave feats everyone is abstaining.
There is no justice and no human rights,
no satisfaction, only body delights.
Compassion and virtue are not common today
should be greedy and shameless if you want to stay.
There is no hope and no joy, you can find only sadness
in these poor human souls, lost in the madness.
God stays in darkness, forgotten and blind,
He's no longer able to control human mind.
There isn't much left you now could believe,
only in dreams you can find some relief.
Copyright © Irena Marinova | Year Posted 2007