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Prose Poetry Freedom Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Freedom

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Details | Prose Poetry | |

TOLERANCE

                         TOLERANCE

I have little tolerance for tolerant people.
Those that will endure the corruption of
the truth, the erosion of meaning.  While at
the same time being intolerant of your
opinions, thoughts, and level of tolerance.

There is a quote attributed to Voltaire:
“I disapprove of what you say, but I will
defend to the death your right to say it.”

How many of the “tolerant” would be willing
to fight for our right to “disapprove of what
they say”?  Hush the crowd so that we might
be heard?  Unblock their ears and hearts and listen?

Does the present day “tolerance”
lack tolerance, lack understanding,
lack the ability to endure a voice that
is not in tune, does not sing the same 
song, does not pray the same prayer?

Or do they tolerate, put up with, the “fool”,
while denying acceptance of his opinions,
his beliefs.  Perhaps the fool is more tolerant than they.
Listening to what they say, watching how they
carry themselves, interact with those “different”
than themselves.

For they think him a “fool”, because they do
not know that he thinks, what he thinks,
and most sadly, they do not care to know.
They will tolerate his presence but not allow
him to be present, listen to his voice yet hear
nothing, speak of equality while lauding their
position, education, power over him.

For they are tolerant only of themselves,
of their ideas, their thoughts, their peers,
their alleged - equals.

They disapprove of us, and what we say,
and will defend their right to keep it so.

John G. Lawless – 6/9/2014 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Pussy -vulnerabilities

Pussy (Vulnerabilities)

Pussy

Men sometimes put no value to sex and the sacred decision a woman might hold dear for the reason to
Submit options of letting you indulge in her essences. See some have had men all over the world and there is one thing for
Sure that pussy has a name never a face, Mumu , myse ,kisse, pepita, catellus, passera, mita it  all mean
The same thing Pussy, pussy, pussy. And the truth of the matter is your sometimes not remembered or
Even thought about once you give the pussy up!
So guard and respect your pussy and you’ll be wiser for not giving it up, I thought of all the times I
Gave up my pussy and grieving the next day he was gone, nothing but a memory of the condom he either didn’t
Or did put on! I have disrespected my body for a moment of pleasure far too valuable to get rid of, and
The 15 minutes or less or if I’m lucky an hour of pleasure soon will be forgotten as he’s on to the next one
Or back with his main love or the one whose holding out, but she worth waiting for.
Pussy is abuse sometimes tainted with the smell of semen left inside you with your naïve ass, I’m not going
Anywhere imma be here for you, trust me so the pussy stinks reeks of disappointment!
As they get dressed to leave a delicate kiss on the forehead and a polite thanks for the pussy!
Don’t be this chick (hold out on giving up the Pussy, be known for your worth)
You’re so much more than ass or pussy! I now know my worth!

Written by Monica Chrisandtras Hines 9/16/2014
You have to be selective and or practice abstinence in order to be valued ,some women get lucky and he does come back the next day ,but for how long ? Men like to chase and if you give it up too easy its a waste of time ,hes no longer interested and will soon prowl for another ! Keep it to your self till the time is right ,if he won't wait then forget about him!


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Winters Freedom

The Sky Wept Unendingly with Snow:

His thoughts in a Frenzied attempt at Normality,
Clung to the idea of a Priceless Freedom.

Striving Forward, splinters of Ice cut and Maimed
Revealed patches of Flesh; Each Sting a Reminder.

A Cascading Avalanche of Memories Swept him
Into the past, amidst Those he Could Remember.

Each, a diminishing aspect of his weakening 
Internal Clock; The Gears, a Rusted Brown.

The Day diminished with him,
His clock struck Twelve.

An Inescapable Crossing of Thin Ice,
Half-Way across, The Gears Halt.

The Ice Gives Way.

The Sky Weeps Unendingly with Snow.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Blackbird

Trapped like a bird in this filthy cage 
Where I am starved of compassion and understanding 
Left to survive on meager crumbs 
Of affection and tolerance
Held captive and unable to fly and be free 
From the physical and emotional restrictions 
Placed upon me by my keeper
 
Who’s only reason for my presence it seems 
Is to stay its loneliness and insecurity 
To feed its selfish need for control 
Through its twisted concept 
Of love and adoration 
I am looked upon as a possession 
Other than the living, breathing individual 
That I long to be 

So now I sit upon my proverbial perch 
In my so called gilded cage
In the confines of my seemingly mundane existence 
And walk though my mind confused and alone
Aimlessly wandering through the now empty spaces 
That no longer hold the dreams or aspirations 
Which I once thought gave my life purpose 

Memories which were bright and alive 
Full of promise and hope but have faded away 
Into a past that is now grey and bleak 
Devoid of anything worth remembering 
My footfalls echo in the silence 
Giving testament that these memories 
Have been empty and forgotten long ago 

My only hopes now are that my keeper 
Will grow tired of my deliberate silence 
And obvious disdain and release me 
Whether through life or by death 
At this point either would be welcome 

How I long for the freedom 
And comfort of the clear blue sky 
The ability to soar like a bird 
High above the reaches 
Of those who only want to keep me 
And fly towards the bright and colorful horizon 
Where I know my future waits 
And new memories and dreams can be made.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Close enough

Closer to the clouds 
Soaring through the soft misty flocks of vapour
Higher
Touching the overstretched never ending horizons
Stronger
Closer to the clouds
Reaching for the elusive galaxy scattered with stars
Wiser.


Metempirical
Scenes
Outside my window, birds perched on window panes
Breathing the hopes of life
Burying their worries, letting them go
Soaring away the pains of yesterday
Home
The distance reassures me of the longer road I have
Waiting working of what might come
Relieving the old alleys
Streets that left me hanging, roaming 
Stranded with loneliness

Pause
Break from the fast pace of life
Dive into total surrender
Break from our shallow life filled with plans
The never ending ambitious dreams
Capturing each moment, not giving any a miss

Forgotten
The small sentiments
The simple notions
The innocent thoughts 
And the crazy bedlams
Unfortunate
Life
Thrive, we will.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Of Man and Nature, a Democratic Union

"I wear my hat as I please, indoors or out"
-Walt Whitman

I walk the land as I want,
the flutter of the dove shudders my 
eyelids, dodging my step.
My soul, linking all souls, passes through 
trees on my trail, bounding among planets 
glimpsed between the apex of pine. I have 
no fear of being beyond my body, nor 
does the seed that falls from spent flower, 
anguish beyond time. The unseen bloom, 
millenial light-years away, shares 
inherrent liberty. Many will gather these 
words and hold them to the highest light, 
that of our Creator, whose compassion 
trifles not with material gain, but with 
justice and liberty for all living things,
(equal with respect to all previous 
sufferings and triumphs centuries before) 
So it is with high diligence I value the true 
compass of man and woman, forever 
linked with our inalienable rights, as 
nature intends.



02/20/14
© All Rights Reserved


Details | Prose Poetry | |

My freedom



Lying on my bed
Afraid to sleep
Crying out loud
To reveal my feelings

Holding my pillow
Afraid of life
Looking far in the blues
To reveal my heart

Locking my door
Afraid to come out
Searching my imaginations
To reveal the reality

Stretching my hands
Afraid to embrace
Calling a dove
To set me free


Details | Prose Poetry | |

DAMAGED MY TRUE LOVE

written 17th Sept 2013



When it comes to love, I AM poisonous
 don't let me curse another, leave me loveless

For the first time in my life, I felt your pain and cried for your heart
 my heart finally hurts, knowing I passed this pain from the start

Please find help to set your heart free
 trust me, it's not a life you recover from easily 

Damaged goods I told you, unrepairable
 but some how, you managed the impossible

Unlovable for my entire life
 yet you had no problem, getting me to become your wife

Yes, it's been more than both of us should have ever had to bear
 at this moment, every cell in my body is overwhelmed, so I really do care

Please don't enter my life's pain and despair  
 you don't deserve it, you are so patient and filled with such love

I'm sorry I let myself fall in love knowing it would poison you
 soul mates forever and eternity, my love belongs only to you...




Details | Prose Poetry | |

Dreamer

Close your eyes for awhile my friend, I heard there lies a moon far behind the black sky, I heard lovers were dancing beneath, can you hear them singing? I can feel their tipsy steps making rhymes on floor, and smell of perfumes filling the air, I heard a sun rises to brighten up their world, and birds do sing them charming melodies at morning, they say they have roses in colors and beautiful trees in the streets, and have they told you about the sea yet? They say it smells so wonderful and the delicate air of seas caresses their cheeks with soft wet breezes, oh my friend, what have we seen in the dark but the fragile ghosts that we are!

“Hush” whispered to me, “I lighted up a moon inside my heart and I smell lilies and jasmine in my nose, my dreams play tunes my heart dance on, they speak to me all night and there I see a starry night floats above, I feel the warmth of a sun in my soul as it hugs tight, whispering to me hymns of love and joy, lightening candles for hopes which had accompanied me amongst the dark, why have you closed your eyes my friend? Look through the colorful roses I painted for you with eyes wide open, let the lights off so you would see clearer, let the lights off so you can brighten up the world that hides with you, for my friend, what have we seen in the dark but the free spirits that we have become!


* If you enjoyed this piece, follow the link and share your thoughts
http://echoes19.wordpress.com/2013/01/22/dreamer-2/


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Justice for All

When Christmas comes, we hope for rebirth of truth and love, man for man,
from the story spoken time after time to children who hear other (hate) words 
and wonder if it's true that Jesus Christ is the Savior and King of the Jews.
Throughout history, the world despises and slings venom as dung for every ear. 
Truth matters not; that God held Jews above every man. Jealousy reigns and 
envy turns to bile. During that "War of all wars," one man, blinded by hate 
and driven by evil, screamed death and power.The German people were victims
of lies, repeated ad nauseam, that force creates a perfect race, a just cause for
 killing the Jews, the lame, the old, the blind, "useless humanity," he called them.

But destruction snares those who hate and justice reigns where hearts are true.
Heroes are born and demons are crushed. After the horrors of war, a peaceful
era when many learn to respect the Jews and deplore the deeds of one vile man.
Only fools applaud evil or excuse atrocities fueled by hate. NATO restored 
their land, re-established the Jewish nation in 1948. Some resisted, and fought 
against them. Why can we not embrace the truth - that every man deserves life, 
free from wrath? The time has come. It's long overdue, Let us see it for Jewish
and Christians alike. For now, the misguided hate us too. We stand together 
against prejudice. 

   When Christmas comes, we hope for rebirth of truth and love, man for man,
from the story spoken time after time to children who hear other (hate) words 
and wonder if it's true that Jesus Christ is the Savior and King of the Jews.
Throughout history, the world despises and slings venom as dung for every ear. 
Truth matters not; that God held Jews above every man. Jealousy reigns and 
envy turns to bile. During that "War of all wars," one man, blinded by hate 
and driven by evil, screamed death and power.The German people were victims
of lies, repeated ad nauseam, that force creates a perfect race, a just cause for
 killing the Jews, the lame, the old, the blind, "useless humanity," he called them.

But destruction snares those who hate and justice reigns where hearts are true.
Heroes are born and demons are crushed. After the horrors of war, a peaceful
era when many learn to respect the Jews and deplore the deeds of one vile man.
Only fools applaud evil or excuse atrocities fueled by hate. NATO restored 
their land, re-established the Jewish nation in 1948. Some resisted, and fought 
against them. Why can we not embrace the truth - that every man deserves life, 
free from wrath? The time has come. It's long overdue, Let us see it for Jewish
and Christians alike. For now, the misguided hate us too. We stand together 
against prejudice. 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Rain the Clouds

bring home a sweet memory in every doing
leave back nothing but take them home
a saviour waits in your midst never forget
take them all back home where they belong

from your heart to your soul its always yours
no matter when your time is right home surely is
no matter how far yet with a hope they wait
all for a home one waits, like a rain and a cloud

nothing breaks it apart day or nightfall it comes
even sometimes to a surprise like a thief at night
do not forget take all back home on a Calvary hill
where it all begin waiting to take you home

peace and security, love and joy
free at will in his arms as he waits
remember your heart alone it matters most
for its you and for you like rain and clouds

never leaving you out of his sight, a sinner or not
it doesn't matter only your heart to draw you home
give it all you have till you have no more
its all free for now just take me home.



Details | Prose Poetry | |

Becoming The Ruler Of Zion

You have the gene in you and the potential is indeed luminous but you want to roar while still a mere cub. Wait and pass through the test cos if it's not a Lion it can never be a Lion. Being a part of the family isn't enough being mentioned in the roll-call isn't final if this makes you satisfied then you are simply an added number and a completer of the table like the inert gas, neon. You need not be a relative to achieve in magnitude the successes of Celine Dion. But effective networks and good friends are the only way or else your hard work will reap no rewards in eon. But take note of your cliques and peel from afar before coming close or else your sight will be bitten by the onion. Dining with loud mouths toiling with scoffers and having a fool as your companion are worse than sleeping with a red hot Iron. Cling unto the tree of these lines and chew from their sour produce then shall you be a champion and the mighty ruler of Zion.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

An End to Aloneness

In my life I often feel I am alone; alone in my thoughts, alone in my musings, alone in my day-to-day movements and unsatisfying activities. I move like a ghost through hallways and down sidewalks, unnoticed and, at times, gratefully so. 
I do not wish to be eternally alone. I long for togetherness. But despite this desire for a real connection, I find myself regularly retreating from that temperamental beast that is human interaction. 

“Come on now, sweetheart. Don’t lower your head. Don’t look away. Look up! Smile at someone! No! Don’t go back into your bedroom. Don’t lock the door! Why are you doing this?” my brain will plea. 

I can’t help myself. Aloneness is comfortable. In being alone, I don’t have to worry about anyone but myself. I don’t have to please anyone else. I can think anything I want, wear anything I want, listen to anything I want, and laugh at anything I want. 

And still there remains that nagging desire to be loved and wanted and needed by somebody. I do not know the feeling of being truly desired. I do not know what it is like for someone to crave my company, my smile, my kiss, or my touch. 

                                                                              But I would like to…

I cannot make someone love me or like me or want me in some primal way. It may hurt, but I cannot make that handsome boy want to hold my hand or brush my hair back behind my ear. I can only struggle on. I can only work within myself. I can only try every God damn day to hold my head up, keep my eyes fixed ahead, a give the world the best smile I have. I and I alone can bring myself out of the safety of my bedroom and into the bright world that lies beyond that locked door. 
	
I often find myself alone with nothing more than my thoughts and the ever-strong glow of a computer screen. But no longer will aloneness be the constant in my life. It is true that never having known the caress of a man’s hand on my thigh doesn't make me any less of a woman, but I fear that if I stay confined within myself much longer I will begin to become less of a human. A flower cannot grow if it retracts its leaves and petals every time it feels the warmth of the sun or the kiss of a gentle spring rain.  
	
And I want to grow. I want to grow so tall and blossom so big and beautifully that every place on earth is touched by my shadow at some point in the day. And I will grow. I will push myself and share myself with the world, and finally
							                                 finally
								                                   finally
know the closeness and comfort of love and honest, unabashed companionship.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

From Seed to Shining Seed only in America

There is a plant that is making the news...
It has so many names,  you might be confused...
Mj , hashish, pot, reefer and weed...
Just to name a few and it grows from a seed...
A drug that’s been illegal for many years...
And when mentioned put’s fear in a parents ears...
There was a President, however, that stated he...
Lit up once , not thinking you see...
Tried it in college...but never inhaled...
Lucky for him, no one ever blackmailed... 
So for a number of years , it has been Taboo...
To smoke this plant , and if anyone knew...
You might lose your standing in the community...
However, now it’s up to the government you see...
To pass a bill for you and me...
So  we can smoke it as we wish...
Alas...it would become a legal “ fetish “....



Details | Prose Poetry | |

Break the Clouds

Thrust up from the firmament and break the clouds.

Wring from the world the Water of Life in its crystalline perpetuity as raiment.

Bend the wind around your back and send to me the most undeniable of siren songs.

Send your mirage of eternity to these eye-blink lives longing for forever and I will bear my bones with feather-light heart to the sight of your object eye.

For only there can I see how tiny and fleeting are all my fears.
And all my triumphs.

Show me the illusion and may I know it for Smoke before the mirror.

The dreams of the Mountain haunt the step of every day.

Memories of freedom to those in chains.

What are they worth?

Nothing at all.
And Life itself.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Suicide: A Path to Freedom

Why is it when someone go kill them self 
That they always have to go for such a violent way?
Is your life so miserable?
Wouldn't you want to go pain free?
To become pain free
In order for the deed to be done
A violent way is the only option
Is there something wrong with that picture?


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Pleasure in Possibilities


Writing my prose,
unmeasured.
Sometimes I try poesy,
another pleasure.
Untrained. Unskilled.
But, what a joy!
to freedom,
my thoughts I find.
And so, as day by weeks
would turn into a lifetime, could be
the possibilities concocted by gods
may be.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Gator Bait Series 1st Cold Snapped

The wind was blowing when she left the city...

I believe it was twenty below...

Where she was going she already knew...

But... first she had things she had to do...

Get rid of the body that was clear....

There were no options, it had to disappear....

The heater was broken and blowing cold air...

She could feel the ice, building up in her hair..

She had cleaned up the blood as best she could...

As she had hit him hard with that log of wood...

All she had asked him, was to light a fire...

To take off the chill in the house....

Do it yourself if you are cold...he snapped

And while you’re at it get me a cold beer...from the fridge..




It was early morning when she finally arrived at the bridge..

This was his favourite fishing spot...

She pushed his body off the pier...along with his ice cold beer..

And suddenly began to shiver and sneeze.....

Oh well, she said...this too shall pass..

When I get to the Florida Keys..


PS..this is the first in a series..watch for part 2.."gator bait..the dream "










Details | Prose Poetry | |

Caged Lion

Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: Caged Lion
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: June/1986


    He raised his head above the 
cell from which he had been 
caged for many years -

    Out beyond the locks, and 
chains, shuffling visions of 
freedom waltzed before his 
ageing frown, and vacant
stare -

    To him, it seemed that hope 
whistled between the bars, only 
to die inside his heart -

     But, the lion inside him 
roared! and would never stop 
fighting to be free, from the 
cage with black steel bars -


Details | Prose Poetry | |

THE SET OF BETRAYAL


THE SET OF BETRAYAL

The politician sleeks up a path in his new limousine
on a hunt a hunt for our votes...opens the door
money exchanges hands... i will see your voters.....
village come the next general erections..Vrooms out...

Such is the fate of ignorant masses..  ..who sell
the soul of the land for a few pitiful dirty notes..
thoughtless humans... whose only claim to reason
is an outstretched hand.. ready to receive peanuts
and vote in the leader - vote in the plunderer...
of our resources- cry our mother nation..

The enemies of my people.. the enemy of Africa
lives in state houses... and runs state resources,
he has powerful masters abroad who-receives the 
souls bought from the people sacrificed at the 
alter of greed and neo-colonialism

who will help the dark continent
who will help Africa........ only..
only AFRICAN RENAISSANCE WILL..
A shout out ..for the movement is alive
a shout out .......African RENAISSANCE



Lewis k nyaga


Details | Prose Poetry | |

I Survived Janjaweed Part 1

I was a girl of only 5 years when I looked across the desert and saw a cloud of smoke covering the skies off in the distance.  I remember being afraid that my grandmother might be hurt because she lived there with my Uncle Sofarlo, his wife and my cousins.         
     It was during the season of the drought, so the sky was bright blue everywhere except above Grandma’s Village.  I thought that the blazing sun had sparked a flame in one of the huts.  All I could do was hope that Grandma was okay.
     A few days later, one of my cousins, Lekelo, stormed into our hut and collapsed on the ground.  He said that Uncle Sofarlo was a little way behind and was bringing grandmother in a cart.  
     I never saw Lekelo so thin.  His face looked like leather stretched over a skull.  His skin was scorched and terror shown through the tiny slits of his sunken eyes.  They were almost swollen shut.  His tears had made mini-gullies through the ashes that stuck to his charred face.
     He fell to the floor of our hut and Mom ran over to put a blanket under him.  My oldest sister drew a bucket of water and brought some leaves to wash and soothe his wounds.  Everyone was running around trying to help him revive, but it did not look good.
     Of course I was terrified.  I might have been only five, but I knew that something awful must have happened.  He kept muttering the same thing over and over, “Janjaweed, Janjaweed, Janjaweed” until finally, he spoke no more.  
     Dad frantically sounded the drum.

Copyright 10-13-2014

I chose Dafarian Genocide.
Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: GENOCIDE: SPEAK FOR THE LOST... the FORM IS POETIC PROSE  Sponsor	Cyndi MacMillan

BE SURE TO READ THE CONCLUSION IN PART 2.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Refrigerator Love

Refrigerator Love (Poem)
God, I don't really know why You made the breadth of Your Son's arms stretch far enough apart to allow your living breath inside of dying lungs like mine. My sin is the tree cut down and shaped into the crucifix. For years, I took the blood of Your Son and smeared it over the wood, trying to splinter the genes from Your hands from ever matching mine. 
So why are you still molding me in Your image? I've always been attracted to the wrong people, places and things like a noun with bad grammar, but You spell I love you all over my surface like refrigerator magnets until it sticks. I've been outdated since the day I was born, and the 90's left my life so fast I swear they ran to the 21st century outlet to pick up a better model of me. My insides have grown freezer frigid over the years, but You've kept my heart preserved. I've left a few more spoiled memories on my shelves longer than I would've liked. Back then, I just loved the look of them still alive in me so much that I never learned to let go when I thought my life was still in one piece. Compost my past like the gardener You are. I'm on my knees begging to You to plant and harvest seeds in Your fields that will grow into fruits without expiration dates. Father, Your food is eternal because Your love is everlasting. Reverse me like a walking tomb, and let me be the body for Your Spirit to live in.
Tend to my inside circuits, and help me be a bright, electrical vessel,
Continually kept running through the night so others can see You too.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

THY FREEDOM COME

Am yearning  for  freedom,
A space of mine to thrive,
To have a decent and happy home,
And a swimming pool when hot I can dive

 
I wanna join the dots to form a straight line,
To establish a fine career path,
Avoid corrupt tenders to sign,
God gimme courage to calm the rage of the psychopath.

 
Lemmi break free from this love triangle,
Still deliberating on the escape angle,
Hey,Miley  gimme that wrecking ball,
Finally decided to break this gable wall.

 
Hey problem,you’ve made me cry,
Endlessly agonizing me  night and day,
It’s time I shout a bold “DIE”
Infact,in my opinion you are nay!!


Details | Prose Poetry | |

FREEDOM DON'T COME CHEAP

to be free
you must have the key
some paid the way
for us today
and have our say
still there more to go
on and off your feet
don't be defeat

FREEDOM 
DON'T COME CHEAP


Details | Prose Poetry | |

COME, LET US BEAT THE ANCESTRAL DRUM

  COME, LETS BEAT THE ANCESTRAL DRUM

Sitting here flowing
through the meters of time
like a smooth spring stream
meandering through forest greens,
I peruse the many folds
of the caverns of this fluid mind of mine;
searching for words that would rhyme
to tell the stories of illustrious dreams.

Life can sometimes be void,
emotionless and quite stoic; but
such cannot be the condition or position
of the darker hued poet.

We too, have stories of old to be told too;
the eager minded needing to know.
So rise you mighty Griots; and
weave the tales of our great kings and queens.

Let us hail the coming of ages
of our beginnings here; landing
packed like sardines in a can---
we have still survived;

And now here we stand rooted in this land;
no longer shrouded by the veil of fear.
Body and Soul, we‘re still here;
a new day has dawned and we’ve arrived.

Come children, beat the ancestral drum:
Ba Dom! Ba Dom! Ba Dom! Dom! Dum!
Its Jubilee time!  Liberation time!  Beat the drum:
Ba Dom! Dom! Dom! De Dum! Dom Dum!
		
		The freedom bell has rung:
		Ba dom dom dom!


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Land of The Living

Face the west. 
Face the stone and turn your back on your chains.

A wraith you arrived, but now life overflows with every ragged breath.

Let your heart brim with resolve, your eyes with the mountain and wake from the dream.

Your legs be your escape, fill them with your ambition. 
Bend the world on it’s side with your will and ascend Jacob’s Ladder.

Gently kindle the cold flame of fear to lend your hand a mighty aspect, and squeeze life itself from the ancient stone.

A hold secure -- your anchor to the living, relinquished reluctantly for another a little further up.

Ascend till the mountain speaks: "No higher can I bear you mortal." "Take your prize and share this lonely view with me awhile."

Pride swells as the turn of your head commands reality's scope.

This is your Triumph. 
The summit -- your chariot. 
The wind -- your anthem. 
The mountain -- your charioteer, whispers: "Memento Mori."

A few moments of freedom and then like the doppleganger of all western heroes, face the east, turn your back to the setting sun and descend.

The journey is only half finished. Bear out your exhausted dounemount to it's conclusion and reluctantly leave the land of the living.

Home is a place you can only visit between your slumbers.
God preserve me in my sleep that I might wake once more.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Family Meeting

The dreaded day of the family meeting arrived
Elder planning, liquidating assets and dispersing 84 years of belongings

Excuses, postponing, manipulations, whining and reasonings--
Valid each and present

Partners in crime, codependent family structure with high disfunctional
communicaton skills, L-O-V-E spelled out many times like the sword of truth
and breastplate of righteousness. 

Words were pitched and hurled then stroked like a fine persian cat with silken fur.
At the end of the day, with the word pile left in the floor like discarded dung; I 
tucked my tail and departed. I hope against all odds that tomorrow will be a better 
day and the grim reality of lost freedom will be swallowed with honey and accepted. 
Instead of preparing for battle with gloves and sword. Until the stretched car takes 
you away, be peaceful my love, L-O-V-E, spelled with emphasis on the OH OH.
My freedom is going quickly, along with my parents freedoms to chose and plan, 

I will become responsible to see they get a bath, meals, medical care and to the 

store. Will I have time for me?

Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray the lord my words to sweep
Away from the bitter heep
I pray the lord my heart to keep!


Details | Prose Poetry | |

LETS GET AWAY

we need to take atrip
where they pop whip
and have a  dip
all work and no play
hey
LETS GET AWAY


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Fire and the Warrior

Out of the fire,
Life grows.
The flames burn strong, 
Bold,
And sear my soul.
My heart grows faint,
Weary.
The pain,
The intolerable pain,
Burning.

Yea, though I walk through the valley
Of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil;
I will fear no evil in the flames,
Searing,
Searching,
To cleanse my soul;
To release the Light
In the dark night
of my soul.

In the fire,
Love brings forth life
Out of pain;
Darkness exposed;
Evil released;
My heart cleansed
Set free;
Life grows.

Shall I endure
For lessons to be learned
And freedom to obtain?
Shall I wait upon the Lord
To be set free?
Will I persevere?

The Warrior rises up;
To fight;
To endure;
For victory is sought.
Out of fire
New life grows.

The journey long
And narrow is the way.
The day becomes night
My heart weary
Loses might;
Becoming faint;
Despair.

The Warrior,
Champion of my soul
Rises up,
To fight,
To endure;
To persevere;
For victory to claim.
Out of the fire
New life grows
Giving rise to hope.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Lovely Birds Life

Birds are happy pleased I swear
They are satisfied 
Homes in the trees
Early in the morn, hungry they go
At sunset, full they come
Every day is a festival
They talk birdsong
Daytime among verdure and flowers
Raindrops their showers
Sleeping on time
Healthy they are
No impression nor vigil
Marriage in a minute
No money
No mine nor yours
Just fly to get things
All things are free
The land is wide
The sky is wider
Wake up and fly!