Numbered Days
Written: by Miracle Man
May 27, 2021
The world it seems, is in dire straits today,
It seems many, are neglecting to pray.
On very little does mankind agree,
it’s always the other guy, never me.
Instead of counting blessings, it's defeats,
violence and mayhem command our streets.
Shattered lives, are being consumed by fraught,
anxiety and fear dominate thought.
We see our existence hang by a thread,
and many look hinder, never ahead.
while wondering just how much God will take,
some seek payment for another's mistake.
Will be going through some dark days ahead
Self-isolation has caused negativity to spread
Something to think about
Tensions rise without doubt
Endurance is the answer as we hang by a thread
Some people would rather be dead
Than see N.A.T.O. hang by a thread
They don't understand
That Trump thinks its grand
To sell off their assets instead!
Time is Everything
Written: by Miracle Man
11/30/2017
Affairs of the heart oft leave spirits broken,
But time mends lesions, even those severe.
From oral disagreements to words unspoken,
It’s seldom as bad as it might first appear.
At times our emotions may hang by a thread,
But time works its magic as we cling to hope.
So rather than face each new day with dread,
We grasp tight the knot at the end of our rope.
The treasure I have is buried again,
He will never find it, for he abused what he had,
Taken advantage of a heart so willing to give,
His own selfish reasons so egos agenda can live,
His tactics and manipulation scream hidden fears,
Not knowing what real love is for all these years,
He must barter and lie and hang by a thread,
And treat you like an option instead of realizing what he had,
Seeing through every word that falls out of his mouth,
Every hidden agenda seems to come out,
Intelligence intimidates him, he'll talk you down,
In his eyes there is no equal value to be found,
He straps on his ego like a belt around his waist,
Then runs around nekkid like he's winning a race,
Living in the image in his own imaginary world,
Is better than facing the reality of experiencing a love that's real,
Stuck in an illusion, he can't shake himself awake,
Denying himself to live and die this way,
Even at this very moment his ego will get offended,
He will take offense instead of seeing what needs to be mended,
It be denial till death, or change his heart,
Turn around and see the love that you got...
We Will Be Landing Shortly
By Elton Camp
People who fly might have a nervous fit
If they take a little peek inside the cockpit
Dials, knobs, switches and gadgets galore
No pilot can know what they are all for
The lives of those on board hang by a thread
Any serious mistake and they’ll all be dead
Who knows if the pilot has had a big snort
Or is sleepy as too late at night he did cavort
And perhaps at the most critical junction
Some instrument will decide to malfunction
But the law of gravity firmly does decree
The plane inevitably on the ground will be
the hardest substances in life are
stubborn- beautiful
and slice to the soul
hang by a thread
ride you like the wind
then leave you to your alone
then fires draw near and grow brighter
the breakers start to bite
the fist becomes tighter,
wildly swinging at ghosts-
like a snowman
the eyes turn to coal,
never evolve to a gem
when the sun is eclipsed
it becomes blinded
by things both profound,
things so amiss.
by
things of flight
by
things deep underground-
The hardest substance on earth
is the heart...
if possible i'd caress venus
while
playing russian roulette with mars
(in plush velvet nonchalance)
where the hardest substance
is time-hands made of feathers,
tickling the bones of the mind
now
and
forever.
So many pages of scribbled rhymes
So many books I've read
Encased by my costume of indifference
While inside I hang by a thread
None of my teachers have prepared me for this
Yet no textbook could help me now
Each of my rhymes that fancied love
Showed no trace of the when or the how
i don't know what it is but this is not it
I cannot lie to myself or to him
Yet I can't end it all- I care for him so much!
But I don't see how both of us can win
So my choice is simple, it has been made
He is much more fragile than I
I'll let him die out of his feelings for me
I guarantee not much time will pass by
'Cause I'm not that great, not physically
I'm fat, I'm short and much more
But maybe that's what he sees in me?
He keeps going while others stop at the door
And in all these pages of scribbled rhymes
I never would've guessed it all
In all these fantasies I've engrossed myself in
Compared to reality, my imagination runs small
The neurologist hung me out to dry
“No cure,” says he as I hang by a thread
All dressed up and wanting to fly
Took torturous tests that I did dread
What? No means of comfort? Have I misread?
Like a kitten on a hook, I hang and wait
Please take me down and offer hope
Now in a chiropractor’s hands I rest my fate
On my spine he’ll press and grope
With the symptoms, I’m learning to cope
Yet, as I hang here, medical bills are tossed at me
Insurance pays a bit, but it’s running out
Praying for a treatment to set me free
Months pass; whiskers grow from my snout
In a debtors’ prison I’ll land, no doubt
July 31, 2011
By Carolyn Devonshire
*Entry for Francine’s “Hangin’ in There” contest
A hair crack runs down her porcelain face.
She’s framed in a moth eaten tattered dress
that is trimmed in satin and yellowed lace.
Her skin powdered, with a look of duress.
In her blank eyes she trys to hide the pain
and her faded lips once were ruby red.
Her stilled emotions that only contain
the little glass beads that hang by a thread.
I pick her up and brush her cobweb hair,
yet a tear falls and rests upon her cheek.
Both, cast away with no one left to care,
we share a pain; it hurts to much too speak.
At least in her I know I can confide,
still, I’m lonely now, I’m a widowed bride.
Through the street, bellows spill its music
accompanied with voice.
Brooks heart enjoying the beauty,
when the full moon comes.
Mother rain donate her love-blood,
green leaves become new life.
Clouds shed their shy,
while hug of rainbow colors.
This scenery hold together, till..
hang by a thread.. her incomplete song.
I beg your mercy heart.
my bowels are empty..
Some shut down their doors.
pooh!pooh! here is nothing, say somebody.
She wear the rag silk garment,
remind old stage actors, as her makeup.
Her scar water eyes,
tell lose her pathetic stories.
Her lips lisped where love is?
again, the bellows tuned, the song fades away!