If you do exist
You won’t bless me?
My effort never paid off
Causing me pain
Standing in this shadow
Will the day come?
When I can fly in the sky?
Will the day come?
When I can touch the sun?
Tell me!
If you are hiding somewhere
Why don't you smile at me?
I've never tasted victory
Never succeeded in love
Will the day come?
When I can taste victory?
Will the day come?
When I can embrace love?
Tell me!
Having nothing precious
Desolated, isolated
Living my life
A series of failures
Will the day come
When I will be satisfied?
Will the day come?
When my dreams come true?
Shine a light on my life
Shine a light on my future
Shine a light on every thing
Shine a light on tomorrow
If you are hiding somewhere
Why don't you smile at me?
I've never tasted victory
Never succeeded in love
Shine a light on my life
Shine a light on my future
Shine a light on every thing
Shine a light on tomorrow
Potent grief exists in the paternoster
recited by exiles each break of dawn —
and they never cease to mourn with drums.
Exiles are men
with two lives,
and they often fast,
preferring to sip gently the treacly sap
dripping from the eyes of fortitude.
Riding the thin line
of the horizon,
they seek truths underneath
receding rims of the atmosphere —
the truths
of a desolated homeland
atrophied by distance.
They do not pray
only to return home,
but to meet their mothers’ funerals —
Mothers harassed to death
by ruthless authorities
whose diaries speak of languor.
How do pirates with their eye patches
count the stars,
and how do feathers of thinning clouds
react to the invasion of rioting storms?
Exiles are native drummers
gone for a festivity yonder.
Like the dead, they live in the
hearts of those who truly love them.
Potent grief exists in the paternoster
recited by exiles each break of dawn —
and they never cease to mourn with drums.
Exiles are men
with two lives,
and they often fast,
preferring to sip gently the treacly sap
dripping from the eyes of fortitude.
Riding the thin line
of the horizon,
they seek truths underneath
receding rims of the atmosphere —
the truths
of a desolated homeland
atrophied by distance.
They do not pray
only to return home,
but to meet their mothers’ funerals —
Mothers harassed to death
by ruthless authorities
whose diaries speak of languor.
How do pirates with their eye patches
count the stars,
and how do feathers of thinning clouds
react to the invasion of rioting storms?
Exiles are native drummers
gone for a festivity yonder.
Like the dead, they live in the
hearts of those who truly love them.
My soul’s a shell with wind of time
That blows inside forever
The hollow roar of waves it hides
Although its calm as ever
My mind’s a desolated street
To fields of green and meadows
It leads but not a face I meet
Beneath the tangled shadows
Gone is the 16 Marroway
Gone is the Jansel Square
The garden where Pippa played
Has vanished in the air
My heart’s a cactus on your sill
Under the heating sun
It hopes for water you could spill
Although it knows you can’t
You disappeared in the space
But you remain in time
I know for sure there’ll be a place
For us, and some fine wine.
Famine preys upon a desolated civilization
Dying out the old breed new world awaits
What makes one soul defile goodness
The heart, as if it does not feel
Is mankind just a beast of nature's mix
Devouring the lamb like wolf's they are
We are farmers of the nations growth
Sow a seed, pass knowledge not the buck
We depend upon the other to feed world
Kids killing kids,as adult we kill our own
Lead by example, they strip God from belief
Corrupt being of evil's greed run deadly wild
Fight good and evil rumbles the house
Who runs the temple, they fill us with hate
Of their own demise their thirst is quench
Evil of one's heart bleeds its color
Do us good, I think not future at hand
But tomorrow I may not see sun rise sky
A bird in a bath, youngster at play with no care
Tomorrow could end today while love carries on
Give to society what's better, not evil's desire proclamation
But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy
nation, a people for his own possession that you may
proclaim the excellencies of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light
Lord knows the Devil
I encountered. Hidden
hypocrisy swayed naivety I
exuded. Smiling with grace but
crossing betrayal behind your
back while holding my hand with
the other. Delicate melodies of grace strumming
along inconspicuous quos while feeding
me with Eden’s fruit hung in God’s hand.
Mirages of desolated oases surrounded you,
A pity fool I became at your wits playing
me instead. Awakened clarity
in one bite-filled rage,
thank you bold face
snake. Now, I live
my life in
gratitude.
Thy grace I see of which I spurned
An awful merit I had earned
And my poor soul to thee unturned
And left behind frail bridges burned
Thy pardoning love to me have learned
My desolated heart sojourned
For I thy death have not discerned
My blinded eyes by tears unchurned
T'is then of sin that I had mourned
And found my heart of self dethroned
That which I had usurped, returned
And paid the price, by friends suborned
In want of such, my state I mourned
With darkened visage, they had scorned
Since I of late my faith reformed
Yet all my life this truth I yearned
To this divine ambition, I had sworn
May I thy sovereign grace adorn
The days were brighter then,
When without the slightest effort, I’d succeed in making a good impression.
Now it seems no one knows me to be “good”,
How will they? I’ve hardly provided any proof
I used to swim in an ocean of praise,
And I’d bring home what I perceived to be, good grades.
My smile-wreaked of genuine ecstasy
Now it seems to be impregnated with melancholy.
Desolated and a mess,
I’m losing the best part of myself.
I feel as though I’m burning out like a candle,
One, I fear won’t ever rekindle.
My passion, I know has not yet, been misplaced,
Even at my darkest hour,
I refuse to let years of hard work go to waste.
It’s foolish to even think
That I’m on the brink
Of failing to chase a legacy
Created by the so-called “old” me.
To great lengths I’d go to get that girl back
And as I’m latching on to the faintest hope of getting her on track
I urge her not to abandon me and depart forever
Because I don’t know who I am without her.
If tormented truth is
the taste of her fire,
injecting her blood
with poisoned rain
in golden chalices,
what is the color of
eclipsed spheres
where there’s a
desolated darkness
that dwells through
devious spirits
to rise higher?
Maybe there’s no
heaven nor hell in
the onyx fields of
soulless stars,
where obsidian roses
bloom as signs of
the devil’s immortality,
crooning doomed
hymns to the
honeycomb hues
of raven's irises,
which reflect every
bitter dream painted
in strokes of thunder.
But when dusk
bleeds seas of deception,
sins stream through
sinister shadows,
slowly pulling innocence
to a chamber of pitiless
pins and heinous knives.
So watch her ascend
as the metaphorical mistress
of death and beyond,
she is no longer your
heretic queen
that serves you light,
that once breathed
and walked through
storms of toxic typhoons
cloaked in
summer serenades,
taming every hurricane
with her crystal wings
that never tethered
to an evil king of serpents.
When the rain comes in blunt despair
With swords of Thor's thunderous wield
The clouds drape darkness everywhere
As light surrendered, as hope kneeled
Where desolated gloom revealed
A drab landscape that once was fair
Limbs barren in deserted fields
When the rain comes in blunt despair
Drowning sunsets in silver flares
Tomorrow's rainbows lie concealed
In mazes of charcoal nightmares
With swords of Thor's thunderous wield
This is where all your heroes yield
To stars laden in disrepair
Where souls sink, murky and congealed
The clouds drape darkness everywhere
When suns are lost and moons are rare
The mornings cut apart and peeled
The sky is strangely unaware
As light surrendered, as hope kneeled
When shelter remains unrevealed
And the horizon appears bare
Allow me to become your shield
Against the snare of sharpened air
When the rain comes
3/11/23
At the finale of the day
the magnificent sun has desolated
sans further audience
took the clouds as
blankets, in complete solitude
left the scene
and disappeared... !
The city and its steel plant are now "completely liberated" after 531 Ukrainian troops left the site, the Russian defence ministry said.
Completely {
levelled, depopulated, desolated,
despoiled, vandalised, looted, pillaged, plundered,
devastated, desecrated, ravaged, violated, emptied,
laid waste,
razed to the ground,
scorched from the face of the earth,
annihilated, obliterated, eliminated. But
}
Liberated.
When the long journey on foot is over and
the refugee drops in a tent and has hot meal, is peace;
when he puffed his first smoke in weeks, is peace;
when the sky celebrates his arrival with rain, is peace;
when he has finally ability to take a shower, is peace;
when he fixes the tear in the tent with tape, is peace;
when he smashes a scorpion on his blanket, is peace;
when he hears his wife and children about to join him, is peace;
when the news of cease-fire and end of bloodshed spreads, is peace;
when the camp is upgraded with toilets, is peace;
when he makes love with his wife after a long time, is peace;
when his kids are sound sleep and dreaming, is peace;
when he and others challenge the authorities to disperse, is peace;
when they bulldoze the camp and it's desolated, is peace.
army of the civil war the rivers and the waters will battle the cities.
the people be trouble as the new be seated, taken in Battle the west and
the pope has failed.
before death shown on the Mideast fury shall show it's hungry.
the secret election trouble trouble by far. come see what i see
shall the new hitter said, come be witnesses of me, the new pope Shall say.
under Venus law Leo the church shall come to the west with a great Sepent
and the west shall eat of it's fruit. now the fair skinned shall know it's time had come
to pay it's recompences.
come now children of Yahweh see what I see, some will try a hard cup from enter isles
he will led carelessness to salic.
on the sea he will be false be desolated and unarmed.
not from trembling lips but born of full power.
he will most of all find the weakness in the lion hand.
he will be fury that the west can not help, than all on the hand of Yahweh
people yet be giving no help, for the people know he just a coward. but also not give hand to the west
who see them not as a people, this secret shall come to pass in the next pass of the virgin
death to leo and in the seven pigs.
Emancipated complicated symptomatic desolated attribute fortitude I guess I just as well
Liberated escalated Holocaust mystic drop gratitude fortitude I guess I just as well
7/4/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
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