—For What Could Not Die—
They say true love outlives the reach of death;
then why make war when we must say goodbye?
If wrath can keep thy shadow warm with breath,
why forge another bond before we die?
Thou lift thine eyes into the vacant blue,
as though some hidden dweller waits for you;
and sleep withdraws when evening seals the night,
as if one absent face withholds the light.
I ask the men who trade in roads and bread;
they name each street, yet cannot name thy trace.
The world wakes on; I hear its iron tread,
yet every road goes empty in thy place.
That primal word—Be—called the dark to flame;
thou mayst unmake my world, not what became.
Sun rises in between seasons.
Waiting for spring to come to life.
Here the land still sleeps.
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: 3rd place 2026
The pen is harder to hold now
My head yearns to be slammed into a wall
Maybe then I will finally feel pain
Other than the emptiness
Swallowing me whole
The way I feel God isn't really on my side
abandoned, alone
Like a person damned to be astray
Do I deserve this
Can I feel something else
Other than pity , lost hopes and regret .
I work hard
For years
Yet you all take it away
And I am alone
To deal with the part of me
Which is now gone
It breaks my heart
Leaves it to rot in the core
I can't do this anymore
Being the best and still getting ignored
I can't lie to my own face
"Maybe this was destiny"
No
This was fate making a fickle face
It is so easy
Being happy for yourself when the hard work pays off
What about the rest of us
We try and try
Never to conquer
And the desolation and torment
Don't leave us alone
Even in our dreams, dear.
Now at the end
I am back to square one
Do I start again
And wait for destiny
To play a new cruel game
Does anyone know who wrote this poem?
MY LITTLE GIRL FOLLOWS ME
A careful mother I must be,
a little girl follows me.
I would not dare go astray
for fear she’ll go the the self-same way.
I cannot once escape her eyes,
what’er she sees me do, she tries.
Like me, she says she’s going to be.
My little girl who follows me.
There is 4 more verses
WAR FOLLOWS THEM HOME
It’s hard to avoid being shot,
in wars around the world.
PTSD a remnant of
sorrows at home … unfurl.
War not something you leave behind,
follows you everywhere.
Nightmares, horror, fears, flashbacks of
war … daily wear.
Two types of soldiers they were taught,
"quick or the dead,"always said.
Some don’t want to be quick any
more now rather … be dead!
He didn’t want to kill himself,
signing up, a big mistake!
Christian should never kill others,
home or wars … lives take.
Story has unhappy ending,
one of many a day.
Only those obey God’s commands,
no way … end up this way!
Nov. 5, 2025
Ex 20:13 “Do not kill"
Acts 5:29 ”Obey God rather than men"
Ro.12:16 ”Far as depends on you, be peaceable
with all men"
Be it mantra or pilgrimage,
Brahmin or deity ye engage,
Destiny, fortune, fate,
Doc, guru how so great,
As is faith, so are fruits of wage.
__________________
Translation | 08.10. 2025 | faith, pilgrimage, god, destiny, doctor, teacher, trust
Note: This Subhashhitam talks about faith and trust called shraddhaa in Sanskrit. Bhagavad-Geeta also says the same thing. Man is made of faith that founts from inner being. As is man’s faith, so he truly is.
Sattva anuroopa sarvasya shraddhaa bhavati bhaarata |
Shraddhaa-mayah ayam purushah, yah yat shraddhah sah eva sah || Bhagavad-Geeta 17.3 ||
Mantre teerthe dvije deve daivajnye bheshaje gurau |
Yaadrashee bhaavanaa yasya, siddhih bhavati taadrashee || (Subhaam)
Checked by www.howmanysyllables.com>syllable_counter
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After Pink Clouds
The pink clouds soon fade away,
Soberness I now regain,
Soul`s pains I do feel again,
Still I slip straight on the bed;
With dawn, I rise with some stress,
But life follows on its course
As rivers flow to the sea.
The war refuses the head, below wasting in dead
Rearing the front as storms fell the timbers rot
Upheavals breast, shorn and filled in neglect
Lay useless she had cried, allow dimple and deny
Tis only folly we are joined from, seasons blurry
Contemptuous fury, theatrical brevity, lifeless
Burning misery, hasn’t all gone and come
Just so fiddle and spun, as garnish and lathe
Without soured breads fortune, and curled ears late
Forever they attend, a hearts creative bend
And rule they must, alas at lose in unbreakable crust
He in hand created this land, in tales of ferried rows
Gentled slave we musn’t hate, crucible’s labors as knave
In there buildings, craving and fighting, loud and obscene
Fruitful as flies, multiplying night skies
Crying babes of violence, unruly and brutal
Off again we should shout as they, steam filled hovels in suet
As painful as it is i have to wave my goodbye
Cry my very last tear as i abandon the memory of you and everyone around you
i cant keep whining about the things i couldve said and done diffrently
cant keep wishing for you to see me as a human being
everyhting keeps on moving with times arrows and i need too
i cant be the only one left behind to rot with sorrowful regrets
I know you dont care
i know you want me dead
you want to see me rot away
Cats play sad villion with my soul
it scraches every surface of my mourning heart
The melody of sorrowful memmories follows me everywhere i go
everytime a quiet night aproaches
i can hear the sad villion cats aproaching
snatching my soul
to play the same melody again and again
i know you want me to rot away
but i cant be the only one left behind
to rot with past regrets
i cry my very last tears tonight
i refuse to let any more tears stain the collar of my shirt
Written By: D. Collins 11/27/24/b>
From here until eternity, they will follow me around.
They won't let me go until I am in the ground.
I won't kid myself as to why I am here.
To put pen to paper and maybe shed a tear.
They come two, three, and four at a time.
Sometimes crossing paths, messing with my mind.
I am here to do it because they come so easily.
And lay a lifelong trail of what happened to me.
Some call it a gift, while it may be a curse.
Stringing words along into melodic verse.
Consider me a big, bird of prey.
Devouring you with words to say.
Into a room full of opaque faces
Chattering like birds during a morning breeze
Carelessly going about their paces
Intertwined like firm rope, strength in the numbers
An aura of unspoken feelings above my head
The elephant in the room that no one says
When they look at me they think that I'm dead
A pale white ghost that has nothing to speak
To be unseen and looked over with a sense of pity
The story that's behind explained when away
All alone in the most crowded of cities
Invisible in the masses and the cliques
When the singing of voices is brought to a halt
As soon as I sit down when invited by the host
The silence that falls over speaks as my fault
About the nature which my presence is perceived
My name is scarred, my name is psychotic, my name is PTSD.
My name is abused, my name is raped and forsaken
Where I go darkness follows behind in my stead
Unspoken things that sit heavy in an open room
Sitting on the crescent moon, the jokester was quiet.
His black sidekick Sylvester, an alley cat, needed a riot.
But he kept his counsel and pretended to meditate too.
It is the best way to get along with a jokester like Boo.
In the realm where dreams collide,
A golden truth begins to rise,
Money follows where value resides,
In the world's discerning eyes.
Thirty minutes each passing day,
Devoted to your chosen way,
With training - guidance to display,
Expertise blossoms, come what may.
The world, it yearns for what you hold,
Your worth, a treasure yet untold,
For time and wisdom, you'll be extolled,
Embrace the opportunities unfold.
He knew this was the evening he had been waiting for
The rest were in hiding, but his destiny he could not ignore
The flock would be flying in, to receive Jesus’ word
He went to Mount Meet which others felt was absurd.
He had the knowledge, it had come in his dream state forever.
The flock was flying in from each direction, beginning to gather.
I have the knowledge for you, he assured them, this Easter day.
He stood high with outstretched arms, showing them how to pray.
Jesus died for our sins, he told them, for you and for me.
The sky began to turn from pink to a blue that was truly lovely.
There was an eclipse of the moon, which assured him he was right.
It was an ethereal feeling, this mystic had on this Easter night.
expected dawn arrives
announced morning always comes
life in pace of time
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