Details |
Recovery From Poem
|
In A Sad Blindness, One May Yet Find Hope
(The Solemn Prayer)
Raining splashing, fierce winds blowing and huge trees sway
I pray not for all this, on some other black day
With dark blue shadows plotting my early demise
I seek deep wisdom from sages worldly and wise
Not just some clever words to soothe this shattered heart
Instead sweet hope, light in words, to this life restart
With power to waken these world-blinded closed eyes
Stop salty tear drops falling from splintered skies.
On this day, life should see past these looming black-storms
Find solace in love, hope and my loving wife's arms
Yet that stone wall, yields to nothing but great power
Far more than this broken soul can muster this hour
When thus lost, can one ever find again that Light
Healer of dagger stabbed wounds, found on a dark night
I pray, gift wisdom to walk that one true-lit path
Release this sad soul from, this evil, wicked wrath.
Raining splashing, fierce winds blowing and huge trees sway
I pray not for all this, on some other black day
With dark blue shadows plotting my early demise
I seek deep wisdom from sages worldly and wise
Not just some clever words to soothe this shattered heart
Instead sweet hope, light in words, to this life restart
With power to waken these world-blinded closed eyes
Stop salty tear drops falling from splintered skies.
Robert J. Lindley, 2-07-2017
Syllables Per Line:
12 12 12 12 12 12 12 12 0 12 12 12 12 12 12 12 12 0 12 12 12 12 12 12 12 12
Total # Syllables: 288
Total # Words: 225
Note- I decided to write this poem, this morn. About half had already been composed in my head yesterday afternoon and I finally sat down now to put pen to paper.
Believe me, in that it was not an easy task to finish this and be satisfied with the results.
Maybe I am just tired and stopped because of that.
I don't know. Maybe on another day, I could have and would have thought this lacking and rewritten it..
But today, I have only enough to say, this is as it is(and thus it may stay), hope you may find it agreeable and not fault me too much .......
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2017
|
Details |
Recovery From Poem
|
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.
Copyright © Madison Marie | Year Posted 2013
|
Details |
Recovery From Poem
|
My words were rewritten until they became yours
As grammar and syntax perfected your thoughts
Pages lined with highlighters polished me to extinction
I wanted to resist all of those good intentions
Yet I knew you wanted your best words for me
You weren't listening so you couldn't hear what I was asking for
Poor boy me I lacked the courage to say it loud enough
I felt my voice become tiny as my heart disappeared
Sure my words were somewhat awkward
Still I had things to express that way
My rhythm was imbedded in the word play
You crumbled my granite and turned it into clay
It happened slowly a bit day by day
I was there hidden in the disconnected details
Crystal blue eyed observations to share
Becoming myself on the verge of aware
You could have found me there
My words weren't lacking weight or substance
Like a series of road signs I pointed in a certain direction
I wasn't looking for polished perfection
What I desired most was emotional connection!
The trip must have seemed hard
You couldn't see past the curves in my road
It was to difficult to decipher my emotional code
So instead you bulldozed through my mind
with a big truck weighted with your own heavy load
If only you could have lingered and waited
Maybe you could have been sated
My words were interplayed and related
The strength of your ego I had not anticipated
In your wake I was left dejected and frustrated
There had been points of interest along the way
sprinkled star dust amidst the Milky Way
Beneath were gardens in which you could have come to play
There was no rush, I wanted you to stay
Until my liquid thoughts were morphed into hay
There before you
I had erected statues of delight
adorned in billowing fabric made of light
Perhaps you were blinded by my bright
unexpected in the middle of the night
You could have occupied my pleasure
Below my surface a spring fed treasure
A gift for you beyond measure
You could have witnessed the essence of me
Even though you came so close
you just couldn't see...
This is an old one that I have significantly reworked.
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Recovery From Poem
|
I come to the garden along, while the dew is still fresh
on the meadows. Early in the morning do the bird's sing
praises of roses and peddles. I cry, because there is no
refuge finally from the pain.
Yet long ago, a child was born, to become king, and yes
there is hope, just for believing in his name. Where is this King!
when I'm hurting and alone? He's just a prayer away, don't give
up, for he's Alpha and Omega, which means, just be strong!.
So they sent me to a place, to turn my life around. I cry, be-
cause, I am somebody no longer am I bound.
Now I know that Jesus is my refuge and no more drugs is
there for I. Thank you Lord, for the method, that's "Why Must
I Cry".
Copyright © John Streeter | Year Posted 2009
|
Details |
Recovery From Poem
|
Her reveries slant the compass of time: 1970s. Minefields now roar through blurred visions. She retreats into dots of space to live in the moment, as emotions fling to a gray sky. While curtains blow unceasingly, hours freeze. Again, love passes; leaves, while a young wife’s heart crushes in tears.
bouyant clouds wander
in the expanse of night time
to gather shadows
There is delicacy in pain. Letters from Nam change the dark of winter to a glitter of December lights. As she sets the table, the flaming candle waxes through a kitchen filled with sweets and almonds . He is the breath touching musical tones in the quiet rhythm where carols are sung together. Feeling his presence,
she regales in a lone dance of fond remembering.
pines in crimson gold
waltz across the starlight
etching mellow notes
Somehow, a woman begins to droop beside a half-closed window. In the cold of duskfall, she longs
for her soldier husband, quietly. Then wiping her cheeks, she is refreshed by those who need her, now. In a joyful play with daughter and son, Aunt Jamie finds her true north. Such is the luster of more tomorrows,
moon glimmers, dust fades
a balm of healing renews
fresh discoveries
For SKAT : Any Poem You are Proud Of Contest
Reposted 5/14/2016
Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2015
|
Details |
Recovery From Poem
|
Dear Ex,
I know you and I had our differences.
We were always finding new ways to say I loathe you.
It was my blameworthiness that allowed the rain to enter your car,
because your window was down.
I’m sorry I didn’t carry my 9 months of pregnant girth,
down four flights of stairs, to the
outside parking deck, in the rain to roll it up.
It was my fault when the bank account was overdrawn by 6 cents,
due to paying all the bills on time.
I apologize for keeping the power turned on
so I could cook fish sticks and green bean soup on your salary.
It was my fault the car was always out of gas,
since I never drove it anywhere.
What could I do but apologize for that?
It was totally my fault. By the way, I met your supervisor.
Like when I forced you
to have an extramarital relationship with a co-worker
because of the weight I had gained.
I’m so sorry my Motherhoodness was so repulsive to you.
It also was my fault our marriage didn’t last longer than 3 years,
because I chose to be happy without you.
I do regret that almost never. Did I mention my promotion?
But let’s not be sad.
For all the hurtful comments I made about your manhood because,
I couldn’t think of anything nice to say. I’m sorry.
I regret that I didn’t save some of those photos for Ripley’s Believe it or Not.
I deeply regret having never told you I entered you in an ugly man contest.
Or that your third placement, won me an additional $5 gift card.
Did I mention my new job?
So Ex,
I hope this heart felt letter of apology
finds you prosperous and in good health.
Keep those support payments coming, and
Don’t forget to feed the kitty!
Love, your new boss
Copyright © Sandra Hudson | Year Posted 2009
|
Details |
Recovery From Poem
|
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
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2013
|
Details |
Recovery From Poem
|
No more walking on egg shells
or stroking one mans pride
My wounded heart is open now
and at last so are my eyes
No more empty conversations
pro claiming he's the best
If truth be known his actions shown
He's just like all the rest
There is so much to be thankful for
I'm healing from the fall
But he's the one who's suffering
He could have had it all...
Copyright © Sharon Ruebel | Year Posted 2010
|
Details |
Recovery From Poem
|
As the waves forever kiss the shore
One shot leaves you wanting more
My heart and soul, strong and true
With all the love they hold for you
Sometimes my life leaves me bored
Like a swordsman with no sword
These are the times that I write
Memories can be hard to fight
I write out my heart and soul
Controlling my mind is my goal
Each new word released by my pen
Is another spiritual battle I win
The war rages on day by day
Through the poem prayers I pray
It's a war that I will forever win
Long as there is ink up in my pen
In prison I had quite a collection
Each one held it's own reflection
I saved them after they ran dry
Baptized with the tears I cry
I just couldn't seem to let them go
Little memories of my heart and soul
Sometimes I like to take them out
Little memories of what I'm about
What I'm about angel on my shoulder
Making this world a little less colder
Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2007
|
Details |
Recovery From Poem
|
They ask me why I’m so happy
Asking me, if I just won a prize
I replied, well I reckon I did
Today is a wonderful surprise
When you have a past like mine
My today is always bright
There is no better feeling on earth
Than the joy of doing right
I may be an old man on a cane
My heart is skipping along
I learned to embrace the meaning
Life is a beautiful song
True life has its ups and downs
There’ll be forks in the road
With a smile I’ll stop for a while
Help you with your load
I had me a bag of popcorn today
It tasted exceptionally good
In fact, I will go as far as to say
Better then it probably should
For years, I had a guard in the pen
Popped him a bag each night
Then he would simply throw it away
His twisted little delight
He knew, it was those little things
Ate at our heart and soul
Movie with the wife Friday night
Popcorn in the bowl
I had a bag of popcorn today
Wife sitting at my side
I had a smile, which lasted awhile
One I could not hide
They ask me why I’m so happy
Asking me, if I won a prize
I replied, I reckon I did
Today is a wonderful surprise
For some reason today I was thinking about C.O. Talbert and
how he would pop a bag of popcorn even though he didn't eat
popcorn. He did it just because he knew it would make everyone
want some. I always felt sorry for him. His life must have been
very disappointing. The moral here: when you learn to appreciate
the little things in life your popcorn will taste a whole lot better.
Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2011
|
Details |
Recovery From Poem
|
65 minutes reduced to 120 seconds
Bright lit room
White glossy tone with flowery curtains
Upon window's darkened vision
Your radiance emanated in celebratory gesture
As my eyes fell in love
All over again
But your smiles were too bright to see me cry
Dry heaving sadness gasp
As I looked down...I became the great
Pretender
The smile pretender
You wore a dark blue blouse, w/body-fitting jeans
Tall, plus-size model stature
My walking fantasy
Dark brown locks of joy slow danced upon flesh that
I
No longer embraced
You had something to tell me
"I'm getting married to a man who called me, sexy.
We work together in the same building, so everybody knows."
Spanish music behind the scenes
Your witty humor against song
Crackin' my smile within sadness pores
Showing me blank invitations
As I leaned in, inhaling this broken emptiness
Writing out words with her voice
My gentle grin, the eraser
Tears in Cold War mode
Heart enunciating disconnection bliss
"This wasn't how I wanted to see you again"
As satin comforter tries to soften my falling
Falling...into true love's innocence
The same comforter that covered those tracks
Asphalt scarred remnants from the bus you threw me under
"I always wanted you to wake me from my sleep
But not like this"
You became my dream, come true
Becoming dream again
In 120 seconds
...
He may have called you "sexy" with words
But I called you "beautiful" with heart
Yet you will never value how deep it was
Well, at least you can rest assured
That I got your message
© Drake J. Eszes
"True love never dies...even if the recipient never reciprocates." –D.J.E.
Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2010
|
Details |
Recovery From Poem
|
FROM A HOSPITAL BED
Wordancer
Even if I’m dizzy with an aching head,
I must not disturb the others in the beds
In this hospital ward where not much is said
For fear of making a fuss.
It’s not much fun with nothing to do
Can’t even get up to go to the Loo
The doctors come, and ask, ‘How are you?’
It’s hard to tell them which is worse
Visiting hours and here’s Dad and Mum
Who immediately asks me why I’m so glum.
I tell them, ‘The others had ice-cream, but I got none,
And, if it was you Dad; you’d curse!’
Patting my hand, Mum says, ‘It’s all right,’
And Dad says, ‘You might get some tonight,
Cos you’re looking better, you’re not so white,
I’ll go over and ask that nurse.’
Back he comes grinning down the ward,
And sits back in the chair without a word,
To Mum he whispers so he can’t be heard
Then his eyes meet mine, his lips are pursed.
The doors swing open; a nurse comes through,
Carrying a tray and says, ‘This is for you,
You can have some now you are healing like new,
To Mum, Dad says, ‘We’ll cancel the hearse!’
I’ve broken no bones, the x-rays prove,
But there’ll be a scar and a slight groove
Left from the fencepost that failed to move
When I fell on it, off my horse
With an arm in a sling and one foot on the ground,
The other in plaster and my head bandaged round,
I’m going home soon, and my horse has been found
Across the river, but he’s none the worst.
It’s easy to laugh with no aching head
And it doesn’t disturb the others in beds
‘There is no need to fear,’ as everyone says,
‘Just ring the bell for the nurse!’
Copyright © J Eliza JAMES | Year Posted 2012
|
Details |
Recovery From Poem
|
There are times we are left to cope
With situations that drain our hope
Leaving us full of despair
At how some people just don't care
About the evil that they do
To good people like all of you
We are left to somehow face
That in mankind there is disgrace
And those of us left alive
Must find away to survive
As you pick up the pieces of your life
Without your mother, father, husband or wife
And some of you God forbid
Without the love of your kids
We must band together with a brotherhood
Show that in this world there is some good
Because we are together in this deal
We try to help each other heal
We seek in each other good advice
And offer each other sacrifice
We hold each other in prayer and song
As we continue to re-build the wrong
Because what else in the world can we do
Except let the light of good shine through
The evil darkness and despair
Of a catastrophic lack of care
We want you to know you are not alone
Think of America as a giant cone
And all of us are funneling through
Our prayers and hopes to all of you
Posted for Nathan's 9-11 contest
Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2009
|
Details |
Recovery From Poem
|
I tried folding a paper crane again the other day
and it didn't turn out right
tracing back my folds,
I knew I missed somewhere
unfolding, re-creasing, refolding
just tracing my fingers back
fingers
feeling the paper
and beyond
A three-minute fold
times 10 now
Even if I needed to do other things,
I paid no mind, determined to fold that crane
I had to get this right.
I had to.
Almost there...
As it turns out,
I only missed one step,
--something to do with its wings, I believe...
Amazing how a single step
could be so important.
Stretching its wings now,
the paper crane
soars proudly on my palm...
So beautiful.
In refolding this paper crane,
I hope I never forget...
Amazing how easily things slip from our minds,
but more amazing
is when our hearts Do remember.
We remember,
and then we Do something...
...I have hundreds of paper cranes yet to fold,
it may be taking me far longer
than what I had initially planned...
but yes, you are in my thoughts,
you are in my prayers...
and I shall continue folding these cranes.
...I revel in the thought, for that moment,
when I can send them flying towards the Sun...
0409/142012131a133/1139p1155
Copyright © kabuteng P.iNk k. | Year Posted 2012
|
Details |
Recovery From Poem
|
I see that acacia tree
and I get vacuumed back to the past.
When we both had
a different type of light in our eyes,
with the reflections of that clear brook
evident in our irises,
where we thought that the
sun only revolved around us, and us alone.
We thought we knew better,
or did we?
Did we truly know anything at all?
My heart gurgles a bit,
as it chokes, bleeding on memories...
I am beside myself,
and I look so stupid,
hugging that tree,
a lifeline to what was.
I envy that tree, for its sturdiness,
its roots being so deep-seated,
so much unlike us,
easily broken, swayed, uprooted.
I loathe that tree,
for it still blooms,
blushing with its bright pink flowers
so delicate-looking and beautiful.
So unlike myself.
I feel ugly now. I actually am.
With hate and guilt eating at me from my core,
how could I not be?
I am rotten.
I am corroded.
From the looks of it,
I seem to have drunk from that
brook (now polluted), ingesting the trash
strewn there
I just never knew how much filth there was.
I am not infallible.
I thought you were.
But I was wrong. Dead wrong.
You tried to pull me up, but
became too heavy for you...
I dragged you down with me,
so deep, too deeply
that I had to bury you.
Along with my heart and soul,
which have both turned into stone.
I am stoned.
Yes, I feel so heavy,
so heavy I wish someone
would bury me,
throw me in the sea
so I could sink to the bottom and be forgotten.
Or better yet,
is there a magic pill
being sold somewhere
that can make me go back—
Start all over
and do things over?
What I would give
to recapture that light,
to have you back
but I know it is too late.
You’ve gone already.
Left me...
Or so I thought.
I always had the tendency to be wrong,
and it had never felt so great.
I turn around
and a different kind of light
kindles my I(rise)s.
Like that acacia,
I bloom again.
Copyright © kabuteng P.iNk k. | Year Posted 2012
|
Details |
Recovery From Poem
|
In A Darkened Attic Room
In attic room, one window tightly shut,
Dwells broken heart hidden from future pain.
Bare as a savage brute's empty hut-
Condemned to no hope, no future, no gain.
Where rests such perilous fear darkness reigns;-
Shattered dreams give rise to dark illusions.
Hope rejected brings on its most wicked stains,
Evil held, births its blackest conclusions.
Grown in decay until nothing remains,
Yet sad hope is better than none at all.
True love waits the bliss it always contains,
Treasures gifted, one only has to call.
If one ray of love's light but filters in
Love brings life and its promises again.
Robert J. Lindley, 1-30-2016
Syllables Per Line:
10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 0 10 10
Total # Syllables: 140
Total # Lines: 18 (Including empty lines)
Words with (syllables) counted programmatically:
Total # Words: 103
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Recovery From Poem
|
Once significant and alluring, your luster faded.
Perhaps it was the treachery in hollow eyes jaded.
Was there ever a light
in a soul dark as night?
Promises of love only heralded grief;
faith I once had turned to disbelief.
She was younger, pretty, but above all newer.
Agony in my heart came from betrayal’s skewer.
How could I blame her when I knew that soon
your allegiance would change like the inconstant moon?
She would then feel the fickle pitchfork of pain -
those knots in her stomach twisted by emotions feigned.
Only now can I see you for what you are.
Anger settled; no longer do we spar.
Bitterness made way for resignation again.
Maybe I shall once more learn to trust men.
Then I can guide your latest castaway
and ease the surging sting of her dismay.
Your fate rests on a tremulous shore
where, as looks fade, you can offer nothing more.
*Written November 21, 2014
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2014
|
Details |
Recovery From Poem
|
Today’s wind shifts too fast like a muddle
of invisible lint…perhaps dust,as the air
resists this heart's unanswered questions
howling about this litany of a crushed promise:
Wired thoughts rip my lily bouquet now strewn
the ground of lament; an aborted vow
silencing chapel aisles on this day, this day.
I turn celibate much like a nun in front
of an altar… abandoned ,that my pain grates
a most benevolent night that has no syllable
for me…for on this day, a betrothal undone
leaves me hanging , hanging on a cross.
I’ll never know the why of a turnaround choice;
except in his runaway scheme ,my eyes
grow blank…nipped iodized entombed.
It is freezing now; a light bent in prayer
disappears with and lost in the winds.
John Hamilton's Contest: Lost Love
Free Verse or Rhyme
Resubmitted 5/12/2017
Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Recovery From Poem
|
He fills his syringe with poisoned words
pulling the letters one by one from his rusted spoon
They rise up through the needle in perfect order
"Disgusting" "failure" "worthless" "loser"
There in the cylinder they mix together
until they are a perfect black ink
Although he no longer sees the words
their meanings are not lost on him
As he injects them into his arm
he feels the blackness
Ink travels slowly up his arm towards his heart
At first he enjoys the burning sensation
as capital letters make way for the smaller ones
In the moment he's convinced they are lies
When they reach his heart
he becomes a true believer
By choosing to be less than he is
he occupies his excuses
The I can'ts and never coulds
The poor me's
All the reasons
he's not good enough
The words stack one on top of the other
until his heart is filled with empty
Empty promises
Empty dreams
Somehow this comforts him
He holds tightly to
It's not my fault
It's just the way it is
His is a waking dreamless slumber
only lies seem believable
So he injects another word
"Anger"
Then a question
"Why do others have all the luck?"
Someone who cares
Takes a silver spoon
Fills it up with better words
Feeds him nourishing words
Smart, tenacious, kind and happy
He starts with small sips
one letter at a time
in front of him a golden bowl
filled to the brim with phrases
"You are Lovable"
"Anything is possible"
"Your opinion is important"
At first he is convinced they are lies
Until they reach his gut
Until he becomes a true believer
Taking everything to heart
Satiating his empty
Now he can see beyond what he thought was impossible
His actions speak louder then words
His life is not a wasted gift
From this day forward
He's living his life to the fullest!
Inspired by Jai Bankson's poem "The Habit" check it out!
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Recovery From Poem
|
A cold wind blows,
turning hardened walls to sand.
Breaking down the barriers
exposing the emotions that were held inside.
The pain builds,
from hurts buried deep within.
Storm clouds roll in
dark, cold, and threatening.
Thunder rumbles,
roars across the darkened land.
A voice breaking the spirit:
Stupid
Ugly
Hated
Harlot
Die...
the words echo through the ears.
Lightning flashes,
shattering the very heavens.
Words drift through the mind:
Unwanted
Nothing
No-one
Useless
Alone...
casting shadows of doubt through the soul.
The tears fall from the eyes,
from a heart broken and battered.
Rain pours down from above
overflowing, unable to be contained.
Then finally as the rage is spent,
a calm stillness overtakes the cleansed world.
In the arms of a friend
peace is found once again.
And a voice whispers to the night:
"I'm alright..."
Copyright © Jennifer King | Year Posted 2010
|
Details |
Recovery From Poem
|
High upon the highest heights
I see the most tremulous sight
A small girl, fair and tranquil
Smiling strangely, sitting still
Beneath a sobbing willow tree
She recites a verse upon her knee
She sings a rhythmic hymn
Not of death, nothing grim
But prays that life will return
Even for those who are doomed to burn
The girl is a woman now
Beneath the tree and upon the cloud
She whispers, “I am watching you”
Why then are you so blue?
A single tear of sadness and joy
Rejuvenate the quirky earthly boy
Who sits down beneath the blooming tree
Listening to her silent voice attentively
She reminds him she was once young too
That she also was a misty shade of blue
But when the boy grows into man
He has come to ignore the fair woman
Who watches him still from above
Burning and swelling with disdainful love
The ways of the world have sweltered his heart
And time has torn his soul apart
Thus he has lost all innocence and light
Battling his sinful lust—an endless plight!
I watch as he feeds on others’ pains and fears
Reducing the vigilant woman to tears
The prayer of the innocent has been ignored
Life has died and hellfire stored
Into the hearts of the impotent
In blue, fires of haze their heart is sent
Toiling in misery and lament
Savaged and severed by our regret
The heavenly woman grows old and frail
And the man still treads the sinful trail
As the rotting tree withers into dust
Can I revive it? –I must!
Low as low can possibly be
I watch myself condescendingly
A tombstone, gray and hell-bent
Frowning knowingly in bewilderment
Above the dust that once was a tree
She cries out a verse anxiously
Faintly she whispers the undying hymn
Not of happiness, nothing of whim
And prays that life will come to end
For those that break instead of bend
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2011
|
Details |
Recovery From Poem
|
Belligerent and irritated by almost any little thing
Insaneness all around me; craziness is what I bring
Psychosis is not the problem; the problem lies within
Overzealous personality; much absorption sinking in
Liar, cheat and manipulator; trust you should not give
Ambition at its lowest; no longer wanting to live
Racing thoughts; trying to unwind an ultimate goal for an unstable mind
Stacy Lynn Stiles
Copyright © Stacy Stiles | Year Posted 2007
|
Details |
Recovery From Poem
|
My soul understood Lynyrd Skynyrd
Like Ronnie I had monkeys to
Just simple boys chasing life’s joys
With our needles playing our blues
My soul understood Pink Floyd
For I have lived inside the wall
Comfortably numb and ignorantly dumb
Living my life forever tasting the call
My soul understood Nirvana
The White Horse has lived in my stall
I’ve tasted death at the edge of my breath
As my soul just nodded through it all
Like Creed I am my own Prison
No appeal on the docket today
What I learned from John Lennon
We all need to learn how to pray
Morrison took me to the roadhouse
Like Merle they locked me away
And I guess just like Creedence
I’ve seen rain on the sunny day
You know I do love Hank Jr.
Especially when he sings the blues
It seems so many of us just hop on the bus
Forever lost in the Addictions we choose
Sometimes I feel just like Kid Rock
I’m just sitting here in search of myself
I have great respect for Garth Brooks
For his family he put his career on the shelf
Johnny Cash sang of San Quentin
I heard the song in one of its cells
Locked up inside of that medieval prison
You feel like you have made it to hell
Like Jerry Garcia I fried in Berkley
Like Hendrix I dropped acid in my eyes
To this day when I hear Janice Joplin
I just want to break down and cry
The Eagles played the Hotel California
I have led the dance on that Prison yard
Guns & Roses sang of the Jungle
Prison is a world very cold and hard
These are a few of the songs and the makers
Ones that have shared my story and plight
When I die just play dust in the wind
As I ride the stairway to heaven that night
If my song is granted one purpose
And the music I’m allowed to choose
Let it be said that the song in my head
Was country rock with a touch of the blues
And let that song forever tell a story
A horrible story that ended so bright
For when Jesus Christ grants his mercy
Even the most blind can be led to the light
So Lord let my life be your lighthouse
Lord please guide my story as it’s told
And whatever you do Lord I beg of you
Help me stay worthy of the heart that I hold
Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2008
|
Details |
Recovery From Poem
|
Blood that screams mixes with tears of fears,
Over your hypocrisy and useless years.
Fresh cuts don't matter - your attentions yet wane.
It's just too easy to shut down, I could end this pain.
But, escape artists aren't artists at all.
When life ends the real journey begins, the journey to be
Above imperfection and glorified weakness everyone sees.
Life trickles into the drain of the sink, wash it and pretend
The veil is burning off,but there is only so much fire can mend
Besides, escape artists aren't artists at all.
Copyright © Lyndsay Dupont | Year Posted 2008
|
Details |
Recovery From Poem
|
Have you ever been insane?
Lost inside your own pain
Just trying hard to figure out
What this life is really about?
There are voices up in my mind
Sometimes sanity is hard to find
Whenever I find myself all alone
I keep knocking but no ones home
I study the lines that cover my face
The jigsaw puzzle seems out of place
I don’t seem to know myself anymore
Seems my monkey took off with a whore
The only thing left sitting here is me
And my one-day at a time sobriety
When it all starts breaking down
I am just a ghost inside a clown
But I reckon that too will be ok
Long as I remember how to pray
Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2009
|