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Best Recovery From Poems

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Details | Recovery From Poem |

Curse the Hour

I’ll not be the mask of your madness
I’ll not be the whip of your demands
I’ll not be the drug of your habit
I’ll not be the dough in your hands

I’ll not be the doll that’s your play thing
I’ll not be the container of your need
I’ll not be the victim of your anger
I’ll not be the object of your greed
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’ll the bread that he feeds on
I’ll be the water that he drinks
I’ll be the cloud that he walks on
I’ll be the thoughts that he thinks

I’ll be the tent that he dwells in
I’ll be the heaven that he dreams
I’ll be the angel that he wants
I’ll be the sparkle in his stream

I'll be the star that he follows
I'll be the sun’s warmth on his chest
I'll be the moon that allures him
I'll be the treasure of his quest

I'll be the fairy of his woodland
I'll be the seductress of his need
I'll be the breast that he lies on
I'll be the dogma of his creed

I’ll be the honey that he savors
I’ll be the dessert that he craves
I’ll be the sea that he dips in
I’ll be the virgin he enslaves
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I would have been all that to you
I gladly would have made you king
But you gave all that to another
Now you must taste my bitter sting

You must watch his hands caress me
You must see his mouth devour
You must hear my sighs of pleasure
You must curse the betrayal hour

Eileen Manassian Ghali


Details | Recovery From Poem |

9 11

                                    
                                                               
                             America the Free  ~             America the Brave ~
                           Freedom with price              Capitalism attacked
                            the many taken                   hearts broken still
                              one World                           try to rebuild
                            sadness and tears               fall hard with fears  
                            guilt by association             many accused still
                             souls evaporated                shattered dreams 
                            tears fall on innocence          left with anger 
                             The proud fearless             knew the inevitable
                              policeman fireman             many lives lost
                            grieving does not stop           12 years later    
                               New York city once          proud  & shameless 
                             refusing to let fears in          protecting ours 
                                left in shock still              question's unanswered                    
                               nothing learned                     nothing gained  
                                ready to attack                   many left behind
                              anger greets denial              anger meets rage 
                               unacceptable still                 refusing new love 
                            wanting days to rewind           let us go back in time 
                              acceptance  allowing           the victims leave in peace
                              the brave taken young           leaving us sadly old
                               haunting dreams                     lost spirits dwell
                               no answers to hate            never forgetting that day
                               Evil entered suddenly              unforgiving fate
                                entering our City                we stand with the fallen
                                 How to fix                            how do we Change 




           
            This can be read many different ways ~ This is a poem I am so proud too write ~









          


Details | Recovery From Poem |

Her Masterpiece Is Her Story

Her paintbrush is a razor,
Her canvas, her wrists,
"I deserve the pain."
She shrugs and insists.

One day the brush will push down,
And it will cut so deep,
That this girl will fall
into an eternal sleep.

She doesn't remember how she started
What brought her interest to this,
How do you discover,
that cutting is your form of bliss?

No one would have guessed that she does it.
No one would have considered this one.
This girl is forever fighting a battle,
that she thinks the demons have won.

Her artwork is all over her,
Her beauty is on her thighs,
and if you look in her old trash,
you'll find her letters of goodbye.

Her masterpiece is quite disturbing,
Her masterpiece is a little gory,
Her artwork is her escape.
Let me tell you her story.

She compares herself to every person,
She is compared to each girl.
She thinks she's hideous,
And there's this boy that is her world.

She was bullied and picked on,
She was teased from head to toe,
Hard to believe that her best friend,
was her one and only foe.

Then later she disliked every little thing,
Her body, face and even her mind,
Soon she saw she was a failure,
and it was just in due time...

That this girl couldn't take it anymore
She'd decided she was done living this,
So one day she went home
and decided to end it.

Everyday for multiple days,
This girl would try to drown,
Hard to believe this girl at school,
never ever wore a frown.

Sometimes she'd just fall asleep crying,
Praying that she'd be enough,
Because she didn't want to leave her family.
She knew about their sweet love.

This girl found hope in small things eventually,
She soon would see this beautiful light,
and find a REAL best friend,
that helped her put up a fight.

Her masterpiece soon was leaving,
Her artwork was almost faded,
and it gave her a sick feeling,
the feeling of being jaded.

She found a boy that actually loved her,
And showed her love exists,
And this boy too had a masterpiece,
placed close to his wrists.

He related to her and she related to him.
She kissed his artwork and said he's not alone,
When she cut herself it hurt him,
Her masterpiece now wasn't just her own.

Her masterpiece effected others,
Her artwork wasn't just for herself,
She now had people, 
who saw her cries for help.

And then her family found out,
So then they saw the art too,
to them they were just scars,
To her they were the truth.

She's trying to be okay now,
She thinks she might survive,
Even though they didn't think
to take away the knives.


Details | Recovery From Poem |

I Do Believe

"I Do Believe" 

The purpose of LIFE is to {Living In Faith Ever} 
to enrich God within us 
to an optimum level 
so that We as Humans 
can be guided by God 
to fuel out brothers and sisters 
with the same driving force 
to connect with the living God, 
to His existence and 
to See the Invisible, 
Believe the Incredible, and 
to Receive the Impossible 
to our everlasting journey 
to Heaven.

Rev. Samuel Mack
Copyright 2013

http:paladinnews1.blogspot.com


Details | Recovery From Poem |

Last Night I Dreamt

Last night I dreamt you saw me
Really saw me for the first time
Not who you thought I should be
But the real me

I danced in front of you
Not caring what you thought
I embraced who I am instead of what I'm not
Unafraid
Unashamed
I watched you smile
I felt happy for a while
You were not playing grownup games
What I lacked not a source of your shame
I didn't feel like I was to blame
Sometimes I've wished for a different name

I watched as you delighted in me
Oh what a dream
Like the cherry on top of a dollop of cream
My nirvanah 
My elusive stream

When I wake I see your face
No joy there not a trace
I'm disappointed too
I'm hiding me and you are still you
So we continue
Like every day
Me not me and you being you

Richard Tarr's About Your Dad contest.

Hello Soup friends, do not worry I am not writing about a rocky
marriage but rather about the expectations of a father for his son.
This has long passed but I drew on the memory for this contest.


Details | Recovery From Poem |

The Nameless Pain

This is about someone else.


How long have I waited for this pain to pass,
Sharp as a needle and cutting like glass;
It lies in my bones and drives me to tears
Turning my minutes and hours to years.

There is no cure, and it has no name;
My joy turns to sorrow and gladness to shame.
For the pain never leaves me; it laughs in my face
My victories are few and end in disgrace.

It always pursues me, relentless and grim,
Laughing at my own endurance worn thin;
It tears at my back and snaps at my legs
No matter how loudly or sadly I beg.

It stalks me and watches, never once leaving
Whether or not I am hoping, believing
That it would just go. Run away, run away!
It resides in my belly and aches every day.

What does it want? A believer? A home?
Or does it just relish my every moan?
What would appease it? What would repel it?
I wish I knew some way that I could dispel it,

But there is no hope, as of yet there's no light.
The unnamed assailant attacks me each night
And causes me suffering again and again. 
If I ended my life, would this pain also end?

Would I finally be free of this tormenting foe
Whose name  and purpose I don't even know?
Or is there yet hope for a lost one like me?
Some way to fight it, and finally be free?

Can anyone name it? Does anyone know
The source of this agony, or what makes it go,
So that I may rest? Or am I condamned
To suffer and let it consume who I am?


Details | Recovery From Poem |

Lord, I've Been Hurting

		
	
Lord., I've Been Hurting!

This one thing I am
 most certain…
Lately I’ve been really hurtin’.

I trying to do right, but it 
turns out “wrong.”
Where, in life,
do I really belong?

So many people
 pass me by.
Sometimes, someone
may say;  “hi!”

I don’t know if this message is
 getting across?
I feel so confused and 
completely lost.

A message of “help” has my
 prayer and plea…
For God to reach out to me!

He reached down and
made me whole!
HIS love and compassion
 filled my soul!

Spending time with Jesus
 is time well spent!
It was for you and me that 
Jesus was sent!

By Jim Pemberton


Details | Recovery From Poem |

Desolation Prairie

Breathe deep and you will smell the suffering and death
The smell of burning flesh it will take away your breath
It was just a normal day, but in a split second it changed
When the bomb dropped from the sky the whole world it rearranged
Now there is nothing but destruction everywhere you look
Not a tree, not a plant, not even a babbling brook
Everywhere you turn death and suffering all you see
You have to become deaf to the endless cries and pleas
There is no one here to help, nothing you can do
No hospitals, no doctors, just people passing through
Looking for somewhere to go to try to start from scratch
With visions of their former lives from which they've been detached
Some looking for their loved ones who are more than likely dead
Thinking maybe they will find one or two of them up ahead
But I hold no such notions I know the truth you see
All that is left of my family is probably just me
To become part of a group again is the best that I could hope
Without the comfort of other people I don't know if I can cope
With the loss of my life and many others, everyone in fact
All of us making the same wish: that we could just go back
Back in time to computers and phones with our families at our sides
Back to a time and place before almost everybody died
That is where I wish to be and I'm sure everyone else does too
But all I can do is trudge along, hoping that I can pull through

I wrote this for a contest about a nuclear wasteland. Got 2nd place! I hope you enjoy. :)


Details | Recovery From Poem |

The Outlands

Tell them I died an awful death
and they'll say I received my due
Tell them I awoke in the mornings to poetry
bereft of a lover's disappointment
bereft of over commercialized blues.
Tell them I received my due.

Tell them that my bloody knees climbed
all the way to the stars
that abandonment made me stronger somehow
I reached, I clawed, I grasped
so many bent and lifeless straws.

Tell them I found a thousand answers
to the questions that riddle mankind
their complacency will answer you
that character was built on a feeble mind.

And when I ran the greatest distance
and erected the highest stone walls
to protect the battered child striving to grow
they'll tell you I wasted my time
there is no more to know.

and there in the shadows of their joy
I swam the river of my own tears
they'll tell you I had it coming to me

Outlandish!

After all those years.


Details | Recovery From Poem |

This poem is my own recovery from Valium O Little White Tablet

‘0 LITTLE WHITE TABLET’

O little white tablet, how I hate you,
I was only 21 years old, when introduced to you.
You looked so innocent, so white, so pure.
I was told you were the answer to everything,
(The cure)
No-one told me, when they introduced me to 
the rest of your family, the yellow and the blue.
The blue being five times stronger than you.
No-one told me of the dangers you held within.
Of all the pain I would have to go through, all the suffering.
No-one told me. YOU would rob me, of eighteen 
years of my life.
That I would be unable to function properly,
as a Mother and Wife.
No-one told me, I would get addicted to you.
Of all the pain and suffering, I would
have to go through.
To get you out of my system, alone took two years. 
Two more years of heartbreak, many, many tears.
Then to find out, I had Agoraphobia.
Several more years, destroyed by fear.
Which a lot of people, say is caused by you.
Not being able to go out, far or near.
Hurting all the ones, I loved so dear.
O little white tablet, how I hate you.
But in the end I was the winner Not you.

This poem refers to prescribed drugs


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