Long Disarrayed Poems
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Before this door, perhaps someday you'll stand,
And my heart will race, reaching out with eager hand,
For you remain the one I adore and cherish,
A love so strong, it will never perish.
You moved on effortlessly, while I remain tethered to you,
Ensnared by memories, unable to bid adieu,
Your presence lingers, refusing to let go,
I am trapped in this relentless undertow.
The scent of your golden locks still haunts this disarrayed bed,
The ache to see you again, an unquenchable dread,
To hold you close, to taste your sweet kiss,
Yearning for the love we will forever miss.
I envisioned growing old with you, like aged wine refined,
But you found happiness elsewhere, leaving me behind,
I do not wish to disrupt your newfound bliss,
I release you with a bittersweet kiss.
May you keep the key to the prison where I dwell,
For one day, I may yearn to break free from this spell,
Until then, I remain captive in our shared history,
Hoping for the day when we can both be free.
Form:
Disarrayed sands
dislodged from domain
timeless,
slipped by chaotic instants,
settle ceaselessly
bemused
on stratified shelf
of languid life
disorganized
in moments moving,
dismantled
with dispersed dust
of petrified perturbation,
truth of trust
suffused with sanguinity,
resting on ruffled ripples
of disordered discontent
oscillates…
In bewildered efflux
of delinquent dismay
exhilaration transmutes
tousled,
mystifying alchemy
of metamorphosis
reveals real pretense
of traumatic transmutation
tormenting…
Disorderly squall
swirls sweeping depression
through the void
of despondent whirlpool,
the mangled mind
drowns
in distraught nothingness
disheveled,
splinters the leitmotif
of ethereal emotions
embedded,
confounded cascade
of consternation
carries them away,
nonchalant…
Sandcastles
on shriveled shore
of yearning
tumbles down
in confused clutter
of disorientated debris,
in divesting mayhem
psyche rises
revived,
shape-shifted
in lattice of time,
discovers in an instant
enthralled,
the covert flute
of sensuous symphony
play the music
of ecstatic self
entranced,
convivial concerto
reverberates
the last refrain
of melodic memory,
euphoric epithet
of transcendent essence,
eternal…
She peeked through the keyhole espying a messy cool lair
she ate up the tiniest bowl she could find
disheveled, disarrayed, disordered were they with wild hair
She chose a tiny seat and turned a bears world upside down
smash went the wood, and he howled
grungy, grimy and grubby were they and sadly they frowned
She cleaned up there mess though she caused them distress
come the night, the little wee bed fit just right
muddled, mussed and mussy were they but also such bless
She learned how to live in a world full of bears in plain sight
though she called them all "dears, "
it was the baby bear she called, beautiful, beloved and bright
As a child and a teenager I used to attend a mission-hall,
Which had an outreach to the homeless of Edinburgh;
And every three weeks until I was about seven,
They would give the last call so that god could your soul deliver.
They said at the end of every sermon,
Every three weeks in the evening,
“This is the last call!” and they meant ever,
‘Cos Jesus could return any time for the believing.
I felt so intimated by it, this unkind presence of mind,
That I could not properly sit on my seat,
But I knew that they were insane with melancholy,
And that it was the real dynamics of life that they could not heat.
I refused to chat with them after services and at the youth club,
About what I believed and about the in and outs of my thoughts,
But poignantly sat down with the Youth Fellowship leader once,
And talked to him about what in me life had very clearly wrought.
When I said outrightly that I did not believe in the Second Coming,
And that life was for keeps, give or take a few possibilities,
It was as if his world crashed down disarrayed in shambles,
As he was shattered by my philosophical sway and confident amble.
He realised fully that I was damning their last call,
The pressure of it and how it riled, writhed and tormented;
That it was for no good reason, for no universal moral principle,
For no disciplinary cause and for no complimentary angle.
So he arrogantly walked away from me, rudely with passivity,
Not aware of his own need of polity, sense and direction,
But it was a triumph for that mission-hall boy worker,
To react to an objector so firmly and not himself recapture.
They were generally unresponsive and indifferent,
To intelligent objectors who had a righteous way,
Because this left them with their day-to-day lunacy,
With reality dressed for them to face another day.
That mission has changed today into a Christian centre,
Bright and refurbished and selling lunches in a cafe,
And I am proud of its journey, how far it came,
Because the transition was by no means lame.
How many times must a scripture be read to us?
So many ways they suck em in to follow and trust.
We're led to believe that heaven is made of gold.
I say heaven is without don't trust what they`ve sold.
The purest of hate, most evil is Wiccan turned catholic black in red.
The weak, the blind, the burning glazed in dread.
All sheep follow the next, like that life of a drone.
The simple mind cannot help itself if it`s left all alone.
The priest, the pope, the father's, and every single bishop.
A fact them fu*kers spread suffering, I've had enough.
No longer can I just sit and have faith in a holy religion.
There's one thing I know, and that`s they have never given...
A holy father, or a graceful joyous place.
My mind expansion is like that of cosmic outer space.
Misplaced every single person that I loved that has died.
I know cuz I've tried, and tried and have only cried.
Most times I was wretched in my life.
But I was awakened so I'd realize such strife.
How many fathers would kill their own son with such brutal torture just to be a God.
Surely you must find this interesting, wicked, and odd.
You should look harder when there's much more mayhem.
Why do you continually contribute and constantly pay him?
The same song for 7411 years.
Is so weird, as the sight of the Seer`s
How many times can the same story be the savior of man.
Every age span gives life the same fu*king hand.
I've been to the place of my real grace,
It is not what you think.
It took lots of time,
It tore the deepest of pain.
For me to vomit the master of the my insane.
Took it all in then realized my misguided path of destruction.
They perform black magic under these cathedrals of corruption.
It was me who was wrong to have been so disarrayed.
Where was your God each and every time a child or woman was betrayed.
By a church of child molesters and the torturous murders of women throughout it`s entire existence,
There`s an absence of god`s love and his power he displayed Egypt, no interjections like exodus with no interference nor his holy assistance .
How did the sea become a crime?
How did its blue become a bruise on the face of history?
How did the verdure turn into red wrath,
breathing fire into burned hearts,
leaving behind it a black, frosty funeral?
How did the tree become a Fury?
Her strands of fire
strewn above the dew and tranquil mounts
Furious fire and melted iron
Lava and blood-red ink
Pumping out of the wounded bosom of the earth
Bubbling up like the foam of death
To carve an unprecedented story;
A story of a dying profound pain, reborn
In the same womb, at the same moment
Growing as rapidly as the pulsating heart of a child in terror
Lost in the land of infinite wars.
***
My land, a flickering ember
Once giving light and warmth;
The other, singeing our hearts;
Do you choose to be a beacon in the dark,
or to blow up in our faces like a blind flame of wrath?
Are you destined to turn into ash
disarrayed by the wind?
***
People might claim that the earth is not for all
But the heavens are inevitably for all
The living, the dead, the imprisoned
Happy, grieving, immersed in prayer,
For the heavens are in the hands of God the just
Never to be touched by human slaves
In the landscape of entangled existence,
we traversed life on the path of no essence.
Ego chasing the mirage of endless desire,
wandering cynical in wasteland made us tire.
Vanity and craving innately compulsive,
distorted the ethos of obdurate ego obsessive,
conditioning the myopic vision to look at others,
self-awareness turning opaque wouldn’t bother.
The wheel of time churned up disorder dust,
in the chaotic cloud the disarrayed life would adjust.
In maimed moments of dispersed perturbation
truth oscillated on the ripples of confusion.
In the ordained flux of frenzied mental unrest,
things disheveled to change were put to test.
The alchemy of metamorphic divine intervention
unveiled the real façade of basic transformation.
Transmuted self-image escaped egocentricity,
got transfixed within the frame of empathy.
Heavenly intercession in the life reborn,
the strata of dense self-worth got torn.
In the halcyon horizon of the life new
the nascent sun of adoration arose with hue,
painted passionately the pining hearts
with color of love designing perceptive art.
“we woke up early one morn, ego shorn
it felt as though we were in form reborn
nodes within stirred, boundaries blurred
our head and heart, with love concurred”
(Quote by the sponsor)
Old timers, history;4th/5th generation
The friends we knew, now just memories
A forgotten world past, new bringing
AI, technology; what is it we become
The past barely existing, rotting away
Like dust is to the wind
Particles of human flesh decay
Our worth, only the price of money
Our dignity, forgotten; lost among mankind
A broken society disarrayed in their path
Dreams of life we consume our souls in screen
Sense of hope shatter in riot hate
Morality crushed among the ruins of today
A free nation they yell as we pay the price
Still slave to man we shout for change
But to man, the reason we die out our breed
All we lived for and fought to achieve
The constitution, added/taken from like Bible
The new gen, the dying breed we become sin
Living just cause it is that we look not
But unto our own destruction we lead ourselves
Noy not by choice my last breath be it taken
Exhale of darkness my soul waits its coming
I grow weary as the days approaches end
A life forgotten, a Dying Breed once stood
A soul once soared, buried in a tomb
Down deep in the ground, the Dying Breed
The last laid to rest eternal
disarrayed sands
dislodged
from
timeless terrain
captured
by
chaotic instants
settle ceaselessly
bemused
on
stratified shelf
of
languid life
disorganized
in
moments moving
dismantled
with
dispersed dust
of
petrified perturbation
truth of trust
embedded
in
sanguinity suffused
with
random rhythm
of
ruffled ripples
of
disordered discontent
oscillating
bewildered efflux
of
delinquent dismay
transmutes exhilaration
tousled
mystifying alchemy
of
metamorphic illusion
reveals pretense
real
of
traumatic transmutation
tormenting
somber squall
swirls depression
sweeping
through
whirlpool void
of
despondence deep
where
mangled mind
drowns
in
distraught nothingness
disheveled
splinters leitmotif
of
ethereal emotions
configured
in
confounded cascade
of
consternation disquiet
carries them
detached
sandcastle fragile
on
shriveled shore
of
yearning
tumbles down
in
confused clutter
of
disorientated debris
in
divesting mayhem
psyche rises
revived
shape-shifts
to
intonation lilt
in
cadenced time
harmonic
instantly discovers
enthralled
covert flute
of
sensuous symphony
plays the music
of
ecstatic soul
entranced
convivial concerto
reverberates
the last refrain
of
melodic memory
euphoric epithet
of
transcendent essence
resonates
in
cosmic concerto
eternal
EUPHORIC EPITHET
disarrayed sands
derive dislodged
from
timeless terrain
settle bemused
on
stratified shelf
of
languid life
disorganized
in
dismantled moments
of
petrified perturbation
trustworthy truth
on
ruffled ripples
of
disordered discontent
oscillates
on
bewildered efflux
of
delinquent dismay
as
metamorphosed elation
reveals tousled
real pretense
of
traumatic transmutation
of
disquiet mind
drowning disheveled
in
distraught nothingness
with
splintered leitmotif
of
embedded emotion
in
sensual sandcastles
on
shriveled shore
of
eroded yearning
where
psyche rises
shape-shifted
to
covert flute
of
passion symphony
plays music
of
ecstatic self
entranced
as
convivial concerto
resonates
the last refrain
of
melodic memory
as
transcendent essence
of
euphoric epithet