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Prose Poetry Pain Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Pain

These Prose Poetry Pain poems are examples of Prose Poetry poems about Pain. These are the best examples of Prose Poetry Pain poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Prose Poetry | |

It's All About Me

I believe in lots of things I can't see 
My dreams are like a ship's consciousness 
drowned in the ocean 
I want to live for a reason 
How I wish I could resign 
from myself 

How I wish now I was wrapped 
on a bed neither to move my hands 
nor my feet 
I try to feel but I have no feelings 
My soul is rich my spirit feels poor 
I have a brain that feels unconscious 
I got married but was never in love 
I am alive yet I wish I was dead 

I wanted to stay but I had to leave 
I have tears but cannot weep 
I've got memories 
yet I crave to forget them 
I feel a storm coming 
without rain or thunder 
People die but I cannot mourn 

I am friendly but have no friends 
I think I am intelligent but I feel numb 
I thought I graduated 
but threw away my diploma 
I have a birthday with no wishes 
I dream yet I forget them 

I had a castle yet I feel I'm living in a hut 
I have courage but I cannot face it 
I am a body that looks like a skeleton 
My heart beats but I cannot hear it 
The sky is blue but I see gray 

My voice 
You dwell too much about the past 
that taught you to be so cruel 
I loved but nobody loved me 
The flowers were blooming 
but I saw them dead
I was a violin with broken strings 
when I could not hold my anger 

If I could only scream to listen to my echo 
I rode a horse without a saddle 
I was at the beach and I saw no ocean 
I walked on the land but felt 
only rocks 

My feet were bleeding I cut them off 
I wake up at dawn but I feel its dark 
I rang the bell nobody opened 
I was on the roof top and my soul fell down 
I watched a beginning it felt like the end 

Therese Bacha
14 November 2014.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

My Farewell

                      If I forget you, would you remember me?
                       If I still love you, would you still love me?
                      If I fall when old, would you lift me up?
                       If I sleep, would you sleep by me?
                          If I run away, would you follow me?
                       But If I stay, would you stay with me?
                        If I see you, would you recognize me?
                               I know you would Not.
                           That is why, I wish I would whisper 
                               And not hear myself. 
                                   I wish I could cry 
                                   not feel my tears
                                    nor feel my fears.
                               Tonight, my final Farewell.
                                     Therese Bacha
                                     24 August 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |

It Is A Sin

It is a sin for Gregory to be a miser even to himself accumulating infinite fortune with a half-bedroom to show for it It is a sin for miss Zane to gain special gratitude from her male mates. Coming late every night with a different driver, parading her flashy dividends as she becomes a model for fashion updates It is a sin for Sarah, not taking care of herself with her body becoming rounder but still feeds more than an entire Orphanage. Initially, a very attractive young lady but now looks like an Old sorcerer. It is a sin for Baker to be a clergy and at the same time a gambler lavishing in style and losing without remorse Hell will let loose if his sponsor is the Church's finance. Regardless of his anointing, he's still not beyond the people's wrath. It is a sin for Dawson to drive through many open legs as he jumps from skirt to skirt and acquainting himself with all forms of underwear, playing the bad guy who never gets caught. It is a sin to stay idle and observe them wrongly drawing conclusions from every action without minding their motives or reasons analyzing closely even while sitting from afar giving no consideration to the human Nature which exists in imperfection and faint stains. It is a sin castigating the weaknesses of others while overlooking mine thereby condemning the crimes I do not commit which does not make me better either. As much as they do not know where I faulter Judging them makes me worst than a sinner.

Details | Prose Poetry | |


The spring is coming in a slow pace,
But I can sense something in the air,
Something coming out of nowhere,

I stood in front of the elevator on the third
floor in a nice old hotel,
Going to a small diner with friends,
Some nice food and wine to fill my soul with

The door opened, and I saw a man inside,
Thinking how I must have lost my mind, after
so many years, it can’t be You,

And I stood frozen, and You stood frozen,
Until the grey metal doors closed and brought
me back from the Universe of lost souls,

I run downstairs to stop you leave,
Seeing unfamiliar faces, seeking for you - my
ghost from the past,
While You pushed the elevator button many
times, screaming loudly: go up, third floor,
now, go, move… Is it her, or I’m loosing my

And the doors opened, but nobody was there,
You couldn't find me- your lost love, your
ghost from the Universe of lost souls.

I screamed, You screamed,
We screamed in an erupting pain so the whole
Universe can hear us,
Could it be that we lost each other again?

I took the stairs and went up,
I could feel how our pain reunites,
I could feel that a lost soul is shouting three
floors above,

And I saw You on your knees staring in the
elevator doors,
And You felt my presence coming from
You felt my steps getting closer,
And You stood up,
Seeing tears coming from my eyes,
While I touched yours going through your

We didn't say a word,
But our minds were talking,
We didn't say a word,
But our eyes were walking us through our
history together,

We didn't say a word,
But our hands....
Our hands united,
Our souls united breaking these cold hotel
Breaking the ice around our harts,
Breaking the past,
Amusing the whole Universe of lost souls!

Details | Prose Poetry | |


Darkness all around, nothing visible,
All hopes down, nothing seemed feasible,
As i sat in an empty room full of thoughts,
Where actually i went wrong?
Answers for these questions i sought. 

I missed, i cared, i excessively loved you,
To the height of madness, obsessively adored you,
The beautiful eyes, the luscious thick black hair, 
Admired you so much, your softness so rare.

From the moment i woke to the time i slept,
Eat, smiled, laughed with you and even wept, 
All the time i wanted you with me,
Even if it is a little time i get free.

Initially u loved my maniac behavior,
All the time YOU, my madness never a failure,
Slowly you began to push me away, 
And started complaining about me in every way. 
''Possesive, angry, height of banishing freedom,
I feel like a princess imprisoned in a kingdom!
You dont understand me whatsoever,
My thoughts and views are nothing to you but haver. 
Don’t stick to me day and night please,
 I want my space for the stress to release. 

A gush of sorrow flowed through my heart,
In pieces it shattered and scattered apart,
Where was i wrong, i began to wonder?
Was loving too much, a point to ponder?
I only loved you with sky as the limit,
And wanted the best for you instead of cheap tricks and gimmicks, 
With a hope that you would be only mine,
As my wife and angel guarding me all life,
But your words don't show that your happy with me,
All the sacrifices i make are thus worthless indeed,
So whats the point of my loving you so crazy? 
When all you want is your space comfortable and easy? 
Am i a bot for romantic poems and care,
To cheer you up everytime and emotions to share? 
Or do you want me to love but in boundaries?
So that you have your own time and luxuries?
Or may be you want me to agree all what you say?
For your happiness each and every day, 
Because my love for you will always be infinte,
As no one can ever love you in the world as i might,
Or May be i am too dumb to know,
To love is to just bow down to the flow,
Because i want you in my life in failures and success,
Because only in you i will always see my princess.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Rain Contemplation

The grayness, the rain tapping all around tapping, gently, the repetition of the rain
the grayness, all the same, the tapping. A zen monk would smile as he washed
the pots and pans, amidst the grayness  the gentle tapping. He would pat the dog 
lying sleepy and dry on the ground. He would meditate and breathe in
the cool moist clean air. And he would smile again.  The american in me feels 
 restless and empty.  Unable to pull up the boundless youthful energy I no longer
have and dash out into this day of rain overflowing with ideas and hopes 
fearless. Change meant moving forward, upward, onward. The energy 
boundless joy, the accomplishments to obtain   accomplish   form   produce  create.
Just as a simple zen monk, smiling as the kitchen gardens are nourished by the
tapping rains, I need to feel at home in a small world again. We all do I think.
The earth, she might survive then, replies the tapping rain.  
She needs to rest   the body   the pain  the breath 
She needs to rest.  
We might all survive then repeats the tapping rain.
And I need to rest, the pain pleads with me to accept rest.
If we all could accept this something less, undefined emptiness 
The earth, she might manage to survive then.

Details | Prose Poetry | |


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 | |

Forever I am You

You believe me to be an altruistic man as I smile with sneering reluctance. 
You may think me gentle as I extend my hand in goodwill, but degraded am I as I wistfully watch my hand recoil from your filthy phalanges with its foul clutch. 
You wave me off poised as I stand here in this field laden with perennial flowers as they stir aloft, but unbeknownst to you I berate you as you retreat afoot and go forth from my company into the night. 
You deliver beautiful words in my image unto your friends, but I carry your name with seething indiscretion into the fire.
You entitle me as a "friend", but I explicitly fornicate your secrets as I spitefully scathe and scoff unto you.
You divulge your mysteries but I deprecate them and take exception to your standing as I plunge you within rueful nether worlds foreboding in treachery and wretchedness...
Why? For I have no pride unto you.
You place your life you into my palm and recite proverbs appealing for my heart unto yours, but guileful am I and in wicked glee do I carry unto the grave your beauty with its secrets. 
You inscribe me as a "fiancée" into forever without recognising the falsifier whose witness bears mistaken. 
You smile as your recite dreams aforementioned in times bygone, but I chastise you, and your children do I condemn into hell for their fondling fledgling and fornicated perversions.  

You call me a "friend", but I am forever you

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Forgotten Clothes and Stolen Whiskey

She left me cold, like a forgotten sweater.

Walked right out the door, without even checking the weather.

Now I’m crumpled up by the fireplace, frayed by the rough

edges of ashen bricks that smell of burnt flowers and sun tan lotion:

That stuff she always seemed to smell like, even in the harsh depths of winter. 

But coconut oil and rose petals aren’t enough to regulate body temperature;

So, I guess it was the whiskey that kept her flush that night,

because in the heart pocket of my jacket that she stole  

was a flask of absolution.

Each block she rounded, she doused her frigid organs with

another shot to warm the notion of shattering the path we built.

Fueling a new engine, to carry her blur past the life we once thought

was forged by two souls meant to keep each other warm.

But now this existence is kindled by abandoned perrineals 

and bloodshot revelation. 

I watch fire kissed petals curl up into themselves and gasp

for love’s last embrace until there’s nothing left for the 

fire to feed upon. 

It’s 3 A.M. 

The smoke is beginning to dissipate;

her throat is dry, her legs are tired. 

…We’re both so tired. 

I pull her sweater from the bricks,

feel the wool tear and clench my ribs. 


I fold her warmth gently as if tending

to a wounded animal and tuck it

beneath my skull; hoping for dreams 

of summer nights, but sleep won’t come.

It left with her. 

She has reached her apartment.

Staggering toward the door, 

she thrusts shaking hands into

my jacket in search of keys.

The flask falls onto the concrete,

the last drops spill out. 

There is nothing left.

The door opens, and she falls to the bed,

cold in the leather too uncomfortable to return. 

-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Gator Bait Series 2nd Crossing the Line

It’s that time of year when I think of you....
And all the strange things we used to do...
We were young and cast our fate to the wind...                                                  
Regardless of the message that we might send..
Out to the world , cause we didn’t care...                                                                       
And that’s what brings me here to share....
You treated me just like a queen honey bee..                                                                
And I believed and worshiped thee...
We shared our ups and downs together...                                                                        
In thick and thin and stormy weather...
What was mine was mine and yours was mine.....                                                         
And we never ever crossed that line !
I assumed it would always be just you and me...                                                            
As no one else appealed you see....
My friends said you will break my heart...                                                                       
But I told them that, I was just too smart....
As I remembered , what I was taught....                                                                         
That no one could control my thought...
And then it happened I lost my heart....                                                                          
My bracelet, my watch and my college  ring...
And then you did that awful thing...                                                                               
You lied , you cheated , you  had stolen my bling...
And that’s why now you aren’t around....                                                                       
Plus no way... will you EVER.... be found....
Cause I live where the GATOR is king......                                                                no one steals my BLING !

Details | Prose Poetry | |

To Walk In The Rain

To Walk In the Rain
As the cold rain blew, I kept walking for miles with my little  dogs walking with me.  We were 
a little family and so we were in this healing thing together.  We had to walk as a family 
together.  Besides, don’t dogs like to walk?

I carried a big umbrella holding it over them.  The rain gently washed the tears from my face 
and masked my face as I cried.  I sobbed and sobbed as I walked.  Often pleading to God to 
end my pain or begging him to strike me dead with lightening.

As the thunder roared and my spirits soared, I could yell
with hostile anger as loud as I wished to yell.  Hours of
walking in the rain is the only thing that eased my pain.

My dogs must have thought that I had gone insane.  For months at night all we did was walk 
in the rain.  Only when spring came and the birds chirped at us did the sun dry away all of 
my tears.

Every night we still walked but not as many miles as before, until we were soaked.  I walked 
so much that I wore the soles out of my tennis shoes.  But it was all I could do to medicate 
my pain and sooth my broken heart way, to walk in the rain.

Thank goodness for the cleansing rain.  It healed me that year.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Hopeless

Every night she paints the sky a little darker,
blotting out stars that she’s given up on.
Burning balls of dust that her imagination can
no longer shoulder. Someone else can have
their light; Someone with a little hope left.
She’d rather draw in grey scale memories,
outline them in crimson. It’s a little more 
realistic that way; contemporary at least.
The few last glowing bits in the horizon
give all that is needed for the final strokes
of her legacy. 
A promise to herself,
                               A tribute to the fallen,
                                   A gift for those who are sure wander onto the    
                                    path that she found, so long ago.
"Maybe it will save them.
                                     Give them what they need to find their way.”
She lay her brush unto the stone before her,
and let the grass take the blood from her hands
before she reaches out.
One final star shines in her eyes,
the only one left to guide them home.
-James Kelley 2013, All rights reserved

Details | Prose Poetry | |


For we perceive beyond the rainbow,
Beyond the shadow of gravity holding ISS.
Caught not in a void
But like bees wading in their own honey,
Pollinating space with thoughts …

Our tent did blow from on high
Exposing this nakedness.
They, uncomprehending,
A soul did incarcerate; 
Feeding barest morsels shared with rats;
Though famished eyed her fleeting skirt.
So did she infiltrate his racked dreams?
Spittle healing cuts; kisses soothing bruises,
Milk nourishing hunger … 
Tears washing away grimy sorrow.

Such comfort in the bounds of direst misery …

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Demon Inside Me

I feel it stirring deep inside

Ready for it's chance to come alive

I try and try to get away

But it's hold on me I can not sway

I try to hold the demon deep inside

But it's ugly head I can not hide

I hope for some peace when I sleep 

But even there it haunts me

It's ripping and tearing my soul apart

I know one day it will stop my heart

It whispers in my ear

It tells me things that I fear

It's eating me slowly from inside

Just to laugh when I cry 

I can't chase the demon away

So I just sit and wait until the day I fade away......

Details | Prose Poetry | |

An Affair with Death

I knew I was gone when I went into the sleep..
There was no guilt or pain insight..
I’ve never had an affair of the heart.. of mind, body and soul..
The comfort I felt was beyond words from my mind...
And I was destined to fall under his spell...
The fire I felt on my skin began to rage..
 I became like an animal in a cage..
Every time I drew back, he pushed me forward..
I could feel his arms embrace me like no other,
His strength overpowered me and breathing became a necessity..
I gasped each time we danced the dance..
I could feel life’s breath leaving my body..
As he held me tighter and tighter..
I have never known such ecstasy as I drew each breath as the last..
Don’t know why I gave in so easy, temptation is not one of my virtues..
I’ve always weighed the pro’s and cons..
Who is this man of many tricks that I would succumb to him ?
I am smarter than this I thought in one lucid moment..
Be gone I said.. leave me alone I do not want to follow you..
All you want is my soul... and I am not ready...
When I am I will call you....

PS. This was a recent experience I had in the ICU...

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Death is Kind

To my grieving friend....

Tell me—
What is death, oh grieving friend?

As we plummet in the midst of perversion and strife
Energy drained from the hardships of life
We lose our sense of being—we subside
We gaze upon the peace of graves—death is kind

Engraved upon the oldest stones we read “Rest in Peace”
And as the days go by it seems the pain will never cease
And as those days Die
For the living—death is kind

Why then, Life, do you torture us so?
Are you waiting for the day when we’ll let you go?
Fleeting…fading…see us unwind
Time and Life seem so unkind
As if—they have left our souls behind

Tell me—what is death?
And what of Life, oh doubtful friend?

Our souls shimmer upon the stones
With all the deceased we can’t feel alone
Freedom seeps through these eternal beds
For the gift of life will find its end

Meanwhile, we’ll just wait for the day
When pain will subside and peace will stay
And rotting centuries later—you will surely find
That—yes! Death is truly, sincerely kind

So—I implore you, my shady friend
Allow this life to find its end
Don’t lose yourself—the grieving must cease
Just let him Rest in Peace

Details | Prose Poetry | |

We Ain't Got That Kind-a Shine

ladies of the night 
are dressed in finest lace 
while hiding in the shadows 
where they never leave a trace 
on barren - broken - bastard streets 
these ladies have no face 
with tarnished tassels in their hair 
they stand like statues there and stare 

the ladies of the night 
now lean in darkened doorways while 
they sip selected wine 
and watch two lovers writhe entwined 
upon the floor where bleeding whores 
are losing life from open sores 
where punctured veins and death remains 
inside a fantasy that reigns 
with bitter dreams of better things 
that lost tomorrows never bring 

now lovers covered - soiled and stained 
with bursting leaks from wounded veins 
where needles of inclusion 
can create and make illusion 
last beyond the degradation 
as they stride in "sharp" persuasion 
unto death of one whole nation 
in complete discreet oblation 

can't find a lot of pity 
in a dark and dirty city 
as the waste is placed in alleyways 
and vagrants void themselves 
on steamin' streets at dawn 
while new commuters stop to yawn 
as night concerns now fade to gone 

all is lost at higher cost 
inside a pride that has been tossed 
onto the gutter - 
where machismo men just shudder 
as they lose their life-time rudder 
leaving all directions and erections 
on the street's abstract inflections 
just before they lose connection 
with their soul 

forgetting obligations 
where unique configurations 
seem to supplement and compliment 
the pain 
the mutual - conceptual - PAIN 

who is the dreamer and who owns the dream? 
who is the screamer in the scream? 
it's you and I dear friend of mine 
we dream the dream and scream the scream 
as part of Eden's Garden Scene 
but we don't ever cross the line 
cause we ain't got that kind-a shine 

Details | Prose Poetry | |


Awaken me, Lord.
Open my ears that I may hear the voices,
Of those wo cry out for help.
Let me not be deaf to their pleas,
Lest they perish, because I would not hear.

Awaken me, Lord,
That I might make a difference.
Open my eyes that I may see those who suffer.
Let me not be blind to their needs,
Lest they perish because I would not see.

Awaken me, Lord.
Clear my mind that I may undersrtand the plight,
Of those who cannot help themselves.
Let me not be ignorant in my comfort,
Lest they perish because I was thoughtless.

Awaken me, Lord.
Open my heart that I may truly feel,
For all who suffer and have need.
Let me not be cold and unfeeling,
Lest they perish because I would not care.

Awaken me, Lord.
Loose my hands that I may reach out,
To those for whom You have suffered and died.
Let me not be lazy, or fearful of what others might think,
Lest they perish because I would not reach out.


Once when I was out walking I heard a dog screaming in agony begging to be let inside out of the cold. I just laughed to myself saying to myself that the dog was acting like she was dying out there. I paid her no mind sense the dog wasn't mine.
Later when I passed by again all was quiet. I figured the owner had let her in.
The owner wasn't home.
They went to school and to work forgetting the dog was still outside.
Just because it's an animal that doesn't mean they don't matter or "don't feel pain like we do". Pain is pain and it HURTS. They feel it like we do they just can't tell us because they can't speak our language but they speak in every other way if we will just listen.
That dog died in agony because I didn't listen and her owners FORGOT ABOUT HER.

Details | Prose Poetry | |


Mostly I care about my heart 
But always crush my heart
I don’t want to know if there is anyone for me
Just sad for losing everything who was for me
All things going wrong out of that

Away! Away! Away! Away!

Details | Prose Poetry | |


Bitter Sister:

Don't want to leave
like this
want to pick you up
in my arms 
kiss you and tell
you - I have 
stored away and
this love I have for

Don't want to feel
like this,
Like the only way
into your 
heart is when it's
Making it seem as if
I hate you

When I just don't 
want you to hate me.
Never could 
I even dislike
you,snide remarks, 
I have endured-
Because I hoped,
and took the shots. 

Realizing that my 
defense was strong
my retaliation could

kick you into
I surrendered 
I Love you 
too much, to let 
you continue hurting

yourself, to hurt

You won't see me
As I aggravate 
your condition on
your guilty,trading 
places with
as I remind you of
well held onto

The truth is I want
hold you and tell
It's fine-
I want to clear your
let you see that 
the love is here 
It cannot be
I cannot complete 
the task;until you

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 | |

Quench Their Thirst

their every heartbeats are for each other
no intake of food
they live on love
they drink each other’s smiles
nurture their love
his, every tender word
her nourishment 
his touch sends shivers up her spine
his thought only of her
she is his dream girl
never did she believed that one day 

her dreams would come true
and still she is dreaming of him
still she is longing for him
when she looks into herself
she aches at night without his touch
because she is not with him
 words spoken
desires placed on hold
soon her dream will come true
together they will quench
their thirst for true love...

Details | Prose Poetry | |


Every night, we take the moon home. 
Split it in half,
and tuck it away beneath our ribs
for safe keeping. I always wince,
because of bruises that never 
heal but her smile kills that pain,
and when we get home
we get to dance under the same
light that led us to each other,
fashioning our love to the 
ceiling above, so it’s shine
can light the only world that
matters to us anymore. 
When we get home,
the rest goes dark,
and Earth’s rotation
adapts, forced to synchronize
with the steps of our feet
across the only real living room.
She says she’ll give it back 
when I decide the pain is
no longer worth walks in the
shade of rain.
t  e a s 
             ing   me with 
the zap of lightning’s charm.
But you see, 
this burdened cage of love’s misery
is a metronome’s swing to the 
beat of infinity. 
And so I press play on the 
heart of this, my favorite song
and once again, hold out my 
hand..and wait for her to
take my pain away.
-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.

Details | Prose Poetry | |


As Both human and fox, she knows the pains of life that belong to each.

Her cunning, wit, and charm serve her well. her life has been harrowing 
Outcast from both her kith and kin she is too human for the fox, too fox for the humans.
But she at last found a place where she belonged thanks to the one human who  can still accept her For what she is, both human and fox

Your welcome Kitsune

you have made my life peacefull whilst you are near
and for that i thank you

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Wishing you could love me too

You mean so much to me, more then you'll ever know. 
More then ill ever be able to describe.
But I'll try.
Voice of a angel, touch ever so soft you would think its a feather.
Eyes so beautiful seeing them on a sunset day, medusa stare ever so hypnotizing locking eyes can't look away.
Baby in the tummy, heart just started beating giving me a rush that I really needed.
Love so old I feel defeated.
Even though I do everything for you, I'm looking out for me just keeping a close over view upon you.
How can I fix your life if mine isn't alright, but i don't know where id ever be with out you by my side.
And I thought I'd never know but as of now I'm pushing through. 
Now that your gone, I miss you every night.
But I gotta be strong.
Cause if not you'll be gone and ill be with a baby missing its mom.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Dark days

some days were just dark
whatever i do its still dark

i had searched for sun
but some days were just dark

i had tried to lit the light
but some days were just dark

i  had tried to find the bright opening
but some days were just dark

i had wanted to hide my tears
but some days were just dark

i couldn’t do anything
other than waiting for dawn
because some days were really dark

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Behind it all

What I feel inside is something I usually hide
No one sees the tears behind my smile,
the sadness behind the jokes
or the pain behind my eyes

What I think about is for me to know
and for everyone else, just a question
I don't show emotions, so everyone thinks  I'm fine
Even though there's so much more then the happy girl

On the outside, everything is fine
But once you look inside...
You'll see where the pain comes from
But you won't be able to tell, behind my angel smile 

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Creation, Curse and Promise

Since eternity past God the Father Son & Holy Spirit dwelled in unity and sweet fellowship.
Then Three-In-One decided to make a marvelous universe with an earth for life to dwell.
Creating an amazing array of creatures was the easy part – the risk was on the last made.
For unlike other creatures, man & woman were made in God's likeness with a Spirit.

That Spirit communicated with God, and harmony reigned as earth was well cared for.
Freedom to do was great – limited by but one tree that the humans were not to ear from.
At that tree, Satan disguised himself as an innocent snake and asked the woman questions.
Did God really say don't eat from this tree?  Well, that's to keep you from becoming like Him.

Look its fruit is beautiful and one bite and you'll know what God does and be Jehovah's equal.
Eve was confused, for this didn't sound like what Adam said God told her, but wouldn't it be grand.
If God is so good, why would he keep this secret from us of being able to be like Him – is He jealous?
The firm, juicy fruit was indeed delicious, and she quickly called Adam to taste, which soon he did.

A small act? Every war, family problem, anger, hatred, lie, killing, stealing, rape, abuse came herefrom.
The beauty of God's creation was now marred with sin that affected every part with death and decay.
God graciously gave Adam & Eve animal skins for no longer would they live in Eden's perfect climate.
From now on there would be sweat for the food they ate and exceedingly great pain during childbirth.
Even their firstborn would murder their second, starting the cycle of revenge and killing that's ongoing.

Yet God also made a promise that one would come who would crush Satan's head while being bruised.
"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God" clues us in to who.
For God's Son Himself would come to teach, heal and offer His life on a Cross to destroy our death curse.
Our sins He would bear and in rising He's seal the promise of eternal life, so great we Jesus' love for us.

For Jesus the cost was unbelievably high, and for us the reward is incredibly great – if we but accept.
Accept that I am a sinner, I've done wrong and need God's forgiveness to live with His perfection.
Accept that Jesus can do what I cannot – change my heart, make my Spirit alive to forever live with God.
This being GOD, the promise of heaven and new earth is sure, though pain lies in between.  Choose now.

For GOD and all creation cry out – this is what life is meant for – to know and love One's Maker.
As humans we live eternally with or apart from God, and His great desire is that we choose with.
But just as an earthly Father cannot force true love, nor does our Heavenly Father – He waits.
Though He made all and knows beginning from end, he waits and yearns that we receive His love.

Then love and be loved by Jesus in life's harshness & delight, sharing that love with other lost children
To work in harmony with the One who made us, makes life new again as our spirit is filled with new life.
There can be dry days when we don't feel His presence, and others so full that we want to shout for joy.
The fact is Our Father GOD, our Savior Jesus, the Holy Spirit, are always with us and never will leave us. Amen.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

My Bleeding Heart

My heart is bleeding and I don't know why

My heart is beating can't you hear it cry

My heart is broken can't you see it split

My heart is torn, torn to bits

My heart is vengeful and it has no regrets

My heart is soulless and it needs to be put to rest

My heart is useless cause you choose somebody else

My heart is frozen from everyone else

My heart is black

My heart is cold 

My heart can't let you go

My heart will wave goodbye 

My heart sank for the last time.....

Details | Prose Poetry | |

This Basement Of Ours

We never enter the basement.
It is a place of horrors, fears, and sorrows.
Our basement is a black door surrounded by the fogs of mystery, chilled with neglect.
I've seen it once, this basement of ours.
I felt its chill, at first what I saw was unknown. It was another world, a new land, unlike anything I'd ever seen.

This basement of ours was dark, it was a place where the black sun hung high, it has a warm hypothermic kiss to the surface of the skin. I saw ravens flying, riding on the wings of burnt and unopened love letters, frames of a talented and widely loved young wolf gone omega.

Here in this world I feel the weight of silence. It rains silence, blanketing what was once golden. It fills my nose with every breath. A I sift through this place, wipe away the residue of silence and time, I see frozen moments, temporary forevers. I see pictures, what this land might have been.

I've seen many things in this basement. But in this moment that seemed to last forever, I found quite a find. I found a find that intrigued me down to the deepest recess of my mind.

It was on the outskirts of this wasteland. Covered in silence, it lay beneath dancing weavers weaving silk bed traps. What I found was a product of the twisted oak, carved with the legacies of the natives, the light in a dark world.

It was a chair, a rocking chair. A chair placed by the window yet untouched by the sun. A chair I'd heard stories about, a chair that had lived a long life, raising small children now grown. Yet her sweet whispering allure called to me.

On it I read stories of the seasons, from the blazing summer sun, to the frozen winter nights. It had curves as the hills in Italy, depicting the wild horses that roam. This land of silence and pain now turned loud, deafening with the questions and thoughts racing through my mind.

Where was it made? How did it get here? When did its journey end? Why was it forsaken? But most of all, What was this place? This land I found now stuck in time. This land full of things now covered in silence, wrapped in pain and mystery.

I hear footsteps, up in the world above. They call out to me, time has come rushing back. This wasteland will return to silence. I never forgot that place, now grown, my children will soon discover that land. They will journey for the answer to what lies below. I found the answer. This place, this is the place of lost sons, broken dreams, and bad memories.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

believe them

believe them
the ones,
those people who saw
(the ones who did not conquer-
the Julius creaser want-a-be
the ones who wasted years of precise time-to prove absolutely nothing,
believe their stories.
(the poets, they have stories you wouldn't even believe,
    -but they are all true.
the sun rises on the people of today,
but it the sun has just set on the lonely poet
who tells stories on and on
but no one is listening-
listen you want-to-be little girl,
you gangster want-to-be little boy
and learn of the troubles those once want-to-be became of themselves
     -nothing is more true than yourself
so do not be like no one else,
be your own Creaser and your own god
your own ruler and your own peasant,
be your own person
as God intend you to be

believe those poets who were once fools in love
believe those poets who write mumbo-jumbo on a piece of scrap paper
with a beaten down pencil
and listen to their cries and see their tears, soil those pieces of paper
and shed a tear or two with them(its okay)
to be your own heart and soul is the best of your abilities
      -you may think you have love- till a glass heart is broken
then you shall turn on the world,
but before you leave in a suicide rage
believe those poets who were before you,
with hearts fragile and thin like glass and a blade of grass
believe that they weren't in a rage as well,
believe that they write of experience and not just to write and pass time away;
     (those strong boulders called "men" have hearts of glass too-
      and those women, who walk down the street sighing, have cracked hearts-
pain and hardship is just not for you
its only for everyone, who has a heart-
poets, painters, boys, girls, flowers and ferns all have hearts
and we all share pain and love

the time when you cry
read a story of heartbreak and think,
think of those before you and believe them
for they know what they're talking about
and they have experienced those heartaches first-hand
and love yourself and be your own kind of unique
(live laugh love hope and cherish that of which you were given
and show yourself and others you can rise-
and you can rise and be the king or queen of your own Destiny !


Details | Prose Poetry | |

On Verge

Have you ever jumped in and out of your skin?
Found yourself on top of a hill with no shade to stand under, the skin around your lips and eyes starts to crack and peel.  Don’t you wish for one moment you could simply have a hand to cover the glare and give you a screen, to sooth them for just one instant and feel a breath of relief.

Have you ever bled without pain?
You are soiled red but the gates of pain are simply numb. You simply watch the drops stain. If only a hand could compress the hurt and brake the flow of this rouge river game.

Have you ever spat words of scorn? Only to discover it was a feeble attempt that bounced the daggers back at your wall of ice. They simply echo back, the acid splatters in your face. You regret what you said; you wish you were dead.

Have you ever defied your own line of fire? You’ve broken down your walls of guard and allowed trespassers to rape your morals. If only a hand could pull you back and tug you in, the rules you made would still be in.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Marking The End

And now were at it again-
sitting in silence,
marking the end;
the end of compliance.

Always seems to stem with defiance,
next in line-
too much reliance.

Two guys, separate occasions
I guess you could call me a player-
I like the game of persuasion.

Believe me this,
I know this strays from virtue-
and did not intend to hurt you;
I did my best to explain,
the feelings I myself couldn't quite name
But to you it sounded all the same-
And honestly we are both to blame.

We knew the odds, 
We took the dive-
Trying to get the honey,
from inside the beehive.

But its worth it because we are always trying to hide-
and you know how i am with my pride;
it's one thing I've never denied.

Details | Prose Poetry | |



I must connect with those 
whose fathers disconnected
mine from me.

I must connect with those
who also cry
wailing tears draining their souls;
because their fathers killed 
and raped my mothers
who nursed them.

I must connect to these tears of old wounds
painfully festering the souls that mourn
and bleed with the excruciating agony
inherited from their fathers’ fathers:

If only tears could heal.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

My pain

blood drips down
locked the door
the stinging starts to fade
everything becomes a blur
i know lay in the tub
in the cold water
my my arms stings
then the pain fades
i go under hopping not to come back up for air
and i feel my body going numb
i open my mouth to get a water in and blood
i tell myself to stay under
and then everything fads away
no more pain
my heart stops
the pain leaves me
my dead body is in the tub
untill someone starts looking for me
when they find my body
it will be to late

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Positions: Part Three

Positions: Part Three
Arabic Poem by: Bushra Al-Bustani
Translated into English by:
Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk)

The Position of Grief

Was the sky blue in any day?
 I have never seen it clear! 
 Sine the time of the Mongols to the Amiriya** day
And from the Amiriya day to the muddy days of the plot.

The two rivers are pouring from your fingertips, and I am thirsty
 There or here
 There is no difference 
 Since the globe is a ball for the blind to play with
 Forgetting that Earth is the inheritance willed to us
 The night is dark, as the stars have fallen in my blood.  
Since you departed, 
Moaning of the words has been obscuring the light from my paper
And digging a cave for my pleasure in the trunks of trees
Since you departed, 
The night has turned into a silent old man
Falling asleep on his cane
And I am withering as a wish did not come true 
As I court the tears of my waiting. 

Since you departed, 
Your voice has become an aching child in my blood, 
A burning flute
And a never drying tear drop in my wound.
Since you departed, 
My coffee cup has been extinguished
And two seats have fallen of the terraces of the stars.

Since you departed, 
The water turned yellow
And the fingertips of words have been dry.
In the last watch of sadness, I hear your footsteps
And see shadows walk away

The tavern keeper Sidori said:
“Pamper the boy who holds your hand!”
I replied:
“But they kidnapped the boy
Taking his hand away from mine...
A history of colors was sparkling in his eyes
And writing canceling writing
Amidst the ordeal whispers were faltering
But they may not dig graves for his heart and mine
As long as there are veins for water in the sand of my soul
And lamps that refuse extinction in the erased script.”  

Translated by: Em. Prof. Inaam Al-Hashimi
*Bushara Al-Bustani is a poet from Iraq
** Al_Amiriyah refers to a shelter used by civilians during the Iraq-Iran war in the Amiriyah neighberhood in Baghdad.  It was bombed by the USA Airfirce  with two lazer-guided "Smart Bombs" on February 1, 1991 where more than four hundred civilians mostly women and children were killed and a thousand were injured.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Mercy Great is The Opportunity

Sunshine, cascades-its-way-down before innocent-waters, lying boldly and at the mercy of the towering... threatening waves. Hope cries out to Jesus because it knows, God's mercy through-Him His sacrifice saves. Doors now lay open that once were closed, joy patient, love generous... reverent, they remain willing, honest... . Because through-the-actions brought about through-mans-misunderstanding, of The- Father,absence, of-His-clemency given them shown for all, desired by Him for still yet another, knowing the pain that it has caused still causes Him all of us, all-things, to accept thisthey can't but-can-relate... remain to pray and wait... . Forgiveness carries the promise of freedom, mercy. Jesus He sees this, knows that-in great-wealth abides the soul that prays plays holds upfor another, sings to them of this for them through Him to-our-Creator, God, walking through the pain with-them, and so again, in His perfect compassion for us, to continue, He weeps. Time is generous, an awesome gift, God's precious offering of this opportunity. So again The-Prince-of-Peace answers this call for this falls before Him, pleads for all of us, blood still pouring-from His hands, feet, and yes even still, and solely, because of this... given-all-He's already done for us, with all of His-might and-Glory, humblest-of-respect, honor, He lye's down before Him, tears-washing for us, our Fathers own... . As He pleads to Him again, and again "Oh Father mercy, Father, mercy, please Father againoffer-them mercy... !" "Please... they know not what they do, again, please-Father... show them mercy... ?" Author notes

Details | Prose Poetry | |

People are like flowers

People are like flowers, 
they stay and enrich our lives in the summer ,
and then winter comes.
you know winter makes way for new flowers in your life, 
even though it's very cold, you just have to wait.
Don't worry Katie summer will come again
You have to be strong!
You need to survive the cold winter to see summer again.

Details | Prose Poetry | |



injustice runs wild
where liberty once bloomed
sweet flowers of liberty.

rogue life hawkers
like famished vampires
roam child filled streets
seeking desserts of red velvet
blood of sable fruit
to satisfy their fascistic appetite.

we march to the sound
of the death bells of justice---
oblivious that once tolled
it cannot be undone:

another strange fruit
has been nipped in the bud;

the tongue
of the freedom bell
has been eviscerated.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Hospital in Metroland 1930

The hospital smelt of disinfectants strong bleach many potions, polish and ether,
Cleanliness so important always clean and polished, in the waiting room, leather,
A policeman down a corridor in a terrible hurry held his helmet by its chin strap,
He had appeared with a young girl a head wound was upset sat bleeding in his lap.
Many sad people waiting in agony for news wandered about around the waiting rooms,
Chain smoking cigarettes their eyes staring blindly towards cleaners with brooms,
An old man in pain feeling sick had caught two fingers in a heavy steam train door,
Rocking with pain bleeding he is getting impatient he should have been seen before.
Looking through a reinforced glass window of a door was a snow white treatment room,
A man in white was dabbing something yellow that stung before bandaging the wound,
The silence was broken there was a commotion by doctors nurses all running around,
Two policemen carried a seriously injured man that had been knocked to the ground.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Maiden

There once was a fair maiden 
Who sat on a pedestal up high? 
With raven locks and eyes of ice blue 
But a heart of stone 
For a love she once knew. 
The prince he was 
Unintentional love doomed by above 
So she was shunned and locked away 
So to the ledge she did run. 
Tears rolling down her fair cheeks 
Too distraught to form words to speak 
She raised her head to the sky above 
And screamed why him? 
Why my one true love? 
As the last word left her lips 
She took that final step 
Down she fell onto the cliffs below 
No sound did she make 
Nothing, not even a goodbye.

Details | Prose Poetry | |


I am torn cause you broke my heart

I am torn cause you act like you had no part

I am torn cause you went away

I am torn cause your choice was not to stay

I am torn cause I believed you

I am torn cause you said we were threw

I am torn cause you said goodbye

I am torn cause our love was a lie

I am torn cause you walked away

I am torn cause I don't know what to say

I am torn cause I don't know what to do 

I am torn cause my heart can't live without you.....

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Anthem of Resurrection

Her anthem was silently set on fire,
 the wounds on her back ,
where wings had once carried
the burden of hope aphotic,
as the bleeding had ceased to flow.
                 Time has a way of turning fresh
                               lacerations to scar tissue.
She carried the weight with the
Grace she was promised;
Sewing  agony into
Bitter flesh.
Dulling  the ache with prayers
To her father,
Hoping a fallen tongue could
Reach the heavens.
He had promised her a sacred quest
..yet found her flawed
His eyes blackened with his own
shadows , his own burdens,
 impressed themselves on her a stain
...that tore the downy softness from
her.  She walked alone,
and in solitude found rings of fire
wherever her feet touched down
         ... and the charred smell of
                       something once hallowed
her own delicate feathers, scattered ..
those torn from the soft skin of her back
               corrupt with his sins...were set ablaze
And as the fire sought cleansing,
             She sought the remedy of a martyr.
Accepting the pyre lain upon her back as a gift,
          She found the resolution to become the
             renewal of the world that she was sent
                           To protect.
                              In the ashes of her span,
                                   Lies the fertile seed of a resurrection.
-Katherine Wyatt and James Kelley 2013, All rights reserved.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Rough Reality

Tears form in my eyes revealing my life the past and present,
questioning myself where lies my future not knowing what’s meant,
scolding myself trapped from the ways of my health,
praying for deliverance yes and a little wealth,
do I really want to point the blame,
or is it I'm held restrained,
mother father look what you’ve done to me,
a punishment for the torn love between you and he,
in my heart I know no ones at fault,
building a stronger foundation in my heart a new path I will walk,
my mind will be the only thing that makes my heart sing,
years  I've stayed strong  for physically enduring the pain of sustained,
rearranged from what my dreams were first made of,
eyes finally opened to that in which I embrace with a hug,
realisms I thought might have never to be me,
subjected to this life of a harsh reality,
reality I'm afraid of you,
maybe its the things I know I have to go through,
mind, heart, body and soul constricted from what lies deep within me,
a loner always to be left alone it shouldn’t be,
nonentity true life of reality has become my enemy,
a hasten awakening belly aching from real truth,
purity shot at me like bullets opened to death vest not bullet proof,
life for me has been rambunctious,
aching back breaking wishing through it all I would have been unconscious,
memories raiding my mind letting me know I'm no better than this,
as controversy of pain and love swim in my physical and mental no bliss,
through it all I've become a phenomenon strong and tall,
later to endure as a memory as I made it through it all.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Chill of Your Touch

I feel a chill in your kiss...
like the cold, February wind that rushes through my veins 
Oh, how I long for the soft tenderness of your caress
which has now become strangely vacant
Your warm embrace seems to have lost its fire
and you no longer stroke my face while I sleep

The warmth is gone from your touch
I swallow the pain down inside
not wanting to notice our bridge may be burning
Why can't you just say it-instead of pulling away?
Do the risks seem too high to take a chance? 

The painful words in my soul bring tears to my eyes
We used to find love in quiet, hidden places
You without pity -  I without shame
Who has taken my place...
Entered my space?
How could I have known you'd tire of me so?

Will you no longer stand by my side?
we could make things right 
your silence is so deafening 

Raindrops pour their waters
washing away my hopes, singing a melancholy song
of lost hope -  of disappearing dreams
I lift my face to the darkened sky
feeling the rain slide down my cheeks
Staring into emptiness
as my heart cries out in silent pain 
blinding me from the light 

I feel so lost without you
But then I realize...
You never really found me

Now my heart says...
Where do I go from here?
Oh God...
Tell me -  where do I go from here


Details | Prose Poetry | |


In Memory of Laura Boutchee
IF I had only known the last day that I saw you would be the last day that I would get to 
laugh or cry with you. I would have held your hand and hugged you and told you that I loved 
you and told you how knowing you brought me more happiness then you would ever know.

Each morning I wake thinking of all the pain and torment your beautiful soul was filled with 
and I feel the tears in my eyes, because even in your pain and agony you always had a 
smile and a hug to share with those in need.

Your laughter and your smile will always live in my memory forever and a day.

GOD took you home to ease your troubled soul and he holds you in his arms and wipes away 
the tears and makes the pain you felt so deeply disappear.

One day we will meet again and share a hug and I will tell what I never got a chance that 
day because tomorrow never came.

I love you my dear friend and your memory will live on forever through your family and your 
friends who love and miss you more then you will ever know.

 Rose M Bauerle 2007

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Jaundiced eyes peered
from skeletal sockets
reflecting the daily fear:

Not of inevitable death;
but the agony of life another day.

The permanent stoop
of the frail body---aping
                           a living trophy of submission,
had long prepared its self
to endure the daily scavenge
of the garbage heap:

What a pity;
even a dying man must eat!

Details | Prose Poetry | |

freedom begets sacrifice

	The pelican bird says; “even as I wound my peek’
To break the hardest wood’
To continue the lineage,
I won’t get benefit here, but, lives good legacy,
As I passed the agony as they suck me! So they can live.”

The mother snake says; “even as the world detest me, 
I wouldn’t end my being anyway!
But they tear me apart, as they visit the world, 
I know I would kiss the mother earth, 
But, all for the sake of love!”
The mother human; the burdensome load,
That she carries for months,
Not minding the agony of birth,
Or the pain the offspring cause thereafter,
But she has to bear the pain, and free them, for the sake of love.
But, for man to get indefinite freedom,
Since there isn’t rest in life,
She has to sacrifice the body,
To free the soul,
This is because, freedom, begets sacrifice.


Details | Prose Poetry | |


When I give my mother a slap
She remembers the nine months
And years she nurtured me tenaciously.
When I bomb the temple of my religion
She regrets all the spiritual feedings-
And the ideals she showered on me. When I betray a trustworthy friend
The confidential confiding and love, will be remembered
If I betray my nation
The national pledge
I am forever indebted.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Tales of a Paris Flaneur

Early days as a flaneur;
I recall the couple 
On the Metro
When I was still innocent 
Of its labyrinthine complexities;
Slim pretty white girl,
Clad head to toe 
In new blue denim, 
Wistfully smiling
While her muscular black beau 
Stared straight through me 
With fathomless, fulgorous orbs;
And one of them spoke 
(Almost in a whisper):
"Qu'est-ce que t'en pense?"
Then it dawned on me...
The slender young Parisienne 
With the distant desirous eyes
Was no less male than I.
Being screamed at in Pigalle, 
And then howled at again 
By some kind of wild-eyed 
Drifter who told me to go 
To the Bois de Boulogne to seek 
What he clearly saw as my destiny;
Getting soused in Les Halles
With Sara
Who'd just seen Dillon as
Rusty James,
And was walking around in a daze;
Sara again with Jade
At the Caveau de la Huchette.
Cash squandered 
On a cheap gold-plated toothbrush, 
Portrait sketched at the Place du Tertre,
Paperback books 
By Symbolist poets,
Second hand volumes 
By Trakl and Deleve,
And a leather jacket from 
The flea market
At the Porte de Clignancourt.
Metro taken to Montparnasse, 
Where I slowly sipped
A demi blonde
In one of those brasseries
Immortalised by Brassai;
Bewhiskered old man
In a naval officer's cap,
His table bestrewn
With empty wine bottles
And cigarette butts,
Repeatedly screeched the name
"Phillippe!" until a bartender
With patent leather hair,
Filled his wineglass to the brim,
With a mock-obsequious:
"Voila, mon Captaine!"
I cut into the Rue du Bac,
Traversed the Pont Royal,
Briefly beheld
With its gothic tower,
Constructed only latterly,
In order that
The 6th Century church
Might complement
The style of the remainder
Of the 1er Arrondissement,
Before steering for the
Place du Chatelet,
And onwards...Les Halles!

Details | Prose Poetry | |

god came beneath the midnight clear

beyond the darkness of the midnight clear
for now i have seasons and nothing to fear
while pain that is felt pain you must hear
be carry out beyond the heavens of new lights
that passes the dreams from cold cold nights
pain names and blames my bitterness the weak
shall not hinder my sweet soul i am the meek
the tears you see shall cast out sheer doubt
while as the doors close for there is no pout
breathless panting in the mist of what's norm
while this travesty indeed as lives are torn
healing occurs within her own habitat 
while patiently in room faceless she sat
glory on the shores shall last forever more
while the harsh currents waves of tears i cry
as the ocean opens thee earth god know's why
illness sickness and poverty is apon my space
thou alone i'm not lonely at all in my place
my soul grieves so beneath the midnight clear
thus suffering heals as god too cried my tear

Details | Prose Poetry | |

what i mean to say

what i mean to say

Lord, of your love i would write some
of sunshine, laughter, and exalted happiness
all of these things that make my smile come
from the source of all things that bless

like quiet moments spent with you
the words i read of Your love for all
the amazement of miracles, and the little things you do
and the blessed fullness of hearing Heavens call

i called out Your name Lord, and never will regret
having left behind a life of Godless sin
all those sins i can't do now are a cancelled debt
Jesus, you paid my bill, and i thank you still, and again

how callow would i be, to deny you me
when i was forfiet from the start
for what you've done for me, i plainly see
i owe you my whole heart

those sins i used to see as defining me
that held me in their snare
i cast off happily to kneel at calvary
and lay my wounded heart there

to You i give my every day, and seek you to mend my life
for You i give up all i can, and never will come close to
paying you back for the agony, your pain and earthly strife
all for me, from birth to death, the pain that was my due

Lord, the words won't come, i must confess
no words of mine can even mean a thing
but for all the wrongs i can't redress 
and for Your love, salvation, and...

what i mean to say, Lord, is thanks for everything

Details | Prose Poetry | |

These Falling Tears

Unexplainable pain swells in my eyes, tears go unnoticed running down my face,
pooling together into a tide of emotions. Unleashed anger threatens to break out 
in a mad rush to explode, but my steady stream of tears distinguishes it's only 
flame. Standing in this ocean of misery it's like I will drown, but O' the Truth 
triumphs strong and True; leaving no room for doubt. Often, I am quite blind and I 
can hardly see. Then, in my sight, I see only You as You shine within me.

Tears that go undiscovered may be hid from mans view, but are noticed every 
one by You. I can't give up, no matter the trials I face. I can't, turn away, no matter 
the pain I know. Enduring unto, the near end, I am  Fading more and more each 
day knowing that You are all of me. My heart cannot break in two when Your the 
whole of it. Though haunted by pain and anger, I'm embraced in You, ' Precious 
One' , where I'll forever rest.

Just what love can I compare? Take over me, be more in me and make me more 
of You. Turn from me my desires, cleanse me and purify me, so I will be no 
more. Just to cease to be, is all the desire I desire in me. I see so dimly through 
these falling tears, but the brightest star still shines and no tear can ever dim it's  
light. This terrain is rough and mountains are sure to come, but I'm climbing with 
Your grace... These falling tears shall cease, and I shall cease!

(c) October 30, 2007
Rosemarie Schrock

Details | Prose Poetry | |

stuck in the maze

I'm stuck
        Wandering around aimlessly
                Every turn different
                        Yet exactly the same
I can't find my
W A Y  O U T


Every step I take
Each corner I turn
I stumble upon

Everything is...

                H                           A
        O                        S

All in the past
But still very much present
All destructive in their own way

I try to grasp onto happiness
But it slips away...
Creeps though my fingers like
Grains of sand.
Can I not hold on?
Can I not hold on a little
Must it go this quickly?
Must it leave me in this much pain?

So many questions...
Will I ever know the answers?

I turn another corner
It's exactly the same
I want to get
I want to be free...

But I can't.
Because I'm not stuck in this maze...
I am a part of it...
Just like it is a part of me...

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Divine Intervention

Beautiful little girl
Devastatingly beautiful
The birds would start chirping when she walked past
Her mother’s daughter they all said
A mirror image
And suddenly she was shocked by love
5 years old being undressed like a doll
Caressed and bathed so lovingly
Such gentle touches
That no one suspected
Mother found a new piece to her heart
Wedding bells chimed
And a new father was born
5 years old she was…just 5
This beautiful little girl found love in her “new” father’s arms
He held her close, sometimes too close
But no one suspected
She didn’t know this love was pain wearing a mask
She learned that love was…
Shielded from the eyes of her mother
Night visits to her room from her father
Year after year
For 15 years this was the love she knew
She felt invaded, alone and abused
She told her mother
About her new father…the man her mother loved
She didn’t acknowledge, wouldn’t bring herself to see
What the water so clearly replayed in her view
The mother knew, just knew
That her husband would, couldn’t ever
Never…bring pain to his daughter, never
Little girl, what does it feel like to be loved?
It feels warm, and wrong but gentle
Strong hands unclothing you
Caressing your body as if you are a grown woman
With a glorified body to worshipped and pillaged over
Little girl, what does pain feel like?
Closed doors…darkness…my father…naked
Beautiful little girl
Devastatingly beautiful
Pain paraded as love
Molestation masked for discipline
When your daughter cries out
When she cowers in corners
And doesn’t trust the dark
When she says love is just another word
Just another synonym to let him abuse her
Trust what she has to say…
I was that beautiful little girl and now I am a woman plagued with fears
Some nightmares you cannot outrun
And some memories only God can wipe away
The blood of all my pain is on my mother’s hands
"I forgive you"
Beautiful they say…
It’s a mask for something more

Details | Prose Poetry | |



I cannot cry for the children
of others---
the deaths of my own have drained dry
the wells of my eyes---
red orbs sunken deep in dark caverns
of growing grief
echoing wailing cries 
of the ghosts of my womb:
wailing cries
falling on lifeless auricles
flaccid to vibrations of ebony pleads
of mothers whose babes
die daily deaths
of sable genocide---
blood dripping down fingers
of sons who would rape 
their mothers and pimp their sisters. 

Details | Prose Poetry | |


A Rose by any other namme shall smell as sweet to mee as ewe.
Jesus paid the sacrifice the aritifice of life became the death of me to give me 
back the life eye gave away for him to follow him is to find it all again the words 
men speak if allowed to brew would make them dead to make them blow to just 
explode the air then turning into chamber pots of full. Love can be a sacrifice a 
very strang surprise a hurried meal a quick repast that lasts all day and then 
some into the night making merry just for heart. The dead weight of most people 
would cause the air ship the alien crafted vessel that eye ride in to tip over and 
the eye would fall out all over the place. Love can be a pillow cold on one side 
and warm to face. The avid reader can imagine this. Head stopped up with 
saving grace the pain inside stops sleep from come.
Then the pillow turned the face pressed up into the cold the wonderful stopping 
of the pain the added comfort of the pillow side out getting cold again then 
comes the time when the repeated effort is again applied oh the wonder of it oh 
the bliss of a cold pillow kiss. NEWS FLASHED before mye eye:
This is just in from NEO Pueblo when someone gets a message in a forum and 
the message sender sends it as a thank you and then adds a different picture 
than the one in his posted poem as way of illustration do ewe think they noticed it 
at all or is it just that it seems so strang to mee and would it be that they aer so 
obsessed with what they aer doing to jump up and dance on just one foot and 
yell and holler look what CHARLAX did he sent the wrong picture to the forum. 
Eye just deleted an accounting error it was a majoretted disappointed mess to 
me they always made fun of eye and mee and the way eye use my style to make 
a poem bleed the pain of being one so far ahead of time is priceless in the 
function of an android using lifetimes.

Details | Prose Poetry | |


Sitting on the muddy banks of faded realities,
Lingering in the spaces of time, lost souls
Struggle: seeking another dreamer.

The pawn brokers edge their grasp
Beyond the sunset; leaving frail victories
Festering and waning in the winds of change.

White opiates assault lagging black dreams.
Comatose minds mesmerized by fantasy freedoms
Rot away: oblivious to the tightening of the silent chains.

Like a drooping bosom dried of nurturing tears,
Life sags on and time chases its own ghost.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Departure in Contrary Directions

I've made a home time and time again,
with what seems like effortless motion.
When it's over, I'm avoid sifting through
abandoned damage, just leave it  to sit
in a space I can no longer be.
I've never given concern of money to this home.
I must have the mind set of a crazed militant.
Willing to take the pain and the pain and the pain...again.
To get what is sought after,
for what feels right, for what will work in the end.
Without this contrary situation
I become a survivor of what has passed...
The soul that never wants to see or live
through given situation again.
unless the opportunity presents itself again
in a time given that you still have the strength
to fight and fight as hard as you did
all the same all over again.
Until, steadily and rightfully a path is built back to
the place of peace and meaning.
The place that was needed and wanted,
because you fought to be there.
The place that haunts every soul
until they finally arrive and in some cases, re arrive.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

5 Minutes Of Clarity And A Single Moment Of Serenity

The sun is shining
Its a beautiful day
Sometimes I have to pray
For the sun to shine on me
Instead of the shade
For darkness loves to cover the heart
Seems like i can't get a headstand
Pride greed and fear
Is were i started to steer
Family friends and goals
Are thrown in the holes
Lost in the distance of who i can't be
Memories i can't allow myself to see
It seems every time i try to stand
There is never a helping hand
For the true ones i had to hold
Turned their backs when i sold my soul
For the destructive path that i now lead
I'm the one who sowed that volatile seed
For this life of pain and misery
I'm a blind man who can't see
The sun shining down on me
For the shade has to stay
Until the day i have the strength to pray
A single string of hope
That i can never see
A fearful past
That i had to lead
5 minutes of clarity
And a moment of serenity
For every second at least one heart seeks
In this world of fear and greed
To be the person they want to be
For no one wants to experience this pain of treachery
The bleeding hearts and the lost souls
All had an obtainable goal
Threw away or taken people don't know
But human judgment is always bestowed
On the liars beggars cheats and thieves
Understand, you can not with out experiencing the deed
The power of choice is what we've been given
Hope, Enlightenment, Love And Peace stay hidden
For the key i hold unlocks this mystery
This mystery of H.E.L.P.
And then the shade of darkness shall go away
The sun shall now forever stay
Enclosed in this box threw the distance of time and space
I shall forever be hidden from the pain of my insecurities
5 minutes of clarity
And a single moment of serenity
Is what i shall have, Finally