Vow of ashes, please burn
all the shadow alive,
Remember the giraffe was blind,
Cold silent story...
no journalist was around for its
but rumours still goes around
Yes during that's night before the ocean
becomes the graveyard,
Many colours were promising
Just like the story
Of exile.just remember
some truth doesn't bleed
Because the curse water forgive no one
Yes the beauty you see was once
a reminder of what left
But to be honest,
Many believe that it's just a myths
because we all know the story in different forms
Yes stolen immediately just after birth
Just remember
our Hearts are meant to be a
home of love
But to survive ones must pay their sins
with death, because a blood debt must be
Repaid with blood
If time were just a coin,
cold weight I couldn’t join,
a silent circle, small,
pressed gently in my palm to fall.
If time were fleeting gold,
a glow too soft to hold,
it’d shimmer, then be gone,
a thought dissolving into dawn.
If time were borrowed breath,
a debt repaid in depth,
in moments kept unseen,
where quiet lingers in between.
If time were currency,
I’d spend it tenderly,
let every second glide
like dust through slowly shifting light.
A smirk ghosts
by torn lips
razored puce
and throbbing wild
to fire a fusillade
of mortar murmurs
armed with fangs
honed in cauldrons
belching molten words
to palsy the gainsay
of jesters
who scarify and behead
bliss.
On the question of destiny and free will,
though life as impulsed will unfold as ordained,
feeling influx of grace, which God does instil,
our consciousness expands, from thought forms unchained,
whence the love dove perches on soul’s window sill,
revealing the light of Self, pure and unstained.
Spirit in form is here for a brief sojourn,
imbibing benign bliss burns in body urn.
When debts of love are repaid, in bliss we wade,
impacted no longer by the quirks of fate,
our non-judgmental eye assigning no grade,
knowing tempests that rise, will in time abate,
path of the heart offering bliss readymade,
propelling our presence straight through heaven’s gate.
Free will is the manner in which we respond,
choice of purity, forging with God a bond.
Contemplating, to whom does destiny come
and who is the doer, who seemingly acts,
in tranquil silence, betwixt bliss beat’s soft hum,
noticing how nodes within forge loving pacts,
aligned to the cadence of the cosmic drum,
whence negating the ego, since it reacts,
we see we’re not form but the life force itself,
recognised clearly as the light of our Self.
That Love — when full — may fade —
As Blossoms do — from June —
Its Petal — pressed upon the Mind —
Its Fragrance — gone too soon —
That Death — is not a Stranger —
But Patient — at the Door —
Who waits — with Kindly Certainty —
We cannot long ignore —
That Hope — though clad in Silver —
Will tarnish — if delayed —
The longest Vigil — wears the Soul —
Whose Prayer — is not repaid —
That Truth — is rarely Gentle —
She cuts — to show the Core —
And leaves us bleeding — yet more Pure —
Than we had been before —
That Self — once lost — is seldom found —
In quite the same attire —
The Ash — remembers being Flame —
But not the former Fire —
I used to be lost,
Until I repaid the cost
So heart can defrost.
A child's first cry after its birth
repaid after leaving the earth
Line of inquiry: have we repaid all debts of love we owe?
We go through life, and as we journey on,
can we recall the many souls that we
had met, and just as soon as that, were gone?
The school teachers, the friends we used to see,
our dear ones, kin, acquaintances and more . . .
kind strangers who by word or deed showed love.
Like plucking pebbles from a river shore
would be the task – recalling actions of
so many people! What we have to do
before we die, as humans in this life,
is kindness give to everybody who
we meet along our path. The world is rife
with so much woe. A debt of love we owe
to all we meet as down life’s path we go.
"Line of Inquiry: have we repaid all debts of we love we owe?"
Look deep, deep-
deep, into my soul,
what you find there is my sadness,
a sea of emotions and of regret,
and my tears of love.
And from this soul of mine,
I thank the people who held me up,
when my journey was a struggle !
Oh, weather-stained my soul,
ravaged could have been life.
Love changed my journey and weeping, I vow
that I have repaid each awe-inspiring thing,
each person who helped me.
And I urge each friend or foe,
repay the love given before death comes unbidden,
and words are left unspoken forevermore.
To so many, I owe my gratitude,
and I'm plagued by the pernicious weight
of an ungracious thankless attitude.
Do I hope to skate through Saint Peter's gate?
Indeed, many times, I have been blessed,
with kindness and compassion, undeserved,
as I have suffered pain or been distressed,
from those asking no reward, unobserved.
And likewise, I found that I've loved others
and given selflessly to those adored,
remembered, forgotten, sisters, brothers,
loving, itself, being its own reward.
Those whose kind acts of love have been conveyed
will rarely ask or need to be repaid.
although all debts of love have been repaid
and we no longer assign souls a grade
life as already impulsed does flow on
which matters not since in bliss streams we wade
Corrupt heart, depraved mind
A master of time, the weaver of trap
One whose mouth, falsehood emit
Gone from men, man and ghoul part and part
A victor, the slayer of ten men
A wolf in sheep’s clothing
The stopper of the flow of time
Catching his victim, in his well made net
Armed with a sneering dog
He is myth, the god of men
He was here before humans lived
The devil we can see
A menace since he was in diaper
Daily baths in the pool of tears
Constant loop of wretching blows
Till he killed the first, a debt repaid
He swore to fight as long as he live
Till he becomes one, the evil incarnate
Indomitable will, never to de-rail
He became the killer, the liar, the satan
He walks unimpeded to glory
A war dog, feared berserker
Hushed whispers turned raw
The god of men, the breaker of dreams
Lord Cam Was Here.
I had and spent a great time here.
The end is not far away.
I turned 65 in May of this year 2024.
I am on my way out. Heading up to heaven.
I helped a lot of people. Many turned ungrateful. But it's all ok.
I did it for Love.
I was victimised and ostrasised at Times,
Repaid unkindness for Kindness, Treated harshly and cheated at times.
But by luck or faith, or blessings, I always managed to bounce back.
And In spite of it all I lived a wondaful and most happy life.
Always with a pure, sincere and giving heart.
I always tried hard to be a truthful man, even when i was lied upon.
I have always been blessed with an abundance of happiness and Cheerfulness,
Lucky Me.
Blessed with 3 children, although only one seem to be bothering with me nowadays.
I find the others ungrateful Like many of the hypocrites and parasites
I've me in my life-In every walk of life.
But that did not stop me being Loving and Loved and like I said Blessed.
And when I'm Gone, do not mourn for me.
In fact just celebrate having touched our lives together in some way.
I will be gone to a much better , higher place of Goodwill
Where Goodwill is not so sparse.
MIGHTY WIND
Mighty wind,
upon the souls of men,
returning that to which has been sown,
A troubling storm,
the skies stirring to warn,
a furious funnel aiming to claim its own.
Hearts filled with dread,
most troubled heads,
for the chosen deeds which will be repaid,
For what's greatly sown,
will again be owned,
every brick and mortar that has been laid.
Hearts of faith rejoicing,
for the ominous voicing,
that to God, doth vengeance belong,
Men reap sooner than later,
and abundantly greater,
everything to which has been sown.
What is sown in the night,
shall be brought to the light,
though it seems that evil shall win,
Oh how they shall scurry,
for what was thought to be buried,
when revisited upon them again.
O Mighty Wind,
who can contend,
let all the wiser, the lessons be learned.
O restless wind,
to what greater extend,
shall men's wages of sin be earned.
Let all men heed,
what manner of seed,
to the Mighty Wind to which they have sown.
The awe of their shock,
that God won't be mocked,
He hears every prayer, every cry, every groan.
Just like my ridiculous amount of financial debt,
With the amount of lost rest accumulated as a sleep debt,
These will never be repaid until the day I am surely dead.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.