Always concerned with mental strain
Anxiously hiding it to numb the pain
Not quite living more like a mode
However life will always prod and goad
Dragging you out from behind your cloak
Whether or not you’re positioned to cope
Dropping the ball is nearly a certainty
When every minute is a storm at sea
Difficult to stay in the framed moment
Reality has vanity and plenty of wit to show it
Breeze plays music upon your hair
Blowing it with a gentle wind,
I hear each strand that winds its tune
Of past, once you left behind.
If I could with my fingers play
Upon each strand, changing the tune:
Would be music pleasing to the ear
Like a piano in a distant empty saloon.
It would tell a story true
Different from the past,
When skies bright and blue
Happier times to last.
Let music bring a smile back
Upon your face again,
Forgetting all life’s travails
That caused you mental strain.
Live your life as best you can
With joy and laughter in the wind
Let no one steal away your joy
Nor your eyes fade its glint.
When you are shaken to your core
and old man grief knocks at your door.
Life feels as if a storm passed through,
and left you feeling numb and blue.
Whether caused by a loss of job
or one who was a dear heartthrob,
or loved ones who are laid to rest,
Grief is a never-welcomed guest.
Grief may come when we least expect,
and in our soul his tent erect.
How long he stays depends on you,
dealing with him could bless you too.
Frequently we are given the time,
to prepare for the painful climb
out of the hole, our losses leave,
thus causing our souls to grieve.
Failure to grieve compounds the pain,
Increases stress and mental strain.
Eventually, your brain will snap,
making you flip and blow your cap.
Please do not be afraid of grief.
Ask God to strengthen your belief.
Let Him walk with you through the pain.
In the end, you will reap great gain.
The next time grief knocks at your door,
think of it as a common chore.
If you work through it to the end
your wounded heart your God will mend.
I'm a lot stronger,
because I have to be,
I never know what life,
has in store for me.
As I go thru,
tribulations and trials,
Some days,
it's just inches others it's miles.
I stumble often,
I have made my mistakes,
The past takes on many flavors,
colors and shapes.
I can recognize happiness,
because I've cried,
I can take the heat,
and swallow my pride.
Collateral damage,
in someone else's inner war,
This is the crap,
I don't have time for.
I've seen her at her worse,
still, I stayed,
Even after,
the lies and the clever charade.
The one who keeps secrets,
has the prettiest smile,
Always at the ready,
rarely goes the extra mile.
The kind heart,
absorbs all the pain,
The brain feels,
the mental strain.
TURBO1904
We all feel pain!
But what is pain that is not physical but seen
in blackened faces, tortured minds,
glistening eyes that surely mean -
pain … emotional - heart wrenching, disbelieving,
coming from the aftermath to accompany the grieving,
where time - eternal time, decries to halt the mental strain,
though cannot steal the call to mind - but ease the awful pain.
And pain is real -
each time a call for help echoes through the open door,
where the unknown is imagined - is there tragedy or not?
Therefore the pain returns - for it’s been felt before.
There is concern with every siren that alerts the road ahead.
Do I know them? Are they mates? Are they alive or dead?
So there is pain no matter who - police, fire or the ambulance,
for the victim - the wretched victim - could be a friend by chance.
Your comment
Sent me
On a strange path
Of great thought
And reflection
And times past
With great mental strain
Synapsis drained
I feel
Low
And tired
If a little
Depressed
That
I have come
To a point
A conclusion
If you will
Be enlightened
That Life
Is Life
That Man
Is Man
Never to wake
To see the Dawn
In May
Always
Cursed too
Sleeping
Sleeping
And so adverse to
Dreaming
Dreaming
But not of
A universal consciousness
With so many Cultures
With Vultures abound
That common ground
Is but a swamp
Clad in dead trees
Mist and murk
Lies and fake news
Surrounded
By wall streets
Profit
At Humanities loss
Child and forced labour
A cesspit of sex crimes
Man’s current state
Of enlightened times
So can you imagine
Or dream if you dare
Where man
Puts others
First
Before himself
And lifts those below
Up past his equal
I can’t
Man, never will
He seems
Condemned
Content
To Dreaming
Dreaming
Of what
Might have been
A conscious time
Out of his reach
Oftentimes I ponder befuddled
My Sensations benumbed, my mind muddled
On what at last to do with life
To solve the inside ceaseless strife
Of feelings and thoughts that bring me pain
And pin me down with mental strain
Yet the epiphany is worth the thought
Tis the one thing that must be sought
For All Things There Is A Purpose
Written: by Miracle man
12-16-2019
My morning quiet time, always conduces creativity,
This endeavor precludes, each day’s passivity.
Lingering health issues, continue to constrain,
Being unable to do much, causes me mental strain..
But my life wasn’t spared to just sit and whine,
My days stacked together are a huge ball of twine.
I was left for a purpose that only God is seeing,
And some days I’ve questioned my reason for being.
During a 45 day period of time I had,
Severe Spinal Stenosis surgery November 15, 2016
Open heart surgery on December 27, 2016
Sudden Cardiac Arrest on January 1, 2017
Doctors had “put out the fire and called the dogs,” Yet here I am!
What a testimony to God’s greatness
to those who witnessed this chapter of my life.
Tom
TRAVAILS OF A NON-INSOMNIAC
Everything around was going peacefully and fine
until a new family occupied the flat above mine.
The cacophony at the day time is rather tolerable,
but the noise that rattled the night is unbearable.
When it’s time for me to sleep every single night
their nocturnal activities begin, imagine my plight.
Tables and chairs make unending creaking crawl,
heavy footsteps on floor, the ceiling seems to fall.
The broken sleep tortured takes a fatigued flight
leaving me anguished ranting on pillow whole night.
Repeated requests haven’t yet yielded any result,
being insomniac, I’m falsely told, isn’t theirs, my fault.
After nightly torment I’m in so much of mental strain,
it’s a matter of time when sleep starved I’ll go insane.
I don’t know what I should do now, I have no clue,
would anybody care to advise me if I should sue.
December 26, 2018
Six ticks enough for me
Sort shelter at the home for less
Broken dreams of hearts desires
Resided in the home of less
Mental strain an back pain
The price to enter the
Home of rest
Moaning an groaning a common theme
For those in the house of best
Tall stories an throaty laughs
Lift the spirit of those condemned
To the house of jest
But it doesn’t replace
The family home
Children an lifelong friends
God bless
The home
Less
Sleep I can’t feign. I hear the falling rain
tapping a refrain on the window pane.
My throbbing pain recedes and I obtain
relief from the migraine which had free reign
like a freight train, a cause for mental strain.
Drat the champagne! Don’t blame the quiche Lorraine.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Contest: Rhymers Delight Internal Monorhyme
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Placed 2nd
© 7th January 2017
Honour through labour is the ultimate goal
Achievement’s prefect sending an alert at every pause
Regulating inactivity to give idleness no chance
Demand is great and the stake is high
Whether through the hands and sweat of the skin
Or through mental strain and thorough thinking
Regular stress is the propeller to its engine, but
Keep the ball rolling in a controlled speed
In the long run, the effect will begin to show
Narrow is the gap left, success is no more far
Goals and targets met, fulfillment the new crown
Drowning in the depths of despair
Their waves of guilt and impotence
Thundering through his brain
The roar drowning out
The anguished pleas
Of family and friends.
Trapped within the unscalable heights
Of torment
Walls rendered impenetrable
By his tortured deafness
His mind thrashed
For a way of escape.
Born of the gilded generation
This doomed Icarian youth
Lured by the amber flame of a vitreous sun
And beaten down by mental strain
Listened for the approaching whistle
And stepped lightly into the void.
The windscreen thump
The driver's startled and pallid face
The screech of brakes
The acrid stench of scorching flesh
And the line at a standstill.
Once the wreckage was cleared
Left behind were the wounds
Lightly to crust over
But beneath, the ever gaping wound
That will never heal.
Just graze the surface
And the pain and questions
Come flooding back.
Reflection, relaxation around the bend
Long work week careening to dead end
Hard work's gratuities in rear view portend
A brief sabbatical our inflated value to pretend
Week's rat race with slower pace will amend
All unnecessary pursuits from mind rend
With less tedious chores gladly contend
Forced hand, mental strain not extend
Only pent-up energy limbs will expend
Trivial pursuits, television deserved dividend
A new book, movie, that mind's eye did recommend
A new restaurant our acquiring tastes to commend
Friends, family to hearth's door hungrily descend
Grilled burgers, hot dogs to nominal appetites append
Haute cuisine, to our genteel friends a stipend
At day's end, on creaky, front porch swing addled bodies suspend
With Nature's slower rhythms, contented minds blend
At midnight a stiff tonic still lingering cares to fend
Staggering to bed senses too dulled life to comprehend
Into deep, requiting sleep, missed week's. hours addend
Alarm clock slumbers on and rested bodies wake at ten
To a frothy cappuccino morn's hangover to promptly mend
Every day, every where,
Lives are lost it’s never fair.
You don’t know the numbers,
Most haven’t felt the pain,
Death is no doubt the all time mental strain.
Whether it’s a dog, cat, family member, or friend,
Most don’t know for sure when their life will end.
Elementary school were the hardest years,
I ended 5th grade with 5 times the tears.
Death shouldn’t be joyful, it shouldn’t be funny,
When a friend dies, my day is anything but sunny.
When a family member or friend dies my heart starts to sink,
What were the last words I said, I start to think.
As I take a walk down memory lane,
I start feeling all the emotional pain.
You may ask why I’m writing a poem about death,
For all I know this could be my last breath.
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