step back from the cliff
your twenties' brain on the edge
change is not decline
age redraws the roads we know
changing the way your brain thinks
stress rattles the frame
old minds need to avoid storms
rumination rusts
stronger pathways bear the load
as the brain's framework evolves
inside ageing brains
new supporting pathways grow
forming a framework
where nerves trace what years reshape
building a resilient mind
ongoing support
is needed to sustain growth
keep damage away
the stronger the inner frame
the further collapse retreats
movement wakes the brain
trodden pathways branch and bind
feed the frame, not flame
less abuse and fewer harms
give the scaffold room to grow
let the mind wander
explore unfamiliar ground
build fresh connections
try some things you cannot do
strange pathways form as you go
a time traveler
looks back, looks here, dreams forward
builds mental contexts
adds layers to the framework
as time bridges connections
there may be no cliff
if the pathways are well used
framework stays alive
by building mental bridges
transforming decline to change
Soul is weary
Heavy heart's dreary
Breastbone crushing resuscitation
Pressing rhythms flatline
A moldering past
Alas—a day to die for
This is supposed to be my outlet.
Emotions I claim are tainted pour out of me,
And I call it art.
This is what recovering looks like.
Pages upon pages of words I’ve kept hidden from the world—
This is what healing looks like.
Feeling more and more,
Just so the inspiration continues,
Because,
Creating feels better than existing ever did.
So why is it,
That my emptiness grows ever deeper?
What was once a narrow hole,
Has grown into an empty chasm,
Leaving my body hollowed out and dry,
Letting scorpions crawl up my spine,
Searching for dews of joy,
That don’t exist.
In anger,
They prick my skin.
Hoping for a reaction,
Only to realize joy isn’t the only thing that’s absent.
Numbness replaces the mind and soul—
My growth has been stunted.
My thoughts have been reeled in.
Everything halted for a single drop of creation—
Was this really just an outlet?
Take of a turn of three
time to talk of penumbra tales
beneath a taramond tree
trials and wailings of two lives in the vale
The life of young from it infancy
thence gradual, conventional neither fantasy
the sweetest of them all to behold
incomparable to an undelectable life of old
The sun and snow that oldlings won't deign
in them, we striplings all times do reign
like the suns of Africa, stronger shining wards
young wild eagles of Amerie, freely soaring beyond word
Dearest mates from the state of mine
move not like king Solomon's mine
who danddied, drove so great and high
cruising, perusing our skin into prime
yet says its vanity, a full of crime
we chaste conquerors, with wreathe all nigh
Here with walls green and bright
My inn with fire’s warmth and light
By a ravine low and steep
An old man came in the night
Hunched, disfigured, neither proud nor tall
With a face shaped much like a wall
Wishing to bridge the sides of the chasm deep
A bridge builder was his call
He asked for a place to stay
Where in the night he could lay
Near the pit where dark things sleep
During the day he will be away
Despite a frail body and limbs uneven
I found he had a big heart even mid the wintry season
Despite the shadowy gloom the ravine does keep
But why he built I had no reason
When asked he said it was for those not yet
For them was his life’s work to be met
So they need not worry about the depths where evil does creep
He felt it was to them that was his debt
For long ago when strong and young
He did things that should not be sung
Until he climbed from the chasm steep
For once down under his soul was wrung
Deep,Deep in the chasm ,all wet and filthy .
Longing to come out .
Guilt and sorrow were my only companion .
I had no one to tell of my agony.
Oh! Life,"Why are you so cruel,why don't you get any better?
As I was saying ,I saw a tiny spark in middle of the dark chasm .
Then it grew brighter and brighter until it consumed all the darkness ,
helping me to see beyond the chasm.
That spark had redeeming power,loving eyes and tender hands .
That spark had a name and his name is Jesus .
when distance cuts at love
confounding closeness
we grumble at Skype connecting
broken in its transmitting
togetherness that edges to confusion
turbulence in modernity
when we're unsure of what lies ahead
in slim rays of long distance longing
can love fall its way to slumber?
our chasm
settling in our lost sleep
life imperfect like the moon in pot mark littering
space junk
to trigger all our fretting
we sense where things are headed
with careers of solo plotting
no romp of a reunion, pending
lives that long a re-uniting are tangled
like Christmas tree lighting
no strategy for bridging this abyss
when the desire to live one's life
unencumbered
pushes all else aside
like pens tapping on a desk
restless in the waiting
According to the Scriptures, such unbridgeable chasm exists.
Luke 16:26 of the King James Bible declares, “And beside all this,
between us and you there is a great gulf fixed:
so that they which would pass from hence to you cannot;
neither can they pass to us, that would come from thence.”
We are compassionately warned by the Lord Jesus Christ Himself
to flee from that place of condemnation, called hell
since He, with His loving, gracious, and merciful sacrifice
already served as the bridge to close the sin-caused chasm
for mankind to reach heaven by faith in His redeeming work.
John 14:6 asserts, “Jesus saith… I am the way,
the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.”
Believing that heaven is assured midst God’s gift of eternal life
we who put our trust in the Saviour are freed from transgression’s penalty
can triumphantly share the wonders of vanquishing unbridgeable chasm.
July 11, 2023
Two of us an unbridgeable dark chasm;
We strike sharp painful words full of sarcasm.
Finger pointing away to the other.
Imperfect we are to one another.
We used to walk amid rhythmic towers,
Youthful dreams and love each other for hours.
Alone and forgotten, gracelessly through
Melodic and rhythmic blankness askew.
Two of us an unbridgeable dark chasm,
No longer share the same enthusiasm.
Last night my thoughts dwelled in melancholy
recalling what we once shared had been good
before we made the mistakes of mutual folly
and on opposite sides of a bridge we now stood
You called, I answered. Both having need to talk
but the bridge between us still kept us far apart
Would one of us take the first step of the walk,
afraid the risk would end again with a broken heart?
We spoke of memories that we both held dear,
and of those that caused me to wear a sad frown
Neither of us moved. We were still standing here,
in fear that one step would burn the bridge down
Is it too late to cross the deep chasm of this abyss?
Would holding you in my arms change even one thing?
Could love be rekindled with one passionate kiss?
Then, you said you were taking off your wedding ring.
At the foot of that bridge, I stood completely alone
as you walked away without one word of goodbye
Into that unbridgeable chasm, I tossed my phone
and threatened my eyes, "Don't you dare start to cry."
Do you yawn more when tired
than when you've just woken up?
This is the gaping gap of yawn's yolk
in 'chasmology', the study of yawning!
Why you do it, when, and what brings it on?
One quirk is that all vertebrates
reptiles, sharks, lions, kittens, and their babies
all yawn and its highly contagious.
It spreads in a room and a zoo.
One yawn can make all others yawn
when seeing a yawn in their face.
It's simply irresistible!
You can't stop it,
even if you wanted to!
Strangely, the stress from overexertion,
pent-up expectation,
and the quiet stagnation of boredom
can all trigger a yawn, even if quashed!
Bored babies even yawn in the womb.
Close friends yawn in unison.
Much more often than strangers jointly gape together!
Interesting stuff. Huh!
Have you yawned yet?
A brilliant sky - a hopeful day and night
But broods and churns, the haunt of beast and plight.
No kneading dough nor kneeling praise nor shout -
Before the cross was laid, there’s no way out.
The stretch between heaven and hell, no game.
A farmer or preacher could not stake claim.
With deep bruises, blood-red, the chasm has clout.
Before the cross was laid, there’s no way out.
Unsettling spores, the slithering…it’s war.
Get used to whip of snow and sun…its roar.
The walking dead transverse the sea of doubt.
Before the cross was laid, there’s no way out.
Ferocious waves, an unlit path with rocks.
A flaming sword, wrath of cherubim-locks.
Eternity without a save - sealed route.
Before the cross was laid, there’s no way out.
high wide
and handsome
the chasm
of emptiness
that fills
viduaged hearts
There are few things cannot be fused today.
Even the impossible, there always is a way.
Whenever two things, we need them to meet.
We find a way, even if it’s a miraculous feat.
Something that humans are yet to achieve.
Is a phenomenon that’s very hard to believe.
There is a wide chasm that so many dread.
It’s the gulf between the living and the dead.
Clairvoyants and soothsayers all have tried.
None really have contacted those that died.
Have some really seen ghosts and a spirit?
Did they actually get up close and near it?
Have they returned from Heaven back to earth,
Or souls roaming this planet round its girth?
Spirits not yet, been to Heaven they wait
Searching this world in vain for Heaven's Gate?
It’s not a bridge that He wants us to build.
So we could visit Heaven whenever we willed.
So apart from us seeing a ghost or phantasm.
Heaven to earth is an Unbridgeable Chasm.
Death is an unbridgeable chasm,
that's my opinion, not sarcasm.
Many mystics tried to explore
whatever lies beyond Death's door.
Religions preach Death's not the end;
as eternal souls; we ascend.
Yet, till I breathe my final breath,
living is juxtaposed with Death.
And I will likely never know
the full measure of its shadow.
For when I no longer exist;
my id shall dissipate like mist.
Once I'm dead, there's no coming back;
I'll see nothing, not even black.
Unless, of course, I am a soul;
then, I pray God will take control.
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