Long Wear away Poems
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A perfect beauty
A perfect beauty could be different beneath the skin.
They may be beautiful on the outside,
But dark secrets may be hidden underneath.
The person we desire could be blinding us from their faults;
The lover we require may be a detached love so far away from us.
In silence we remain alone;
In voice we give birth to love.
Without a love of our own,
We remain less than we should have become.
We have to see past lust
And delve deep under to find love;
Because a love built solely on lust,
Will crumble and become lost.
If we remain true to love and do not just accept anyone;
We will find what we need, if we are lucky enough to find the one.
The words have already told us,
That love is everything that we need.
So stay faithful to your faith in love
And you will find your real love, eventually.
Obsessing over beauty will only leave us so sad;
We may miss out on love, for them and they may never know.
If you think they are the one,
But then you see the flaws they never had;
You will regret what you did or didn’t do and you will end up alone.
Be open to love, for every love is a gift;
Do not take anyone for granted, or they will soon be gone.
Throw your arms around love; do not let it be missed,
Because you cannot change what you have already done
And if they really are so perfect, then why are they alone?
A flawed beauty is what we should desire;
A painful past will bring you closer together.
A love full of lust burns the brightest fire;
A lust without love, will never last forever.
Being honest to love is not such a risk,
When you compare it to being honest with only lust.
Love will protect you every hour, in every kiss;
But with each lover, you wear away love and away goes the trust.
In stars we search for understanding, for meaning and for sight;
In songs we find understanding, true meaning and insight.
In marriage we become new beings, living a whole new life.
A beauty without flaws is called perfection; it is also a lie.
Seek what you want and accept what you will;
Profit where you may and put your trust in who you want.
Desire all you can have and let no tear ever be wrongfully spilled;
Live for lust, or lust for love;
Live for love and you will find that you are now at one with the one.
(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Form:
The sky turned stygian grey, violent winds blew.
From above, tears of liquid grief poured down.
Flood waters rose, pressure got built under the soil.
The earth erupted with rocks and buildings,
Coming down with a deadening sound, not once
But thrice in the wee hours of the night.
After the day’s hard toil, those who lay down to sleep,
Were swept away without a moment’s notice.
Two populous villages with hundreds of houses,
And public buildings vanished out of sight in seconds!
A landslide of horrendous magnitude came,
Shrieking like a fiendish banshee....
Sweeping away habitations and the belongings.
In the place of lush green vegetation and towering trees,
Nothing remains but a heap of rocks, stones and debris.
Their voices are forever stilled, their dreams, shattered,
Those who survived the tragedy face the greatest trauma.
With sobbing hearts and a vacant stare, they search,
For the dear ones missing, a grief hard to bear.
The sight of pet dogs sniffing for their masters
Under the slush and debris is so heartrending!
***** ***** ***** ****** *****
After two days, the pouring rain stopped, the sky became clear
Now the earth lies in dreadful silence like a graveyard.
The rubble lies heaped where homes and buildings once stood
Help is pouring in from all quarters of the country.
The initial shock has begun to wear away as reality has set in.
The dreadful numbness gives way as grief takes hold
People sober up from the initial shock and get ready
To have a foothold, knowing well that long nights are ahead.
Reeling minds with no balance, now regain some equilibrium.
With cautious steps through the ruins, they plod with resilience.
The affected people and volunteers work in unity,
To regain what has been lost, though it is a herculean task,
To darn and repair the torn land to make it fit for living.
Man has an ability to sober up and emerge like phoenix,
From the pit of ashes, healing, mending and finding his way.
At three years old,
she slides down the playground chute
again and again—
screaming joy like a law of nature,
not knowing her thrill
relies on two surfaces
refusing to agree.
I don't tell her
that without friction
she'd fall through her chair,
pass through the carpet,
drop through the crust,
until even the Earth's center
ran out of grip.
I just watch her walk—
tiny soles pressing the ground,
each step a quiet argument
between rubber and concrete:
stay.
then go.
Last night she asked
why ice is slippery.
I wanted to say something
about water letting go
of its own shape—
but she was already gone,
hunting for socks,
her question dissolving
faster than I could catch it.
At the store,
she pushes the cart
(I guide it, barely)
and gasps at how
a week's worth of groceries
glides like nothing.
"It's magic," she says.
And maybe it is—
all those invisible wheels
and tiny metal balls
conspiring to make
heavy things light.
Tonight, she kicks off her blanket.
"Too scratchy," she complains,
and I smooth it down,
thinking how that roughness
against her skin
whispers:
you are here.
you are real.
you exist.
But what I don't say is this:
someday friction will burn her.
Rope through palms,
knees on asphalt,
the slow wear
of things that stay
too close
too long.
What I don't say is
that the same force
keeping her safe in bed
is teaching her
that everything
she'll ever love
will eventually
wear away.
Instead, I watch her sleep,
my hand resting
in her hair,
both of us held
by invisible forces
neither of us
fully understands.
A glowing sun sets over the breezy coast
battered by an angered sea,
and amid instilled peace,
percussion entices sadness
with its perfume from the contiguous jessamines
that smell stronger than the clustered cloves;
I neither contest nor seem contented with the inability
to satisfy this yearning with a passion so infinite...
until I discover these emerald eyes
more dazzling than gemstones!
Woman, so highly desirable,
with a skin so soft and touchable,
let my manly arms embrace you and hide
your beauty in the deepest place of the mind...
where it can only grow larger than memory,
and retain its wholeness of simplicity!
Once you entrust that love to me,
I'll make certain that it reaches its extremity,
enough not to want any other
who won't keeps his promise and doesn't love intensely;
dishonesty always defeats who is unfair!
Woman, seeking out a dreamy night...
through the arousal of sensual emotions
ruled by a rampant desire, embellish it
with these emerald eyes more dazzling than gemstones:
to captivate and liberate me from a wait I can hardly bear,
so that I don't wear away as a river swallowed up by the water!
A moon so glaring and displeased by unreachable distance,
illuminates what darkness made dull,
and approves of our unity by showing that beautiful
and radiant face without the usual spots;
and while it stands, it announces the sunrise of new days,
and I am grateful for these emerald eyes more dazzling than gemstones!
Oh thorn of my heart,
Why do you linger,
You raptured on the ramparts,
With gentle coos to bemuse and beleaguer,
My antagonist persona of strangling vines and petrified bark,
Entranced by your words of amber,
I found solace in your arms,
Entwined in love at last I eagerly await your call,
And yet as endless days wear away the calendar,
Our separation has no end in sight,
I spend my waking hours earnestly looking over my shoulder awaiting your return,
Aimlessly wandering along the overgrown paths we made during our romantic nights,
Your name escaping my lips in gasps during fitful slumber of turmoil and distress,
Carelessly throwing myself into the din of battle as a momentary reprieve,
To cease the voices in my heads I struggle to suppress,
They rack my mind with images of your demise leaving me crippled with grief,
And paralyze my body with the fear of your perpetual absence,
Like a tree overcome by the snows of winter I lie motionless on the floor,
Smothered by decaying rose petals and fading memories,
Desperately clinging to your promises of our future as an end-all cure,
A dream bereaved of its luster when challenged with reality,
Where are you my love,
We were supposed to see the world together,
Now I find myself once again upon the rampart broken and beleaguered,
Bereft of hope, shunned by my people as a traitor to the Pale Tree,
Oh Caithe,
Thorn of my heart,
Why did you leave me.
Pride is a motivator, a stimulator of scarlet soul
an accelerator to the next glorious goal
generator of newcoming awakening
cultivator out cunning the unkind
cutting away all the doubts and flouts, leaving the babel and rabble behind,
a slayer of beasts and witches,
pulverizer of all that threatens my wishes,
Pride is an educator, a teacher whom need not flatter
or conspire to push passion higher,
a preacher promisin that you can be better than you thought you were,
transformer from the mediocre to a raw reformer
makin my heart the perfect love performer
romanticizer of the love battles that my Lady and I thunder
reinforcer of our durable dreams, encourager for our beautiful hunger,
Pride has weather, moving me to smile at the wind and bear the barbs of error,
an innovator of my instincts, reflector of bleeding color
It compells me to be a competitor, a finisher, and a star runner,
my blessings won't bow to humble hoaxes
my talent cannot tolerate the tamming of tragedies
my courage will not cower with the false virtue of humble hypnotism
ain't no way a honkeytonk humbler gonna wear away my sway,
my faith will not stumble upon the stones of humble wastelands,
I wasn't born to walk with humble eyes,
I'm alive to thrive with a sacred strive,
in pride I hear the voice of my Creator say, be great or die!
J.A.B.
You've moved on;
My feet remain glued to the floor.
Ten paces behind you,
I stare on as you close the door.
All I ask is you wait a little longer,
Hold on a little tighter,
Please wait for me to get stronger.
I'm lost inside myself.
Insane? Maybe I am.
God I've taken on too much,
I can hardly bear to stand
Every thing that has been given to me
I prepare to call it quits.
And yet my feet remain glued to this spot,
Ready for each hit.
You've gone on,
Here I remain,
Ten paces behind you,
Still feeling the pain.
All I ask is that you give me more time,
Walk with me a while,
Though I know it's not your style.
I don't know what to do from here,
Everything familiar has disappeared.
Yet I reach out for something no longer near,
Lost in the flames of the past two years.
God I've taken way too much,
I'm not strong enough, this storm is too rough.
And yet my feet remain glued here,
Though the rain keeps pouring, washing away
Everything dear.
You've paddled on,
Here I stand,
Ten paces behind you with an empty hand.
I've taken it all, there's not much more I can stand.
All I ask is that you stay close, please don't walk away,
Hold on tighter, walk much closer, be patient in every way.
One day this glue will wear away, someday again I'll move
On. Until then all I ask is that you wait until I'm strong.
Form:
this life I live breaks my heart a little more each day
the maladies and tragedies consume my dreams
and wear away all my strength
sorrow is my constant companion as
the moments' crawl, seconds feel endless
days feel like an eternity, and as for years
they seem infinite, and yet when they pass
memories of them feel like they were gone in an instant
but I fight on, hiding my feelings with humor
and a smile masking the tears just underneath
how can anyone really understand?
pain is relative after all and unless you've experience it
you can't fathom a persons struggle, so why do you judge?
the fall from your high horse, your soap box, your stage
your pulpit, your existence, and your outrage
down here to my prison, my reality
is a long and dark. It won't discriminate
because you believe your somehow superior
this could be you someday; life is a journey
and a cruel game, someday when you've forgotten me
you could take my place, you have
no idea what experience will bring
so what right do you have to give me advice?
what makes you think you are so wise?
what makes you think you can face my life?
what makes you think you can handle my strife?
look thru my eyes, see what I’ve seen
and I give you a week before you too long for lifes' end
I seek to love You for Yourself,
not for the profit I will gain;
if prison walls are all I know,
my love should grow and never wane.
Within myself I have not strength
to love You, Lord, the way I ought;
but if I yield my all to Thee
then You can do what I could not.
I love You, Lord, no more than I
love those who closely share my life;
and if at them I take offense
or pleasure find in any strife,
I have not learned to love at all.
So often I have failed the test
when most I thought I really loved;
Lord, I would learn Your way is best.
I must have You! Oh, more and more,
I need Your presence in my heart;
I cannot have too much of You!
It seems I've just begun to start
to know the fullness of Your life.
Your way of love is far too high
for my poor heart to comprehend.
I need Your love; my love must die.
So love Yourself, my God, through me,
and may my life a channel be
where love in rivers, calm and clear,
Flows on in true simplicity.
Cut deep the gorge within my heart;
the stony contents wear away.
let fountains of Your love and joy
burst forth and brighten someone's way.
Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright, 1987
You’ll come to all but me, O spring, and as always once more you’ll bring
To them your scents, hues, birds that sing, warmth and pleasure and everything
Each needs to live like a real king under your ancient azure ring.
My seared leaves you’ll again forget with your soft, balmy rains to wet,
And will leave in the world’s doomed net of harm and hurt and fear and threat.
Me you’ll only wear out and fret and never graciously indebt.
I smell you, though, and wait for you to drive me mad with longings new
And make of me a wondering Jew with a heart all laden with rue
For this life that’s a drop of dew which disappears so soon from view.
Do as you wish. Leave me forlorn. I am already used to scorn.
My lot’s not a rose but her thorn, to wail, to moan, to weep, to mourn.
My blank garden do not adorn! Of all sorts of hope leave me shorn.
A bird forgotten in the snare with nobody around to care
Should helplessly stay there and stare and wear away when it can’t tear
The ugly noose, loathsome, unfair, and only bear all in despair.
2.12.2013
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