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Son Prose Poetry Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Son

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

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A Grace Sent From Heaven

                                   ~A Grace From Heaven.~
                 That July 7 2007 was supposed to be my Birthday
                     But it turned out to be a tragic sinister day.
           That same moment my son was supposed to come in a joyful way
                      But it turned out to be a devastation day.
                                           I Prayed 
                    What was supposed to be our celebration day
                           turned out to be our darkest Friday.
                     What was supposed to be an unforgettable day
                     turned out to be a wishful forgettable Tuesday.
                                         Obscure Days
                   What was supposed to be our family reunion day
              turned out to be the birth of a hideous cancerous malady                       
                   that destroyed all of my sons upcoming healthy days.
                That Monday instead became a wounded bleeding today
                       having to listen to what the doctor had to say.
             It turned out to be 5 months chemo therapy of shadowy days.
                                        Grace From Heaven
              My sons soul awakened his spirit one night on his hospital bed
                        sleeping felt a hand pat on his shoulders
                    heard a voice,my son you will not die have faith
                      your soul will awaken and you will be cured.
                                          Today 5 Years Later
                     Mother & son are miraculously extremely happy 
                            out of the hospital he was flying away  
                     no more chemo therapy & cancer out of his way. 
                      Celebrating my sons healing soul will last Today 
                            Tomorrow And All His Upcoming Days. 
                                           Thank You Lord.
                                              
 
                                                 Therese Bacha
                                                    5/8/2013


Contest for PD......A Grace Sent From Heaven. (Win No.7)


Details | Prose Poetry | |

And Then I Pray

You came into my life, why? I didn’t invite you, I never wanted you around, you 
know this , but you will not leave, you don’t know how much I hate you, and yet I 
don’t hate anyone or anything. When you hate, to me, it is the same as killing. If I 
only knew how to kill you ……. It would have been done many times over. I awake 
every morning and there you are, ready to make my life miserable, the one thing 
you enjoy most in your life. Wherever I go, you follow bringing your misery into my 
life. Why cant you just leave and leave me in peace? I fight with you every day, and 
it hurts so much, so much it hurts to fight with anyone, even you. There is one 
way and only one way to rid you of me. I think of this often, but then where would I 
be? I would not be, because you are part of me, your name is bi-polar. Handed 
down from my father and from his father, and from me to my son, but he refuses 
to recognize you, so he fights you without help he could get. If he would only say I 
know who you are. I hurt for him everyday, and then I pray.
Oh God please forgive me for what I have brought upon my son. Son, I love you, 
and am so sorry for what you go through. Maybe someday we will talk again. Dad


Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Son Asked

                               
                                  ~A Son Asked~

How can i give when i have nothing?
Because nobody has nothing you have 
everything but did not know 
you had everything.

How will i know if i am in love? 
Everything you do is richer and 
fuller when love is there only when 
you fall in love when you desire with 
passion when you miss the flame in 
her eyes when you envy the ground 
she walks on when you leave her and 
regret doing so when your dream is
all about her wanting her to be next to 
you now this moment this second that 
is called a dream come true! Love.

Is living a dream?
Only when you wake up in the morning 
full of love stay in love the whole day 
no matter what look at the twilight 
smelling the perfume from your balcony 
having a reason to get dressed to go out 
full of happiness energy plan an aim 
with a goal & success this is when you 
start living it becomes a dream come
true.

Is forgiving a dream?
Only when you regret if anybody was hurt 
if you stop judging & being resentful and 
you can sleep at night with no remorse it 
becomes a beautiful dream come true.

Is being human a dream? 
Only when you will feel other peoples pain
when you will open your heart and even 
shed a tear that is being human it becomes 
a dream come. 

Is sharing a dream?
Only when you start sharing even a piece
of bread give unconditionally listen to the
voice & respond feel the beating of a heart
be everywhere it becomes a dream.

Is friendship a dream?
Only when you become friends for
life it becomes a dream come true.

Is being compassionate a dream? 
Only when you love life when you
feel you can climb on top of the 
mountain and envy the beyond
& feel compassionate it becomes
a dream.

Is being intelligent a dream?
Only when you use your brain towards 
the right directions right decisions
be patient tolerant accept change
when needed proud of who you are
persistent succeed over the years it 
will become a dream come true.

Is having a mother a dream?
I can only think about this reply:
Since birth until the end a mother
is the shadow of each child its an 
everlasting love this is a dream 
come true.

How will you know if you are a writer:
Only when you never stop writing.
                                                                         Therese Bacha
Contest for PD  About inspirational poems.               6/3/2013

                                                                  Win as Honorable Mention.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

My Son Kidnapped

                 

                                         My Son Kidnapped

                       My story is thee only one I needed to write  
                     one year In captivity underground me and my son
                    days passed by we were prevented of food & water
  bombardments outside were heard, suddenly a militia ran towards my son kidnapped him to be killed running after him screaming his name I knelt to pray
         Oh my God without him I will die show him the way to come back
   sleeping on the floor one night I heard him call my name I knew he came       
                     we held each other tight our tears had no end.                                                                        
                                              5/1/13
                                           Therese Bacha



Details | Prose Poetry | |

First Mother, First Son - The Unspoken Words

 …What he found told that they each live lives which revolve around an ever deepening sense of a mother’s regret;
 … a weighted loneliness, held only by the truly broken of heart that surrender to their own pain. 

This was a pain obviously based on guilt; with enough for him to realize, - could’ve led her young mind to find comfort in his presented destiny… 

“…but at what price?” he asked out loud!

Edifyingly, the few times she spoke of the adoption, in her voice there always maintained a high level of doubting inflection. 
This was a conscience still ensconced at the summit of its grief; there would never be a fulfillment of her self-sacrificing penance.

That was the way her life ended…

   In stark, contrasting analogy of her coercion, – was that he too, has since found himself on same like hilltop. 
This place was real, in overlook and earth. 
One that evokes true ironies, where metaphors in life’s journey’s reflections do view from both sides …, 
but sometimes, - these stop you cold!
 
    His person just stood there mesmerized, while staring at this lonely snow fence, still dripping after a late summer storm's rain. 
Upon fleeting touch, he back away when felt was the wet of sorrow’s myriad of shed tears; … he would soon feel the stinging salinity of his own!
    It then occurred, and not by volition, an eerie loosing of these forlorn and mystic cries; 
a sounding that had instantly chilled the autumn air. 
These were the conjured bring from tailing empty winds that rush thru and by a fence’s waiting pickets...
 …In this field of view were the unknown mothers of different circumstance;
 each knowing what he had heard only all too well.
  They were his gone but stalwart Praetorian Guard, only long gleaned of any shown emotion… 
And now, through his welling eyes, a vision became this phalanx of weathered but now endeared souls,
 - yet still howling for the cold, cold company charged to their every winter’s keep. 
His tears now began to fall – and follow…


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Machiavelli's Own Son or Thespian

You re-house Machiavelli’s soul in your foul frame
That soul great guides your head and heart;
Not what you learnt from the kitabs
Beacon to you is Lucifer’s own light.

With verisimilitude unseen,
With finesse unthought of,
You pose as a Judhishtir.
But Dharmaputra, I know you 
Engineer mischief meanest.
You are the mid-husband of
Old rustic plot,
Vile stinking villain
You know not- unhiegynically you rot.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

THREE IN ONE

Father God,
The Omnescient One,
The Alpha and The Omega.
Almighty, Powerful, Unfathomable Love.
The Head of The Holy Trinity.

Jesus, The Son,
Love Incarnate.
Son of God, Son of Man,
Savior and Friend.
The Lamb of God is He.

Holy Spirit,
The Light and the Essence,
Of God The Father, Himself.
Convictor, Teacher,
Seeker of Souls,
Sent to comfort you and me.

Father, Son and Holy Spirit,
There's three in one, you see,
And we are created in His image,
So again there's one in three.

Body, Soul and Spirit too,
Again there's three in one.
He said,"We'll make him in Our own image,
And to teach him I'll send My Son."


"I AM THE 'A' AND THE 'Z' , THE BEGINNING AND THE END OF ALL THINGS, SAYS GOD, WHO IS THE LORD. THE ALL POWERFUL ONE WHO IS AND WAS AND IS COMING AGAIN."
                                                                                                  Rev. 1:6

"ONE DAY AFTER THE CROWDS HAD BEEN BEEN BAPTIZED JESUS, HIMSELF WAS BAPTIZED AND AS HE WAS PRAYING THE HEAVENS OPENED AND THE HOLY SPIRIT IN THE FORM OF A DOVE SETTLED UPON HIM AND A VOICE FROM HEAVEN SAID,'YOU ARE MY BELOVED  SON IN WHOM I AM WELL PLEASED."
                                                      Luke 4:21-23


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Sunny Days


The Son burst upon my days
taking away the mist and haze
of times less bright.

Now my spirits climb
with anticipation of all tomorrows.
Empty spaces now fill 
as my heart stands still.

Lungs aftaid to breathe
in this illumination.
My heart does feed.

Words no longer on deaf ears fall.
The Son makes translucent my wall.
As day ends and night begins
a velvet warmth now sets in
and tomorrow holds the promise
of sun filled days.


I wrote this poem in 2003





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ApplefortheTeachor

 ApplefortheTeachor 
ApplefortheTeachor 
 
MAS come on down front you have been chosen by the frozen tender tundra to eat the 
apple i can give her. Staccatto beating in the background leaning to the south moving in the 
night polish wont make green apple to shine. The love GOD has for all of us in is SON Jesus is 
also inside us in our Souls inside our Spirit. He did this even though none of us are worth this 
a freely given gift. Something that opens up inside us each and every day. Better then the 
food we eat the apple red and green. Better then what people give on Christmas Day the 
packages wrapped and placed underneathe the tree dont open that dont shake it up dont let 
Johnny see. Perhaps its all the things that boy has stored up all year long some new toy he 
saw on television laying on the lawn. He never picks it up now or plays for very long. This 
Christmas please think of how the Son Of God must feel when we ignore his gift to us. I feel 
so guilty of his love inside this green forgotten apple in the bucket in the snow. Sorrow not 
the answer the apple catches worms so the food stored in the bucket doesnt turn to molded 
into love when I get hungry having none I go to cuppoard never barren there. I cannot eat 
much fruit anymore but mix the trail will fill me up when there is none to find in town. For 
CHristmas is two missing weeks after Thanksgiving missing one. SUnday on the November 
twenty nine untill Friday December Eightteenth then back for three more days then Monday 
the eleventh of January I solidify for more solid days activities perhaps the apple won. Bright 
red and polished up for teachor loves. Look for me with love. 




Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Demon

When men were more primal, they were suspicious of all outside their clan, 
they would band together for survival, still today suspecting won't give way and 
lives in the heart of each, and every man. It goes by the name of indifference, the 
demon that breeds with hate. Now there's been a revival, but all men are still 
tribal, a victim of our fate. We all must fight this demon, for it is our very souls we 
have at stake.

  I never considered myself racist, because I did not hate. but I did not love; I did 
not feel, and I didn't even think. Men of another color were so little to me. I did not 
hate them, I did not loathe them, I just let them be. They were the object of my 
indifference, said that demon deep in me; buried too deep to see, the demon that 
would not go free.

  It is few men that get to look within, at the indifference they have sown. Fewer 
men still get the change to kill, that demon in their soul. At the birth of my 
grandson Jordan, who was fathered by a race not my own. Love for that child 
shined bright through my heart, so that demon in me I could see. The object of 
my indifference my grandson could never be. His love I now hold, it fill the hole in 
my soul where a demon once lived in me.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

My Son my pride


 A moment of ecstasy, of being a mother,
A reverie of life gratified.

I saw a glitter as you opened your tiny eyes,
My very existence glorified.

Your charming brio and unsaid words,
Graced us with your fervor.

You smile, sit, stand , walk and run around,
Your little hands, tender kisses and sweet rhymes.

Your first day to school,your excitement,
Adored by teachers, grew to a vivacious being.

As you unveil your intellect, rise towards achievement of 
your goals,
Stand alpine with persuation, blessed with no dearth,we all 
beamed with pride.

How could I let slip of my memory,
Joyous days when we resembled,
And few sad days of fight when tears rolled down the eyes.
A congruous relationship we had for all those golden 
eighteen years.

Myriad thoughts occupy my mind,
I dream of the day when you reach to absolute .

God bless you dear son! With His immensity,
May you stand sovereign, embellished with perseverance 
!!



Details | Prose Poetry | |

Mum's Hero

Mum, you bought me shoes, socks and a football kit,

'You were willing me to see me as your ‘hero’.

Fifteen years have passed away,

I still have your gift that you bought for me on Christmas. 

 

Your son is a really hero, have you seen me,

I am top scorer as you can read in the local newspaper,

When I kissed my first trophy, my tears poured out, 

My friends thought that I am crying in happiness.

 

Mum, have you remembered me? 

As I know, I always missed your shadow,

I go to the pond every week, 

Where you fed the birds and spent hours with them. 

 

You never come to learn, 

How your son spent days, weeks and years.

Perhaps you don’t know, dad also left me, 

When you went out, he ran after you. 

 

I saw his picture in a newspaper,

When I grew up a little, I heard from my carer,

Your dad died in an accident,

Have you come to attend his funeral? 

 

I learnt when he left church nobody was behind him,

Only service that he received has been delivered,

I went often to kiss his stone, as I found him,

Few days ago it was a fathers day. 

 

When I join my mate’s birthdays, 

I saw their parents curdling them with gifts.

They dance and laugh, enjoy food and drink,

I feel loneliness and lost myself in puffs of smoke. 

 

Always I got drunk but never forgot that incident,

When you tried to stop dad, not to drink more,

He pushed and slapped you strongly,

I saw blood touching your feet. 

 

You don’t know, I also ran after you,

Door slammed shut, road was icy and frozen,

I hit a stone and fell conscious on the street,

When I found myself, I was in a hospital bed.

 

Mum, is your face looking the same as before?

How will I recognise you if I met you suddenly?

I am sure mum. You will recognise me,

At last I am your son as same as I am Dad’s. 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

CharlaXTitle8

Schism
 FAITH is a shield that covers a man from head to toe. True faith surpasses dead works. And now to this title poem. Ed. Note. There is GOD and his SON and his SPIRIT they aer three separated and distinct images and yet they aer one persona one giant mega person perhaps with three faces. No one has yet completely deciphered his image iff an artiste was to create to paint GOD eye suppose it could look something like an Ancient of Days upon a Throne not once but thrice with the same face three times the image of the SON being the predominate one. The first image an old ancient man. The second one is harder a Scepter in his hand of Righteousness a crown of Diadems jewelry that cannot be likened to money or material wealth but as a sign and symbol of his Authority. Jesus has a Crown for he is Ruler of this universe. The third image; that one of the Spirit, is yet harder to discern the same Jesus face in a burning glowing place. A Glow of Flame a Fire; however, made of warmth and love.
A SPIRIT made of GOD. He broke the Horn off Satan forehead gave the world back to the Flock. Gentle reader ewe just stop. Stop strife worry remember what a PRICE was paid for love and go back to the cross for there we pray. Yes we build all our deeds the love upon the Death, not counting all the cost our possessions all our love our very lives depend on Christ our King. A living GOD a loving Spirit a wonderful Father who gives more than mere health and wealthy love neither constrained or with any guile or predetermined Schism of the flesh just unconditional love without end lasting forever nothing ever is needed again love. Eye am reminded of the many infirmities of flesh the frailties of a man the Schism of his Grace as eye sit ici with this pen discovering all the needless hashing of old wounds fumbling at the hands and scars the wounds eye sometimes get as certain they aer thine not self inflicted or just mine. Schism is a wrent a tear in time the body dies the flesh in grave the light for all to see apparently asleep yet Schism thrives for eye have seen the Temple of the Lord a Saint a Lady in death’s place repose aware of nothing now her Spirit gone to Lord somehow twas more than beautiful to me no longing brought forth from Schism’s door a token portent of myself at play upon the earthly plain of dust the Grace upon her face the Peace mere word cannot her Journey over now convey, her Judgment come and gone and Heaven won all in a single word born. Jesus! Jesus! Jesus! Come. GOD. The maker of the Schisms all and one.


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Good From Bad

Eighth of November,
nineteen years before 
the start of the 21st century
Suffolk County Georgia State Penitentiary
He slowly walks down the cold and barren hallway
The Preacher right beside asking the Lord's forgiveness
Entering the chamber where one lone chair sits
He has come to grips with his mortality
Eyes only gazing at the worn oak floor
He is seated and strapped with ice cold steel
The Warden asks for any last words
"May the Lord look after my unborn baby girl"
Eight Thirty Eight  the lights flicker 
The mouths of the onlookers drop
He no longer can be a burden to society!!

Eight of November
nineteen years before
the start of the 21st century
Clare County Michigan State Hospital
Down at the end of the pure white hallway
A young mother to be
Nurse right beside praying to the Lord new life be born
She has come to grips with Motherhood
Laying up high on the table
Strapped in to the stirrups of warmth
Her words could be heard
"May the Lord bring me this baby girl"
Eight Thirty Eight you hear the cries
The mouths of the onlookers all grin
For one mans sin has turned into life again




 


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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 | |

AND THE MAN DIED

He woke in the chilling morn of Monday
Standing tall and stretching like a snake
His son lay carelessly on the old ragged mat
Innocence envelops him like a clean blanket
Unnoticed, he trudged past his dear son
Gathering implements crude and shabby too

He jumped without delay on his old motorbike
Rolling it away from the thatched roof hut
That the engine shrilling noise may not spread
Like the wheezing cry of the morning wind
Through the windows of many blocked houses
That never was heard in his old derelict hut

Wearing many tattered shirts, he zoomed off
Into the thick dark bush that stood just ahead
The speed was great and the rain drizzles
Drenching him thorough to his very soul
His arms shiver as they held the motorbike
Unsteady he rode on, into the forest

Before him lie, a thunder-stricken tree
Crossing the road that leads to the farm
Head on collision, the bike tumbled 
He lay on the wet ground, without a help
It was still dawn and none around
He writhes in pain and with tears-filled eyes

Blood in his eyes, one thought filled his mind
His son at home, an innocent in this world
He wished he lived a better life than his
He struggled to survive death’s strong grip
Squeezing strongly the last of his breath
With tears in his eyes, the man died.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Neuvième Fable

 Neuvième Fable 
Neuvième Fable 
   
Tragic Love 
   
Internet Love 
   
L'amour pour les brebis ont des yeux est la même que iff nous wed. 
Les sentiments qu'elle me donne ne sont jamais remplis d'effroi. 
Mais rien ne peut rosée, elle me ferait jamais vouloir liquidation morts, mais la 
vie à l'amour qu'ils font le temps de vie au lieu. Eye pourrait marcher les couloirs 
de la mémoire et de vous déprimé ou des yeux pourrait devenir une religieuse 
coupable dans le plaisir et repos dans le couvent jusqu'à ce que la mort peut 
nous part de rosée de la mort peut donner mais ce qui me reste de l'amour. 
Comment un homme peut obtenir si excitée un peu au point vert en quelques 
clics de souris, puis une zone de chat blanc froid. L'encre n'est jamais humide 
sur papier mye frisolée encore là, il est son amour. Quand elle me sourit oeil 
sourire quand elle fronce les sourcils yeux pleurent une rivière de la stuffins 
conservés dans tout repose autochtones découlant de faire une faute de la mort 
semblent quelque peu à écrire les mots à la mandé coeur s'écarter de 
s'inquiéter et de malheur et de prendre le tout nouveau départ Et bientôt tout ça 
fonctionne pour l'amour. Blanche-Neige, elle a mangé la pomme, puis est 
tombé à s'endormir rapidement mais Charlax venu à l'embrasser et à vivre son 
éveil. Prince Charlax bons baisers. 
En direct sur le ruisseau la pêche de libellules dans une maison de l'amour. 
Mending coeur de charme. Faire l'amour dans le coeur. Mye neige blanche tortue 
pookie pochoucntous amour mon amour mon internet thrall. Nous pouvons avoir 
tout juste à tenir sur mes namme et de l'amour. 
Les chercheurs ont maintenant prouvé que l'amour peut réparer un cœur brisé.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Mama

Mama
Your son is a liar
He says to someone 
You have the longest
Wave in your smile 
That’s a lie
That’s also a sweet lie 
To describe a sweet love

Mama
Your son is a hustler
He goes in the street 
Stole someone’s heart
And said 
Every kiss  
Has a Mother’s Day

Mama
Your son is ugly 
But his beauty 
Honors your strength 
And your dignity 
He says each star is a
Birth mark 
That makes you
A life creator

Mama 
Your son is homeless 
He says since your death 
He has no place to go
Where can he find 
The warmth of your arms 
Where can he buys   
Some mama’s love

Mama 
Your son has a son
Your love will not perish.  

Anderson Dovilas, in memory of my Lovely Mother and a great Mom.


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A Moment Shared

As the sun rises on the distant horizon like a match spark that is thrown into a 
bonfire...a bonfire saturated in an accelerant...Bright red casting color onto the 
dark ominous clouds chasing them away..May I depend on the Son today to 
chase all problems, fears, anxieties into a place of non-existence.  In so doing 
my life will be fuller, happier and there will be contentment of heart and 
mind..Over on the horizon it seems that the clouds are gone and the sun is 
shining brightly but over me the clouds linger with dampness and cool air..The 
cool morn is a glorious good time to think and work.The son is rising up farther 
now and the clouds are closing in on it...There is one streak of the sun in a 
break in the clouds that looks like a lazar beam flashing forth..There's 
something about this moment and configuration of the heavenlies that is so 
soothing to my spirit...This moment will pass into eternity...Will I be the only 
one that shared this color, design, and precise moment with God and the 
angels...


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Gift

THE GIFT 		09/15/2011			1526

God is great and God is good
Each of us is a wonderful gift created by our Father’s love
How everything that we need is present and represented 
In all that surrounds us in our lives, He is the one that sent it
Seeing His son hang for our sins with 2 thieves by His side
With His suffering for our trespasses, there was no pride, 
Only a beautiful gift dripping away in blood
God’s tears as He gave us His only begotten Son 

He gave us more than any earthly person ever would
Gifts we don’t appreciate, so often misunderstood
During this journey, the people in our lives are where we see God face to face
Victory after victory, splash after splash of God’s thirst quenching grace
All in the face of the people in our lives who can never be replaced 
From conception to laughter,
In each of our stories, there are unread chapters
With lovers of “the word” sent with their own gift, their own message
Their own interpretation, their own blessing
Helping us to pass each “transgressional” testing,
By blood or by acquaintance, misfortune or circumstance
Those in our lives are here with provisions and life lessons
Preparations and encouragement, by order of God’s suggestion
Neither lonely nor dismayed, unprepared or without truth
We will flourish and continue if the “The Word” is our root

God is great and He provides what is good
The perfected masterpiece of love has been withstood
Friends and family who are God’s chosen ones
Sent to love us unconditionally whether we are considered something or none
With shoulders to lean on, and with an attentive ear
Someone to offer their support as we dry that last tear
With God’s light and His salvation whom shall we fear?
His love is always near… 
A gift neatly wrapped called family and friends


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Details | Prose Poetry | |

Missing the Man in the Hat

It was early one morning, when you arrived..
You entered the restaurant and I noticed your stride..
Your manner of dress was quite elegant.. and ..
It appeared you were having breakfast...
With a very important guest..
Seated at the table, and I couldn’t help but notice,
The strange thing you did , when you removed from your purse..  
An old and tattered faded hat..
You took it lovingly in your hands and..
Proceeded to give it a kiss..
As you placed it across from where you sat...
I knew it belonged to someone you missed..
Then you did something strange...
You did a smile and a wink.. 
Poured two cups and I began to think....
Perhaps the car was being parked,
And soon your friend would join you..
As I sat and watched you seemed to be...
Engrossed in a conversation...
The twinkle in your eyes and the smile on your face..
Sent the message you were in a happy place...
Then you got out of your chair...and hugged the air..
And left the same way you came...but ..
I heard you say as you walked away..
Same time..same place next year ?




Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Cry From Kabul

(Written During The American Attacks On Afghanistan From The Arabian Sea) 

O! The heartless callous warriors, 
The children of the crowning age, 
You do not see the havoc, 
For you stand at the distant spot, 
More than two thousand miles away, 
Planning against the weaponless; 
But your lacerating missiles and shells, 
Miss not the targets, 
They hail down on us smashing, 
Blowing up the houses, 
And thatched cottages with their contents, 
Let, allow me bury, put in the ground, 
My infant grandson that lay motionless, 
In the cradle, all shredded, torn up, 
Still gripping tight in his hand, 
A baby doll with blue eyes and rosy cheeks, 
Sprinkled with blood too.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Deepest Fear

 So many thoughts. so much stress, tryna peel around corners of suggestion, dodging fear bullets tryna answer your questions.

Feeling so distant from thought, thought I could run, but i'm caught up again, words just aren't good enough to describe the pain i'm in.

I'm losing, losing my war with self, losing sanity, & losing it all, backed up fetaled in a corner,

slowly losing vanity, vision blurred, curved, &skewed. Like condemn your thoughts. Believe words and blame views. Definite deficit difference, acknowledged by many, feared by some, &ignored by few.

young minds grab a pad and let the pen speak scriptures and leak truths, like the bible was known to the face of the unchanging, &pissed on by the blasphemy you hear in the news.

 Thanks swizz, we cruise on to the next one, limiting all within all I've seen young-in slung, hung by nuice louder than ears drum, ears drumming out catastrophe. Comparing natural disasters to the lord's only begotten son.

 Son of a bastard father, son of a bitch, son of none, A motherless child. They treat me like i was a new religion, judged by appearance, Looking into my equivalent of a bible and treating it like it's Saul Williams' diary, Opening a telegram of coded language & screaming Sha Clack Clack at the misleading analogies,

 of me,

 to things like hurricanes, earthquakes, and tsunamis, naw mean, naw, me, not me, wrong clip, take another picture, &reassess the image in your menstrual mirror, get to know me a lil and maybe you can judge me. Because until then, you'd never know my fear of what you think of me..


Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Year Gone By

Has it really been a year gone by
Watching the flame of
The single candle on your cake you try
I think back on the year gone by
From hearing it’s a girl
To holding you in my arms
I don’t know who’s grown more
You or I
I remember when your eyes first opened
Wondering what it was you saw
The first time you smiled
I was wrapped around your finger
A year gone by of late night feedings
When I laid you to your mother’s breast
The times you needed changed
The times you needed held
The times you simply slept
I remember them all through the blur
Of the year gone by
I remember when you first left your mother’s breast
When you first tried to touch you knew not what
The first time you giggled
Your shock when you first rolled over
How quickly you learned to crawl and explore
So many things you did I remember
But my fondest memory of the year gone by
Is how I’ve learned to give love
And set aside myself
For someone much more special than I
Has it really been a year gone by

NOTE*** This is from my CD A Father’s Love Letters
To listen to the CD please visit
http://www.reverbnation.com/#/mikehamill
As the lead single it comes with a music video viewable at
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TlWpKk_J2bA


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Mother Of Waters

Mother of Waters
you're peace and tranquility;
how I long to be as free.

Oh Mother of Waters,
mighty! untroubled, and true!
change me to be just like you.

You have given us life
then have taken it away...
seen battles lost and won
through the nights until the day.

But who can say
what controls your silence?
And who can say 
what commands your violence?

Sweet Mother of Waters
graceful, mystic, serene...
who can know what you have seen?

You have given us life
then have taken it away...
seen battles lost and won
through the nights until the day.

but who can say
what controls your silence?
And who can say
what commands your violence?

Dear Mother of Waters,
great mirror of the dusk and the dawning...
calming, soothing, everlasting...
how I long to be as free!

Change me to be just as thee.