I am a guy,
I am also human
No supernature power
And i am immune to pain
You all might think she is the one hurt
but she is the one that hurts
fell for her
in front of a crowd
but she turned away
like she never knew me
Yes i am a guy
And it hurts more
Now that my pain is ignored
Categories:
supernature, boyfriend, break up, character,
Form: I do not know?
It's not footprints that we should be talking about -
They’re personal – my footprints, bold and giving,
Which shape me, make me me - who I am:
They're not Jesus’s, the king of living.
Your personal history partly determines your life,
Helps you, or makes you want to overcome,
Makes you want to become who you want to be,
Because I'm more than just my history’s sum.
The Jesus that we know is a universality:
Communal, all-knowing and immortal;
But that I evolved and am part of humankind,
Gives me purpose and a rather large portal.
Individual responsibility makes the criminal weep:
His actions are only his, there's no leeway;
It gives the success story her satisfied smile,
At past determination in her disbelieving day.
Existentialism posits we each exist without divinity,
As self-sufficient entities with meaning as your call;
Supernature strokes the ego, fondles the pride,
So just believe in atheism and be relational to all.
In Mary Stevenson’s Footprints poem,
Jesus carries you, with his footprints in yours;
But I think my role-models, physios and teachers,
Along with myself, carried me in theirs!
Categories:
supernature, appreciation, feelings, history, how
Form: Rhyme
I like my God much better than the one
who made his home up in the stratosphere
and favored us with visits now and then,
harrumphing down below about the way
that we behave, and tantalizing us
with sticks and carrots grown especially
for those who said the secret word or not,
by having properly proclaimed one man a king:
all this, of course. was indirect.
The voice of supernature wasn't heard;
the being had a handicap as beings will,
and yet the silence was as heaven-sent.
For I, the fallen one, would live because
the son would die. That was the sense of it.
But making sense is for the sensible,
and arms and legs and progeny fall short
of that pure consciousness which stubbornly
insists on such intangibles as wind
and breath and spirit time to mark its age,
its truth, and its enlightenment.
It is in such an ocean that I swim;
It is in such transcendant holiness
that I perceive a new compulsion, bent
to scale the mountaintops,
to part the mist,
and finally to show the face of God.
~
Categories:
supernature, religion,
Form: Free verse