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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 | |

That Day, A Life Crushed

That Day, Life Crushed



I was resting on a lake dock that was in deep decay
it ran fifty yards out into the seamless water
that day my baby brother had went to swim with his friends
a normal summer day that shone with splendor
and peaceful was the soft blowing wind
only fate was awake and moving ever foward


there I was in peaceful solitude , resting
gazing at the lapping waves as they spoke
ignorant of what had taken place only moments before
the passing of a young and promising life, my brother


sun still beamed, wind still blew and life changed
a truck came racing across the bridge
I saw my best friend waving at me franticly
then I heard, I knew tragedy had befallen somebody
somebody I loved dearly


Moments later, the force of truth crushed me into a ball
it was as I feared, a death, an unimaginable horror
my baby brother was dead, my fourteen year old baby brother 
gone, gone , gone!


Electric current had destroyed his life
destroyed my life, sent me into a seven year rage
I said my goodbyes in a quiet rage and vowed that God, 
God would pay for this!
And so it began a terrible journey into a dark abyss 
one that consumed and slowly ate my soul
my soul it ate with relish and glee


I became a punisher of God!
Yes, such misery did I heap out by the bucket
by the ton and ate it's glory until-

Seven years later, light came into me as I slept
I woke one morning to find that the one punished was ME!
God had told me but I refused to hear
Now I heard and that truth crushed me again!


The road back took time but seven long years was over!
life returned, joy returned!
Majestic love returned to reclaim it's treasure-- my soul!


My soul rejoices to this day,
this day I see God stayed with me as I ran away!

I, he that runs no MORE!

Robert J. Lindley 06-30-2014

My first ever write about my brother, Billy Joe Lindley
fourteen year old and the girls adored him,
that summer electrocuted by a faulty electric pump at a 
friend's house by the river. 
1976, I think about him every day since, he was an angel compared 
to me and why, why did I live!

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 | |

Confession Seeks Forgiveness - I DO NOT

Confession Seeks Forgiveness – I Do Not


I will not confess, nor beg forgiveness,
for the sins of others, unrepentant,
nor succumb to “Inquisition’s” game,
accept their scars in Jesus’ name.
Confession would relieve them of
their guilt as they stand in mocking
pose of staff and quilt.

I will write in metaphoric hell of
living in a demon crusted shell,
hearing only roaring of the beast
denying me my right to living’s feast,
carrying the weight of living death
tortured by the scent of whiskey’d breath.

Catharsis, the confession of the soul,
leaves me empty - never feeling whole,
frees me from rage’s pain streaked grip
the demons of the past escaping crypt.
Hate and violence turned upon the self
a loneliness that anger cannot quell,
an innocence long locked in private hell.

Confession seeks forgiveness, I do not.
Writing let me voice the things I thought,
spew the venom of a vile and putrid stench
that I’ve lived with from that day - and ever since.
Thus have I learned to live in guarded space
in endeavor to show only freedom’s face
to smooth the ever present strain
the somehow they might see my hidden pain.

I seek not absolution for their sin
but the destruction of unholy liars den
where they hide the children’s souls they stole
under flowing robes and crowns of mitered gold.


8/31/2014
for Heart and Soul:  Confessionalism – poetry contest
sponsor:  Charlotte Puddifoot

Details | Recovery From Poem | |

Addiction of meth

Emotions of addiction
pulling so seductively

like a long lost love

whispering my name 
over and over 
until its all I hear

yearning rumbles deep down
burning as it rises
like bile in my throat

So conniving in its game 
of love and hate

like peek a boo with a child
frightening when it is revealed

turn and run they say
where shall I go

the only recourse is to stay

fighting everyday

as it tries to tear 
to wear me down

He calls to me
i answer and somehow
i have won
a new day is here

exhausted and confused
howling growling in the distance
addiction pulls back

waiting patiently so patiently
to take me back to hell

Details | Recovery From Poem | |

Jesus Christ Has the Power Over ANY Addiction

Jesus Christ Has the Power Over Any Addiction!

I often hear of people who battle addictions.
This often leaves many scars and afflictions.

There's counselors to help, "a dime a dozen."
Their patient could be a friend or a cousin.

As many battle lives filled with "pollution."
But too often, God is left out of the solution.

Many who need help are given little help at best.
Why they cope with fear, anxiety and stress.

The one who can help the most, is often left out.
As many miss what the real hope of life is about!

The very God who created mankind, knows all about us!
He sent his son Jesus, because he loves us!

We can trust him for his cleansing power!
He can meet every need!  This very hour!

If you're battling an addiction and are losing!
Won't you let God be the one that you're choosing?

He’s powerful!  And wants to help you so much!
Your life can be forever changed!  By his touch!

Come one and all!  Your needs, God shall supply!
Come and drink of his water which shall satisfy!

The sins and scars can be a thing of the past!
As you enjoy an abundant life, that'll always last!

The painful addictions can be healed this moment!
By the power and resurrection of Christ' atonement!

NOW can be time to lay your worries beneath him!
God shall restore those who diligently seek him!

Glory to Jesus!  The victory's already been won!
All honor and praise to God's anointed one!

By Jim Pemberton   08/22/14


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 | |

In Need of a Banquet

He gave me only crumbs to feed my soul
A famished heart in need, I asked for more
I could not please him for he was not whole
His heart was hers and he had locked that door

I longed to eat of banquet of his love
The night grew long and in my heart an ache
I hid my face and cried to God above
And prayed that by his grace I would not wake

A little kiss, a quick caress, a sigh
The rest was left for dreams to try to fill
The fervent plea of heart he did deny
My hope of passion’s fullness lingers still

Yet bounty of love’s banquet I must taste
Another one will feed me what I crave
My lavish heart like crumbs I will not waste 
For I must feast on love before the grave

Eileen Manassian
August 21, 2014
For Giorgio's Iambic Pentameter Contest

Footnote:
Today I read a poem by Jan Allison entitled, Free Bird, in which she wrote of 
being thrown some crumbs. My response to her: “We all need love and 
affection. Crumbs must turn to banquet soon.” Thus, this poem was born. ? 
Inspiration works in mysterious ways. Thanks Jan for the seed! Give Jan's 
poem a read. It is sweet.



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