Clean Out Project: another set of unfinished poems

9-10-2025: 

It’s like the scripture says, 
First comes the fire, 
Here to burn away the plagues. 
Then comes the rapture, 
Incoming, 
Is this really the end of days?
By the blood of the sire, 
Resurrection of the dead, 
Never were you laid to waste. 
Like a seed the sun inspired, 
And despite treading through the mire, 
I’ve been growing myself through your grace. 
I’m a single handed choir, 
Singing through the wire, 
Belly aching and without breathing, 
Red in the face. 

Feet buried in my ways, 
The mud reaching up to my waist, 
I try not to dig myself out in haste. 

9-10-2025 (2):  

The vista cries, 
But the views’ still beautiful, 
Just watch as the paint falls. 
Every artist knows that the strive always dies, 
But we do what we gotta do while it lasts, 
I know when I’m done,
That’s because the words will make me emotional.
When the vista cries, 
A little inspiration dies. 
The hues are off, 
The grounds’ a little blue, 
There’s no more hiding from the rainfall. 
Happy accidents are just unintentional lies, 
But the painting in the end is still beautiful, 
Feels like all the efforts really paid off. 
Another day I’ve smiled, 
Feels like the efforts really paid off. 

4-9-2025: 

The darker days aren’t as gloomy, 
But they still exist. 
I’ve just been waiting on some thanks to give, 
Something to be grateful for, 
Praise is all I have left to give. 

1-9-2025: 

Tell them that you need them.
Tell them how you love them.
Tell them how every time you see them, 
Your heart runs, 
You smile so much among them. 
Tell them you never want to leave them.
Haven’t smiled so much, 
And I’ve smiled less from then.
The sober nights are gone, 
But despite the drunk ones, 
I haven’t really forgotten them.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2025

Poem

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