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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required The robbery of the soul... The trampling of boundaries like a frenzied stampede of elephants.. The cutting of ties that bound us with reckless abandon. Emblazoned with it's name, PRIDE, across the blade, It's a slash to the face that stoically said "I do", A stab to the back that never turned on you. Face pale from the blood loss and from the fear of what is to come...making it hard move. Need a transfusion of Life.... This is not civility....this is not friendship....This is not who I once knew Plastic bags and suitcases, Shattered drywall and dreams, Neon lights and breakbeats, Cold nights and empty sheets, nicotine and alcohol dreams, things are not what they seemed.... Trying to break the downward spiral, this wasteland is a strange land to me We're not where we're supposed to be, you see Just a thread of hope is all I asked for, And I would have woven a beautiful tapestry to cover you with. I'm sending desperate heavenly petitions in the middle of the night, Eloquence is replaced because of desperation and urgency with wordless groans, The moans of a weary soul stuck in the pit of despair Hands covered in blood clutching my chest, The blade has run straight through the heart Et tu Brutes? The lack of rhyme or reason makes it hard to fight for breath Struggling for gasps of air.....no air. I refuse to concede my mind to the madness, To turn my heart over to a fallen angel feast as they have done already The unwarranted meal is no more, I wait for the Sonrise to illuminate Because the reasons and chasms in between are great. The narrow road is treacherous, can't see through the fog Ears strain to hear the voice of God. Angels come dislodge the blade Before the poison of Bitterness begins seep through the veins. It's covered in deep red. Forged from dark depths, begging me to pick it up and wield it just the same for revenge. Rage and righteous indignation consume me and justify my desire to reach for it, But Devine Hands stay mine, "This is not the weapon for this warfare.....trust Me" No answers or reasons...... only promises given That in this wasteland The myrtle and acacia will rise where thorns and thistles grow Streams will flow from where desert winds blow So that people may see and understand..... Promises of Strength, Restoration So carry on.... Diamonds are not made on white sandy beaches, And warriors are not groomed at their mother's breast.
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