Very certain of his confession,
But unsure of his destination.
There's a fork in the road.
Indecision is not an option.
Some things can be estimated.
Some other things must be exact.
The consequences of things estimated
Are tolerable and even forgivable.
Things that require exacting
Have no room for dismissing.
Truth is not mine to define or decide.
Here or there is not where truth reside.
There is no 'Your truth'.
There is no 'My truth'.
Think you know where you want to go?
The 'How' of getting there; Do you really know?
The Sun rises
as it also sets
days become weeks
time passes
agony grows deep
insulting the oppressed
never forgivable
ambulances blown to bits
exploding people dance in the sky
how much hate
went into those bombs
or was it just indifference?
one can stand with a voice
or sit in silence and preach
I have no hate
nor patience for the those
who screech
In the city of silence, shadows dance slowly,
The garden of forgetfulness hides a secret lowly,
Dreams are born in minds that no longer believe,
People pass by, lost in thoughts that deceive.
Tolerance is the virtue of those without faith,
But how to believe when all fades to wraith?
On the pathways of conscience, I tread with care,
Deciphering voices lost in shadow's lair.
It's not the evils named evil we dispute,
But the forgivable ones, we often refute.
The world's a stage, playing roles unguessed,
Lines spoken without feeling, unconfessed.
In the garden's melancholic magic, I find anew,
Another truth I often dream to pursue.
Whispers of wind carry memories of yore,
The living flame of hope that endures evermore.
In the stream of consciousness, I let myself drift,
Between dream and reality, in the rift,
Seeking the light lost in unspoken queries,
On the wings of thought, to faded answers and theories.
Witch or good priest
depends on the prayer
some dark and dreary
some bright and sunny
speak evil spell or chant
a soul protecting honey
a slimy palm
or church plate
for the money --
the atheist supports
neither coven
nor Easter Bunny...
who will have the
greater surprise?
when heaven and the
Devil separate mortal sin
from forgivable surmise --
as our prayers
going to the majestic God.
fantastic things
continue taking place
In the lives of millions of people
who believe in the miraculous Lord
of lords and King of kings.
He is uncorruptible
and comparable
on earth , in the heavens
And under the ground.
He is so kind
and forgivable.
The only great
On this planet.
As taking my musical instruments
And playing to you , magestic Lord,
Jehovah Jireh, God of gods,
my heart pleases.
As You enjoying my adoration
I' am feeling a good creation
decorated by your majestic
daily love and peace
Oh! Thatha Leza
Wezulu no Mhlaba.
May glory continue to be yours
glorious God of gods
forever
And
ever
Amen
Alas I understood
that anger isn't crimson.
Anger is dark, as dark as it can be.
Darker than sorrows, or even lust.
And it doesn't grow in your veins
or linger in your bones.
Anger is an embrace.
An embrace so welcoming,
it feels forgivable.
And yet your pardon is taken,
from those whose pain you drink.
Your reasons for the cause
is a reason for their deaths.
Yet again, it wouldn't be anger
if you don't intend to kill.
In Nigeria demands some guilt
You’d lived and never a house built;
More forgivable one did strive
But at last could not a car drive.
You have to God leave out of this:
You know among your friends what you miss.
In my country we keep flashing guilt
For huts we’d planned but had not built
Day by day in the mirror wilt,
When dead turns faster into silt…
Mansion ensures one’s names don’t wilt:
Keep living after you’d turned dust…
So, for a house, not women lust.
You let the quest grow into Must’
And it cause to explode like Gust!
You broke my heart, crushing it with your lies;
until it couldn't bear the weight of one more.
And I lost sight of the love in your eyes,
obscured by shadows that weren't there before.
Hope restricted my access to the truth,
convincing me there's a chance, I was wrong.
And I kept blaming the jitters of youth:
assuring myself that our bond was strong.
Unaware of being played for a fool,
I was not ready to abandon trust.
For I didn't believe you'd be so cruel
as to exploit love: to satisfy lust.
What my naive heart found forgivable
has left scars, and that's unforgivable.
Jesus stands before me
with two broken arms
He proclaims, "you are not forgivable"
and tears ran down his face
But I'm an innocent man I professed
I have bee misjudged
Bones protruding and nails from his wrists
he walks towards me and gives me a hug
I am quivering as his warm blood stains my clothes
I look him into his eyes and ask 'why?'
"Man holds onto the darkest evils" he says
His crown of thorns pinches my forehead
Am I doomed to Hell, will I burn forever?
Can you stop the forces that are in place?
The leaves begin to spin up and around us
The clouds break and the sunshine warms through the open air
"You will perish for the sins of others, I cannot protect you"
"The Kingdom of Heaven is not in your path. You will indeed burn"
My tears turn to salt. He releases me.
I begin my descent.
VIDEO: The Old Friends Do by ABBA (LYRICS) YouTube
AUDIO: Listening Version
What Makes Friendship
What makes distance so touchable,
What makes arm wrestling physical,
What makes fun a thing for two,
What makes tears of missing you,
What makes secrets last, insiders,
What makes smiles, to be tear-wipers,
What makes fighting, ugh, forgivable,
What makes forgiving unbearable,
What makes oops somewhat culpable,
What makes cleanup punishable,
What makes laughs, the one-legged wins,
What makes others say, "Not twins?",
What makes saying goodbye really hard,
What makes memories my field of regard.
2022 August 05
*1st Place*
FRIENDSHIP
~~Beata Agustin: Judged 2022 August 08
Khaki has never other fabrics liked:
It has even their wearer’s bodies disliked,
Their forgivable flaws, their blunders hyped
And their names and their nicknames mistyped!
Sometimes you hear, “Like onions slice them!”
And begun a solving of what wasn’t a problem;
Bound to uncannily unfold
What Plain Malice does hold …
By then, it would be fanciful
To ask your questions – A roomful:
‘What and what next shall happen?’
And whether or not blades shall sharpen …
It shall have been a busying with fiction
By the time we triggers eschew from ruction
Khaki has seldom The Plain clothes liked
And has, indeed, other fabrics spiked;
Often through insistence on Inaction
And treatment of either as a faction.
When one is poetically possessed,
Nothing like the truest rest:
For every braved forty winks
Whacks for new poems and resistance sinks!
One is very free to weep
But one isn’t snatching any sleep:
One’s Poetic Tormentors, a zillion number,
Obsessed with The Ecstatic no less The Sombre!.
You’re hailing your tormentors but with reluctance,
This act dragging to a crushing distance;
At God’s feet dropping respectful grudges,
Not as forgivable as sexual urges …
Only God Himself knows when it shall end,
For those spirits aren’t ready to bend;
When one is poetically possessed,
Sleep becomes one’s rarest guest.
for years
i kept your dirty little secret
just like you knew i would
tell me
did you think i’d forget
honestly did you really think
i could ever just forget
how could i
the moment etched forever
in my memory anything but forgivable
i still taste the disgust on my lips
your eyes seemed to say you were sorry
how convenient for you
my interpretation of your silence
how convenient for you
that to this day i never brought it up
i think i’d been your first awkward victim
you were a weak man in a position of power
tell me
heart to heart
tell me
did you do it again
it would explain a lot
i suspect you tried again
this time more determined
it would explain a lot
in hindsight i recognized the damage in her eyes
undeniably too late to come to her rescue but
it would explain an awful lot
AP: Honorable Mention 2022
HUMANS
They weep, when they get hurt.
They laugh, when others are hurt.
They protect their unsatisfied home.
They attack on other’s heaven.
They always live life with discrimination.
A single drop of their blood is precious for them
But they never feel guilty to kill other’s infancy.
They always represent themselves as a proprietor.
They feel serenity in their gadgets.
They hate animals, they kill animals,
They love animals, they eat animals
But they are more dangerous than animals.
They pretend that they are devotees of serenity
But they themselves are the cause of War.
They do not need any Sickle
Because their fake love is enough to kill others.
When you are dead, when you leave your property
Then you are the most favorable guy for them in the earth.
Humans, your perception is wrong for others.
Humans, your partiality for caste is wrong.
Humans, your behavior towards animals are wrong.
Humans, your desire for lust is wrong.
Humans, your decision for nature is wrong.
Humans, you are wrong, your sin is nor forgivable.
Humans, a lot of pain is coming for you.
What to do about those under the table?
When those paying them are unable,
And have gone back to their scrabble.
Should we be worried they might become unstable,
When a constable is to us unreachable.
If an amnesty was the solution most suitable,
Would they deem that call trustable?
Doing nothing would runs risks considerable,
As desperate people become unreasonable,
And could make decisions that were once to them unthinkable.
Have we any room in our hearts for those now playing scrabble,
To see their actions as forgivable,
When they made some legitimate businesses unprofitable.
Then there are the businesses who took money under the table,
That is never counted as taxable,
And now can't be counted when loss of income is considerable,
Requiring a handout from those who deem it despicable.
Maybe compassion is the only thing thinkable,
With crumbs no longer falling from the table,
And we can leave accountability,
To a time when the situation is more favourable,
And our actions more reasonable,
With those now playing scrabble,
Or making a living under the table,
More likely to be amiable,
To a life that is sustainable.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.