Every child is born into this world crying,
Little did this poor child know, tears would fall for the rest of her life.
Born into a world of abuse, heartache and pain,
With a drug addict, alcoholic abusive father and a heartless mother.
Every day was the same, left alone with only silence and darkness,
Dirty clothes, little to eat with every cry for help resulting in violence.
How could her eyes see any happiness when they had run dry?
How could she smile with cut lips and a bruised body?
At 7, her mother died from a lethal overdose of alcohol and drugs,
However, the abuse got worse as she became her father’s new toy.
Poor little girl, an object of carnal gratification and her innocence stolen,
By a man who was responsible for her protection and well being.
The effects of a dark and destructive childhood destroyed her confidence,
With low self esteem and no social skills, they mocked her in school.
Little did they know about the struggles in her life and the pain she was going through,
Bruised and abused, having to make her own lunch with no help from a pathetic father,
This was her daily routine- even hell would have been a more peaceful place for her.
But, little did the world know the girl had a hidden talent,
The voice of an angel and the mind of a creative poet.
At night when she sang, the stars glowed to her beautiful lullaby,
The ink of her pen was like blood rushing from her veins to create magical lyrics.
Music and poetry was her escape from a life of cruelty and rejection,
Her talent was hidden, so no one could help her reach her potential.
As the girl grew, her abuse never stopped, there seemed no end,
With constant memories of painful yesterdays and a childhood lost.
She used her incessant pains and struggles to enhance her music,
Writing hours upon hours of poetry and songs, self-teaching brilliance…
Deep inside she yearned for someone to understand her, to see her…
If not, but one, she would she be wholly satisfied
Many nights she would find herself crying uncontrollably,
The darkness of the room enveloping her every being
She could see the past in her mind’s eye and be reminded of the sick present
She began to hate her father, and every brat at her school
She cursed death and life alike, and envied her mother’s eternal sleep
Everyone who spit their insult, everyone who remained silent and apathetic,
She hated them with a passion so self-destructive, it burned her raw scars...
Teaching herself to hold it in, so that on paper she could create masterpieces
And prove all of the monsters around her wrong…
In silence, she recalled the worst memories to shame further her reality.
A part of her knew that she was incredibly talented,
Though the darkness often blinded her with guilt
She felt that she did not deserve even a voice,
Her writings were but a sick reminder of demons she could never conquer
Shivering in the cold, her skin dirty and dry,
Ugly…ugly…was the only word she could live by
One night, she contemplated taking her life…
She vowed all of her suffering would meet a greater purpose,
Beyond the grave…beyond fear of hell beneath
She was dirt after all, like the kids always told her
How much worse could it be, facing the flames she was born in?
She threw the kitchen knife down and looked up at the stars above
Even Death would reject her, she knew…
In acceptance, she acknowledged her ugliness and became a stunning underdog
Rebellion sifted through her veins and her strength brought fear to her father
Bullies looked at her as if she was the devil himself
No one could tell her what to do anymore,
And nobody would ever understand her
Though that was okay…
Because that is all she ever knew
Ten years later, the rotten roller coaster continued
Though a fateful night of circumstance had led her right on the stage
Men were mesmerized by her fierceness and apathy
Not being able to grasp each significant line layered in truth
She showed none mercy as she slayed ruthless chords of wonder
Her voice rang angelically, mixed with the fires and tears of her life
Echoing beyond the grave of cold Death… beyond what was wrong or right
It was her silence that stunned the audience the most
Those eyes, having seen so much…felt so much…hid so much…
That cut mouth, with the eternal dry trickle of a bitter tear
The world was not prepared for her intolerable genius,
Just as she was not prepared for their astonished applaud…
-A collaboration by The Silent One and I : )
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2015
Who's that staring through my window walls, with eyes as old as time
the clock has not yet moved and the wind outside has died
no breath for me to find nor the strength to check the time
unless the minute hand is lying theirs a chance i may have died
I wish this all a dream but the eyes i see dont lie, they have told me with their watching that all men do really cry
yet in vain is all my wishing but perhaps this is delusion of a sedimentary man with his mind ripe for losing
Come at me then red devil, I shout within my mind yet the tension I had hoped for was delayed and rather dry
no ravishingly velvet flame encircled this such room, nor were the furniture and ottoman thrown like an old shoe
marvelous the time in which a demon throwns your home and his only one intent is to stare right through your soul
to that i bid goodnight to you, to do as you wish, regardless of the manner I am nothing more then fish. to be shot out of a barrel for a fellow such as this
If you do deem it fit that I wake another morning all i ask is that the clocks all please return to working order
Copyright © chriss todd | Year Posted 2013
Afternoons the sky shuts down around the swamp's warning tapes
propped up with restoration piping and dirt leak fencing.
We’re fleeing toward the wild, seeking the names and shapes,
the same way the Cedar Waxwing flit and grip for berries tree to tree.
Canada Geese are easy, they lead off down the lane leaving residue,
Widgeons have green stripes and gold stripes, one American
the other European, and they’re all mumbling our family phew-do
they didn’t burn the kid, they can’t keep the house clean, drugs…
Blink away the cold wind tears. Forget all that, only remember
Shovelers have the long low profile and the long bill from studies
in New Zealand, like a deep breath, we set aside work, unlimber
spy the race of killdeer away from their guarding territory in gravel.
Our boss didn’t try to replace us, he ducked out to a new job
leaving the crime ringing in our ears like the police car roaring past.
Head down, we tunnel under the high way finding the dunk and bob
of mergansers and their hallowed or red heads,
remarking differences when the sudden scream of honking
mallards flee up river. Caught off guard, we wonder did we cause
all this pain? The rise and dunk flying goldfinch happily chirping
cling to the thistle, their favorite waste near the waste water
ponds where all the Black River water flows for cleaning
spilling into the nesting lower stages of the tertiary treatment.
That’s all this is, treatment for the shock wave week riding
current events on our shoulders, almost like the red-tailed hawk
that screams and skims our head, rising up to the setting sun
turning the sky purple and pink and bruised. That’s when wood
ducks skim into view, our breath captured and then steaming undone
but soon the heavens offer confirmation, blue angels
with their huge oversized wings soar in pairs down as gift.
We hold each other then, let screams silence, detail enriched.
Copyright © Sheri Fresonke Harper | Year Posted 2014
An angel formed from
lake of purity,a gift to
darkest parts of hearts.
A chaste damsel,
untouched rose from the
garden of the elves.
Sent to earth,made an
abode in a gentleman's
cherished and loved.
As time travelled,another
fella whom she trusted
lured her to un-saintly act
Her pride laid on altar of
dishonor and infidelity.
Her life she almost
snuffed,she feared the
love of her true love
would be lost. Alas! bond
of love is indivisible.
Shattered,with a broken
spirit she tries to mend
the pieces....on the
shoulder of her lover she
leans,hoping to soothe
her bruised heart.
A true story,a close
pretty lady friend of mine
was raped by her family
called her and told her
his mum was very sick.
She called me and
confided in me .
Don't know whether to
encourage her to call the
Copyright © Ifeanyi Bob Ekechukwu | Year Posted 2013
When wind’s silence
heralds boundless oblivion
and the trembles of cracked earth
raise the dust of tears
dried by the boundless footfalls
of sallow flesh
When a thread of gold
brings unearthly thought
and the misconception
of suns fallen
drives foolish men to their knees
in unending tremors
An army of one
frees the air from his fingertips
and stays not his opal blade
as it bites the rotted gray necks
of kings released from their wrongful bliss
by his trembling palms
An army of one
unconstrained by nature’s volume
freed by the sin of his naivety
yet, bound by earth’s oldest secret
as the scarlet sun weeps
its bloodied tears
An army of one
his cloak worn through
by the acid blood of his deception
and his bones stilled;
the branches of a dying oak
which no longer caress the wind
Copyright © Avery Swarthout | Year Posted 2015
you silly old dog
when they thought of the name,
they'd probably had thought of a creature like you-well then right on the dot
for a pig with a stick in his eye and a stye for a leg could have begged his way faster to freedom
and found more to eat in a day then you eat in a week-but you stay?
And i wonder and ponder by ponds full of water collecting my thoughts in a vase now discolored
what marvelous mischief might happen if beast were no sanction and all things with thoughts were judged solely on actions
morality then would weigh heavy with sanction and perhaps no man dines at the right of the lord
only a creature, deemed fit to absorb his observance
for now, it is begining to get very hot in this furnace
Copyright © chriss todd | Year Posted 2013
Madison's defense of the establishment clause to the Virginia legislature:
"Religion both existed and flourished, not only without the support of human laws, but in spite of every opposition from them, and not only during the period of miraculous aid but long after it had been left to its own evidence and the ordinary care of Providence."
May I say
electromagnetic waves. Radiant energy.
Light travels in waves
Waves of what?
Electromagnetic waves consist of electric and magnetic fields
oscillating at right angles to each other
and to the direction of motion of the wave.
All waves can be described
in terms of amplitude, wavelength, frequency and speed.
Waves of what?
Think of a hand waving. The wave itself
is virtual, ideal. The hand and eyes are waves. The wave's
a quantum guess.
Religion and electromagnetic waves - visible, audible,
causing real reactions in earth-time (real as it gets). Madison's
care of Providence
impossible to handle.
Needed is a medium: antenna, cathode ray, page,
with the capacity to say Providence electromagnetic visible light
Alone in your life and body. Say
the heavy word
charged word (ion god)
the particle physicist and political philosopher have it over the poet
who is sharing ignorance
pretty much all he doesn't know.
Or who stays within a dimension she knows she knows, extrapolating
her hand in a child's hand or husband's hold or nest in a tree hole
separation of powers
daily low intensity warfare
light, radio and gamma waves
Waves of what?
"Matter can be treated by both wave and particle theories (the duality of matter) since its convertible counterpart - light - has long been treated successfully by both theories."
light matter light
Solutions to the equations are called wave functions, or orbitals.
"Religion or the duty which we owe our Creator and the manner of discharging it can be directed only by reason and conviction, not by force or violence. It is proper to take alarm at the first experiment on our liberties. We hold this prudent jealousy to be the first duty of Citizens, and one of the noblest characteristics of the late Revolution. The free men of America did not wait till usurped power had strengthened itself by exercise and entangled the question in precedents. They saw all the consequences in the principle and they avoided the consequences by denying the principle. We revere this lesson too much to soon forget it."
Last night's movie She's No Angel on the Christian channel
begged many essential questions (and had bad music)
the loving liberal successful couple should
keep a shotgun in the home (later used per Shakespeare)
the community's (authority's) reaction to the violence
and precipitating dissembling might have been (per The Crucible)
the golden spiritual couple would subsequently dissemble lobby or defend
themselves and the loved one legally and lengthily (per Dostoyevsky)
unclean tragic outcomes end in Death's cleanliness
ravens eat the fur and guts of bad guesses off the roads (per A Designer
but not I think missing
the deeper lesson
that she is neither her past
nor her wings
but a pure goodness
a light wave
and a particle.
Copyright © Robert Ronnow | Year Posted 2015
You think you’ve gone just far enough,
I could smile knowing you’ve gone far enough that you can’t go back again
You think you were careful but,
I’ve caught a glimpse of your true, wretched form
You think you can find a way into my good graces
I’ve seen what you are, monsters with a friendly costume
You can’t deceive me anymore and, I don’t consort with serpents
You think I’m a game to be played but, trust me, you could never win
Don’t underestimate me
You think I’m a joke but, trust me you won’t be laughing
You think I’m just talking myself up but, trust me, you’re the ones going down
My eyes took too long to adjust
Better late than never
It may take a monster to know one but, I promise my teeth are sharper than yours
My first reaction to the hideous revelation that was your form was to weep
Fall to my knees, maybe even wretch my heart from my chest and onto the carpet
Then I thought about the mess it would make
I decided the only blood that will spill, will be your own
I was not weak, but I had a weakness
A heart of soft gold stitched to my sleeve with care
Now my heart is a stone so heavy
I could kill at least two birds at once
Being the nice guy is a thing of the past
Thanks for freeing me of that softness
You thought I was all sunshine and delicate things
When really I had just been swallowing razor blades
Now that sun is setting and I hope you see it was you who were wrong
Can you feel my darkness coming, because it’s eager to hold you
If you thought I was the one who would just stand still or turn to run
Your gonna be the one with tired feet
I’m not sad anymore
Just sick with the plague of your lies
Contagious, and I’m looking for someone to kiss
Even angels can make themselves wicked
When we do, we take no prisoners
Still think I’m a game
This one is just beginning
Copyright © Alexander Schwartz | Year Posted 2013
Gangsters angling for a deal on wet concrete by the station
Feared for life, but more for death, on the street
Souls purchased with wrong turns
Their associate last week lost his way in the park
An angel pulled up, found him, fed him a line, then a shot
Just for a second his eminence smiled, then died
A red car drove off with the pretty little assassin inside
After taking a kingpin out, removing the competition in a flash
Taking comfort in what a young girl can do when put to task
Now the concrete walk waits for its prey
Directed by others in a sequence of events about to play out
Events initiating a consequence of revenge unfolds
To exact equal pain in retribution for the loss of their boss
The gang had followed him for years and continues to do so
Into an early grave, by seeking out the girl unwisely
From the shadow, an angel came again. This time for them
With a killer’s lust for blood and blessings from above
Stray projectiles fly from all sides, initiated by the parties involved
The spree begins to shape the end of days, taken in an angry rage
Trajectory of chaotic gun fire directed at the gang
Took participants engaged down, one by one, until there were none
These stoic men feel mortality and reality effects
Only at the end of a gun at the point of death as wasted flesh
Saying her name with their expiring breath….. Angel
Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2014
it is the last corridor
loneliest hours are like this
twisted music stops ringing from the belfry
silence that could break bones
with its weight comes in a
thunderous words of a confession
spoken in actions
speak for your own sins
one by one, on a table covered in dust
lay them to untimely rest
this place will be your funeral,
rising the hell from whence you came,
demons grabbing at your ankles
until they drag you back home.
you carved their sentences in grey
red spilling into dirty snow, dirty
conscience, destruction of everything
in your path to glory, friend and foe
in the blood-curdling screams like
the fresh air you don’t deserve
the prayers of a people wasted
in the merciless hands of a child
sick, buttercups in their hair
an angel of death,
savior falling through the cracks
of everything they were a time ago.
it is the end.
Copyright © Oliver C.S. | Year Posted 2016
Unrine bottles piled high while a cascade of piza boxes float near the edge of the pile of garbage. Kings of well regard gather near a train. Scraps of food near by intrigues me but i pass it by for i am in more of a mood for breakfeast. English tea served burning hot fresh and ready for the Irish cream that I add to it feverishly. Serpents scale the wall of my pavilion and yellow lightning strikes fiercely across the autumn sky. Friends of mine regroup and relocate the saber of justice. I plunge my gladius into the beasts back severing the jugular and with no fanfare the devil dies..
Copyright © Della Vossa | Year Posted 2014