Long Footprints Poems
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a secret d r e a m of peace
youth making dreamers of all –
amidst enemy F. I.R.E.
p a s s i o n s rode H I G H –
he lays a bridge of worn footprints—
each step a chapter unwritten
in
the
cycle
of
life
as Sisyphus struggled with his burden
the world—
a hostile place
to carve a niche—
while he runs
in circles … his f 8 o 8 o 8 t 8 p 8 r 8 I 8 n 8 t 8 s fading
in Selenic tides
embracing his issue –
( hiding fear )
in the folds of his proud smile :)
opening a Pandora’s jar—
(the original punishment for having sticky fingers)
sticky embraces now
s.o.i.l.i.n.g. his best suit
wearing of gifts bestowed by Zeus –
stoking the fire to excel
W T H N the children blossom –
A C I G
C ! H ! E ! E ! R ! I ! N !G !!! them on
to achieve their dreams
as his b r e a t h catches
in a TighT chest
youthful dreams circle …
unfolding, returning—
he hangs the moon—
an Olympic
torch
passed
on …
HOURGLASS
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
sand escapes
from the hourglass of our lives—
each grain a ghost
the future thins
to a horizon line, pale
as bone-bleached shells.
time shifts the shoreline—
what was solid becomes sea,
what was sea becomes stone.
I stand ankle-deep
in the receding now,
watching footprints dissolve.
oldest grains glow
clearest: childhood sunsets,
first loves, last goodbyes—
all sharpened by loss,
all softened by the slow grind
of what remains unsaid.
The hourglass whispers:
“Every fall is a rising
in another light.”
You leave a trail wherever you go;
Signs of your passing mere minutes ago,
Or may-hap some time in the far distant past,
Signs remembered, signs that last.
Lives that were touched by some action of yours,
Or words that were spoken like a balm that pours,
From lips filled with healing or an acid that scores,
Leaving behind it pain and sores.
The words that you speak can heal or kill,
Depending upon your mind set, your will.
The actions you take are one and the same,
Leaving no one but you to bear the blame.
Wherever you go when you look back,
Make sure you won't be ashamed of your tracks.
Before I ever saw those eyes
How deeply I loved you
Before you read my first thought
I found you
Before you ever dreamt of my lips
I kissed your smile
I meant nothing to you
and you were already my world
I lived through every breath you inhaled
till that same breath became
a ghost from our past
Tonight,I exist to live for what was
Tomorrow,I live to exist for what will be
I stopped calling your name
I stopped searching your footprints
Stopped seeking your arms
I stopped believing in stars
Yet, Sometimes in my soul's dusk of night
through your cold absence,I feel you within me
ever so soft, just like the wind
Like zephyr breeze which left my cheek
yet never gone.
A RUTHERFORD PHRASIS 4
Grace withers without adversity,faith
is better of the free air and winter storms
we face.We to heaven up with broken brow
and crooked leg yoked together with
His free grace.What folly ‘tis to sit down
and weep upon the decree of God,better
make windows in our prison and look out
And upwards to our God.He hath a gate
Of His own,beyond the thoughts of men,
that no foot has skill to follow Him..now
or in some future then.
An phrasis verse of Samuel Rutherford
using phrases selected from his letters.
No 157;178;181;196
A RUTHERFORD PHRASIS 5
Be not like gold in chink and colour,
watered brass and metal based.Let Him
have the flower of your heart.Contend
with Christ,fear not,let your prison a
palace become.Mis-spend not this short
sand-glass;if Christ hideth Himself,wait
on,trust in the dark.Sorrow for His absence
sweet,walk in the footprints of His feet.The
footsteps of the Forerunner are clear,the
tide may seem far out,His Comfort lies
but near.He triumphs in suffering,weeps
and reigns.He is no idle Husbandman He
purposeth a crop, and on you, in due time,
will His blessings drop.
An phrasis verse of Samuel Rutherford
using phrases selected from his letters.
No 76;100;147;182;210;280;324
Listen to me read these phrasis on youtube under the name ichthyschiro
Snow had fallen covering the cobble stone path to the cabin.
It had taken me hours to get here.
I was alone and needed to talk to her, one last time.
She had left in a hurry, after we had had a terrible fight.
I can't remember what it was about, we had so many.
Money, sex, drugs, her abuse, I lost count.
Work was long today and I called to tell her,
we needed to talk.At least one last time.
She said she'd be at the cabin until tomorrow,
when she was leaving.
To where?I don't know.
The night was cold, damp, the kind of night
that can cut through you.
I felt uneasy, as I was later than maybe she expected.
Either way I wasn't going to stay long.
Say goodbye, wish her well, all while keeping
my anger in check.
She needed help and I couldn't give it to her.
Maybe time and distance would help.
As I approached the cabin I saw two sets
of footprints.A trail of blood lead from the
covered path across the porch.
My heart started pounding, who was here?
What had happened?Was she alright?
A candle light flickered in the frosted window.
My steps were slow, careful as I walked onto
the porch and then I opened that door,
the candle went out,I heard glass break, a gunshot.
I woke up in the hospital, hand cuffed to a bed.
A police officer spoke..You have the right to remain silent.
6/19/15
Time tells history
Of cobbles stone and pebbles
Of arch and arches that met
Life, sorrow and pain
There was link that connect
The old and the new stories
The path they have walked before
Still imprinting footprints today
The dust they have breathe before
Still the dust i have breathe today
The water under the old bridge
Never runs dry, it's the water that flows
Right before my very eyes
How many tears and laughter roll on the bridge
Countless memories had passed since time immemorial
The people who have passing has gone one by one
Yet, the bridge is the witness how it was portrayed
The bridge may transform from laying bricks
To the modern sophisticated of metal composition
But the purpose was not defeated and trampled
It's still connecting people, history, and commerce of life.
Shadows are searching
My footprints nowhere
May be I am dreaming
The dream of somewhere.
Let's count with me till ten
The dream of a writer,
Imagination of a pen
I know quite curious you are
Well, try to listen me please
pretty good audience you are.
Ok Let's start with a simple name
Where regret ,without a single pain
Are we all still dreaming,
The dream of richy flame
Preaching for every single game
Still marathon has an end
But Laugh buddies
We are same with new claim of blame
I know each one has a collar white
Washed twice looking shiny bright
But what about the black spots
Where no one looks nor even stops
Are they are not the part of plain
Or they are simply the trash of rain
Oh sorry , I forgot
That Black spots still has a vain
Looking in to the dream
Something really fascinates me
May be it's a rush or fear of morning
A morning where no birds are chirping
Nor even a single tree is still whirling
The grandeur of doomy annoyed
Are we are building the development
Or the development building the void
Sitting on chair no one knows the fear
The sounds of death that no one can hear
Does the peace lost his identity or its name
Or the blood flowing just for the sake of fame
But
The clocked has clicked , your time is over
Please wake up the beautiful morning is still sober
Have a tea ,Dont worry for a change
Alas , the writer is still dreaming till death ,waiting for change.
This is an age of blood;
an interesting era,
corn and potatoes rot in the fields
or are sold into slavery.
Money walks inside a Viking helmet,
Mars is rising red with anger.
This a time for poetry,
for the old and young
to scribble over burnt stones,
to whisper into hurricanes.
The world spins on
but an axis of madness reigns,
its spin is out of kilter,
drugged by addictive illusions.
Only the wild child
with a charcoal pen
can write down the pain,
can see the fire simmering bright
in the chilling snow.
The path is crazy
it has lost itself in a concrete maze
of insane ideas and frothing words.
It babbles, it has only spears
to shake, as if such weapons' were
as sharp as clear eyes.
The soft neural tentacles of poets
wave in the ash filled air,
gather reasons,
moments to sew together
incautious words
on the edge of a dire dawn.
A pale light feeds them
they report the storming storms
camouflaged as they are
by the in-between;
their small testaments
writ upon scapes of scorched insights
for the readers and trackers
of lost footprints.
Three,
A blanket of white paints the floor
pure, pristine
unabridged
assignments in the void
footprints not yet laid
and I'm a dozen moments away
I look to your sky
and the lights
they light up the night
our night, our beginning
we're naked, we're pure
like the fresh laid snow
nothing traced, nothing known
where we've been, where we go
new paths lie ahead
where the trade winds blow
we trade
snow for sand
hope for hearts
mountains climb us
for we are the earth,
the stars,
the sun and the moon
we are the children inside
wandering about at last
taking first steps
wobbly but we reach out our hands
for trust and for love