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Free verse
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He leaves me speechless with his words,
stunned by the hurt I carry...
I never knew the power he had
to test my heart in wearing.
We dream of men to be polished,
So Minuit in gentlemen flaws...
The texture of reality surfaces,
That in him - is without laws.
Laws that hold a standard -to care
for others more than number one...
Minding the words one speaks,
To prevent future damage to be done.
We are taught words won't hurt us,
But in fact they pain most deep...
A fistful bruise will heal itself,
But words continue to seep.
Made a fool for what I thought I knew,
A man stronger than his tongue...
An apology comes in many forms,
After his battle is already won.
The blame will fall upon me,
For my insecurities pester...
Causing turmoil to those surround me,
but worse in my heart it fester.
Easily forgiven
is what is made to be done...
The heart forgives generously
but the mind holds the gun.
Years of foul tongues
leave little room for patience..
What is not his burden to pick up
will surround his existence.
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Rhyme
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Midst gifts of life, like poison in nectar, pains flow in too,
Endlessly, as though, they pester us with unceasing woe;
Schedules suffer; Works slacken; spirit and body slow down,
Existence turns, like, eternal psycho-physic breakdown...!
Saint Paul had a wound of such sort and he prayed to the Lord,
He felt, yet, in everything, the will of God be adored;
If in human weakness, divine power could manifest,
Could there be, in mundane existence, a greater conquest...?
I happened to have, in my heart, a deep festering wound,
That developed owing my life that was wrong-rhythm-tuned;
Licentiousness, I should say, had taken its deeper root,
Stresses and strains pricked me like thorns within an unkempt boot...!
Hopelessness, aimlessness, what else one needs for a great fall?
Pain of wound started rising, like price-rise in constant toll;
This festering, I know, will have no end till my sole death,
Brooding over it might cause early leaving of my breath...!
Saints and sinners have classically vital difference,
Stigma of saints caused, indulging in divine reverence;
Sinners have wounds festering by sins unconditional,
Yet, festering wounds, is factor, truly traditional...!
20 March 2022
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I do not know?
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Day 159 of A SNOWBALL for PEACE Another chance to make a difference.
It is Sunday and death knows no rest on days of rest as Sunday is supposed to be.
If Sunday really was supposed to be a day of rest, surely God would have arranged for death to have a rest too, the Grim Reaper really is a little hard done by isn't he? Having to work seven days a week, day and night.
How many Grim Reapers are there? Do they work in shifts and if so what are the hours? It is a sure thing people are going to die today on this Sunday and grief will spread like a well worn cloak over the four corners of the Earth.
Touching so many souls! Should we be sad about that, or glad about that? I do not know yet, but I am sure I will in the fullness of time.
Perhaps Sunday should be dying day? If heaven is such a good place to go to, it would make sense for us all to die on a holy day wouldn't it? But then there are so many folk dying daily, it would create a log jam at the checking in desk, wouldn't it!
Still if I could I would like to slow the rate of death down a little, I don't want too many people or spirits beating me up there before their time. To that end:-
Please, to Sign the petition go to:-
A SNOWBALL for PEACE http://www.thepetitionsite.com/188/569/134/a-snowball-
for-peace/#bbtw=510243396 … … …
That will take you to a site where you can place your vote, please pass this link on to your contacts as a matter of course, we need all the signatures we can get.
I wish I could stop pursuing this cause, but for the life of me I cannot. Therefore I have to power on and pester my friends on a regular basis, apologies but I will be back!
Terry Cooper Poet Artist and Philosopher
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