Demons
Deep in the forrest of the depth of my soul
lived an insecure wretch down deep in his hole.
He was not long ago forsaken to rot,
secluded and shamed for the hell he hath wrought.
The soul can not soar without faith in the sky.
It hides in the darkness ashamed but to try.
Violently thrashing this life and that past,
ever uncertain, indecisive, outcast.
Internal strife of his own psyche's make,
In cold damp dark left to shiver and shake.
A stranger to self, another man's role,pathetic disguise from self despised soul.
This wretched recluse, self-exiled underground,
must meet his demise before hope can be found
Mindful but stubborn embracing the pain,
a delicate task this breaking of chains
Many facades each a further misfit,
hiding his truth down his insecure pit.
Razed and disected, his weakness confessed
Little repose to a man self obsessed
Desperately clawing from damnable depths.
Dragging his psyche up arduous steps.
Battered and bruised and humbly unaware
How bright his light shines, from depths whence he cares.
If any nation will follow suit that means we have
a long journey to go or ways to follow
and something like blue or black or yellow or white or red
shadows for suggestion
the nation could have mourned some of the flotsam
grounds, at least somehow to damn?.
Or a little less the wall instead may turn gradienture?.
I think if there is any place so fieldier, so magical and
so damnable?.
...It was maybe ten years later,
as I slept in my bed,
that all sorts of infernal things
seemed to possess my head.
A procession of cruel demons
that long ago had fell,
and above them, the Morningstar,
damnable price of Hell.
They taunted me with cries that pierced,
burned me with fetid breath,
portrayed my sins before my eyes,
said, “You deserve but death!”
There was no escaping that fact,
so much had I done wrong,
the Devil said, “This is my world,
and with me you belong.”
But then I heard the Voice again,
“Ignore what he may say,
this fool challenged the Throne before,
his fall was child’s play.”
His voice sent demons scattering,
His words were holy writ.
“I paid your debts up on that cross,
fear not, ’cause I’ve got this…”
Laid bare far beyond civilizations glare, sank the ever-defiled bowels of a forgotten lair.
Nameless, voiceless and visually uncertain,
a silhouette hidden behind an ebony curtain,
as though it itself is unsure to pertain
any what description of its own existential pain.
It rots, an inexorable stench permeates the air.
Behold the Titan whose size boasts beyond compare.
Clouds and mists of fetid odor, scurry across the dark skies and forever over.
A haunted smell, wrought from a carcass from hell, where the vengeful dead stubbornly dwell.
Abandoned beyond those ebony mountains, whose dying blood flows forth from damnable fountains.
Joining oceans of red, always starved but always fed, from the Titan who lies dying upon his ebony deathbed.
God Is Faithful
Written: by Miracle Man
1-21-23
Sometimes when temptation has teens bound,
they must control their emotions to get a grip.
The quietude many seek can’t seem to be found,
and days become another extended guilt trip.
All this is the result of being tempted to sin,
and Satan is adept in making sin look good.
Temptation leaves minds filled with chagrin,
Satan is a purveyor of damnable falsehood.
1 Corinthians 10:13
“There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it.”
Such was his damnable gift
Being little more than a curse
Others he wanted to lift
His touch left them so much worse
His mind lacking all insight
Leaving so many disturbed
Utter wrong being his right
He blundered on unperturbed
Freedom his cry for Ukraine
That was the hope of Putin
All he delivered was pain
Just another Rasputin
Often a country will plough over its dead.
Flowers planted; parks landscaped
over the biographies of the brave.
To read the fallen, to honor the dead and the living
we must gouge out the forgetting,
shake the roots of heaven, name the roll call
of each damnable war one hero at a time,
one loss at a time -
for each survivor there is always some loss.
Bless the memory, write down the word 'freedom'
as if we who stay at home
had always fought for it.
blessing
sacred, divine
canonizing, sanctifying, extolling
endorsement, warrant, malediction, profane
vilifying, blaspheming, tormenting
wretched, damnable
curse
hope
desperate, cheerful
cherishing, reviving, encouraging
faith, expectation, desperation, anguish
feeling, drowning, dreading
profound, terrible
despair
Date posted: 07/28/2021
Solitude; a divine blessing.., a damnable curse!
No contrasting soul in my midst.., simply the
glaring, dubious kinship of me, myself, and I
Seclusion; the only condition in which a man
can learn of himself.., a lone entity in space
where organic matter in all its tangible glory
ceases to exist.., a state in which one’s mind
can take its ease in the bowels of nothingness
Loneliness; a dreadful sword that hangs above me!
Nothing, no one to direct and express my frustrations
incurred from daily life, no one to touch, and no one
to touch me! Eloquent words uttered with no one to
be enlightened by them are vain and useless things!
https://www.strategypage.com/htmw/htsf/20160301.aspx
Beneath the rubble of the Ocean
Where Panoply Swirls Decadent
Memories of Jupiter
Before the Flood-Omega
and, retro-spect, the turn of Archimedes
Poseidon in A Rage
Prophecies the Doom of the Titans
The Rush of the Nightengales
In the Dark of Obsidian Night
In the Cool of the Shrouded Dawn
Whom Fell to Earth
Without Hearkening the Runes of the Sibyl
Or Gilding the Armor of the Hoplite
"They Came Only to Procure the Heat of Day"
Poseidon proclaimed to his Daughter Ocean
Or Complained,
Perhaps
In Damnable Rhyme
With the Flow and Beat of Her Tides
Steadily Plummeting Above
"Yes, And I Love Him For It."
>Venus^< Demurred Coquettishly
"His Day is the Urge That I Hear,
---In the Night."
Quietly, she returned to her Lonely Merman
Black slender man, bent twig on the branch of a slave’s family tree,
Planted in white culture during infamous time of our history,
From seed transported in the belly of those infernal slave ships.
Bitter tears flowing from his eyes; angry words pouring from his lips.
Spent by long days in fields under hot skies of one hundred degrees,
Living in substandard shacks: wife and babes bearing winter’s freeze.
Broken panes breach for frigid wind; shabby roofs sieve for cold raindrops,
Family worked from sun up to dark to reap the precious crop.
Truth is, most were prisoners of the system evil men devised.
Many struggling to be free from what politicians camouflaged.
Wisdom overrules such folly and the proverb is most profound;
Holding one down makes holder as much a captive as one held down.
This nation, “land of the brave and free”, held out freedom’s lamp to all,
Went out one ominous night and over “liberty’s lamp” threw a pall.
Had wiser men with hearts of love been ruled by God’s Divine Light,
Black and white would have been spared this great nation’s damnable blight.
Don't you dare call my home,
I have no time for you.
Instead, our information we give out merrily,
To Google, Facebook and others unseen,
Of these...there is no lack.
Worse, we don't care if our cell phones
follow our tracks.
Nor hundreds of ad clicks, those monkeys
on our backs.
Clack, clack, clack.
Add the government who
follows your keystrokes.
And cameras taking our
pictures like paparazzi.!
Google filming your home?
Sometimes I feel like we
live in the land of the KGB
or Nazis.
But bent out of shape are we
by robo calls?
And never a thought how equally
robotic are we,
When we cannot leave our
own voice, God gave us on own
our phone.
So relatives can hear that
damnable robot message voice.
Hardly,a chance to rejoice!
As humans are replaced more
and more,
I helplessly try to stop this
and find it a joy to talk to a
human in any store.
If you can find one, not on a cell
phone,that is,
That's hardly a call for yet more
technological fizz.
People still need to earn a
living, robots do not.
The list is long with those
out of jobs,
As we have become such
technological snobs.
Oh~ my God!
Panagiota Romios
3/4/2019
They have continued
The naked dance
In the centre
Of the market square…
Elders and children
Shamefacedly dishevelled
Have kept the dance
Of shame
To their chest
Like a golden inheritance…
Sadly we watched
Crying for an end
To the naked dance…
But nay! Many
Of the watchers
And criers of yesteryears
Have today
Swum gingerly towards
The market place
To join the naked dance of shame…
A friend of mine
Who yesterday swore
To end the dance
Is today at the head
Of the drumming crew
Alternating the beat with dance-steps
Frenzied but crooked
Albeit beautiful in all their eyes…
‘Hey! Friend!
You pledged to quell
The shameful dance last night
But so early today
Are u wining and grinding
To these damnable beats…’
He laughed
Scoffed…
‘Come on board
And eat with the gods
Dance to sacred beats
In the hinterlands
Of the chosen few,
The view in here
Is prettier than yonder.
Dear friend,
Blame me not
For I am intoxicated
To be a god among men…’
Then I knew
The naked dance has no end…
There may be
A change of beat
But the dance
Till eternity
Shall continue…
The Damnable Sin of Self-righteousness.
All of our leaders have their different views of human rights.
Our leader has repeatedly resisted calls to assume the moral leadership that is expected from. Rage, hatred, and bigotry are spreading like a wheat field on fire. Lie after lie, has cemented like and ant hill filled with fire ants. Do we want to live in a country ruled by a ruler with total power over our country; with maybe a result of genocide in our nation? Thousands of children might now become homeless orphans.
manipulation
sorrow, tide of fury grows
where are the children
His self-righteousness is destroying the future of human lives. People are out of work, which adds up to, no food on the table, no insurance for healthcare, car, or home. Not enough money to pay the house and utility bills. Will they be out on the street joining the thousands of homeless people!
When is this going to end?
I look at my hands
dark brown, green, black, red, yellow
with each heartbeat felt
6/28/2018
who choked on the noxious atmosphere of fascism, inhaled smoke
from burning crosses, factories, bombs then exhaled
a ruptured nation onto the page, helpless to stop the unrest
of words as if paper pulsed, as if change
were possible. Whatever happened to the empowered
poets whose long lines marched in protest, faced despots without trepidation,
screamed like renegades between all the damnable governing margins,
castrated a ******** system with saltiest blades,
roasted corrupt pigs in power. Whatever happened to the definition of verse
as condemnation, revolution, freedom —
today, stale marshmallow words piled, stanza after frivolous stanza ,
while Armageddon threw open the doors to the asylum;
tonight, white hoods will blacken opened eyes & liberty will bleed out ...
So, tell me, when will real poets finally rally and rise?
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