A word to the wise
when the world says ‘Don’t’
A goal shields your will
~ carves up your won’t
It's your choice to keep going.
It's your choice to heal.
It's your choice to reflect.
It's your choice to look at
that broken reflection and
to see a warrior.
It's your choice to quit.
It's your choice to stay broken.
It’s your choice to reflect.
It's your choice to look at that
broken reflection and to see a
failure.
Which choice will you choose?
For it will surely determine
whether or not you win
or you
lose.
There lacks no fear in death,
?No pain in the grave.
?The pen is mightier than the sword,
?I just killed a man.
?
?There lacks no pain in the heart,
?There lacks no tears in the eyes,
?But the pen is mightier than the sword,
?I just killed a man.
?
?The pen bleeds ink, a river of regret,
?As I sign my name to this fatal debt.
?There lacks no pain in the heart,
?No tears in these eyes, that once shone bright.
?
?The pen is mightier than the sword, they say..
?But I've wielded a different kind of blade.
?One that cuts deep, a wound that won't heal.
?A subtle reminder, of the life I've sealed.
?
?The pen is mightier than the sword, they say..
?I have wielded a two-edged blade.
?A life I have sealed.
?The wound may not be healed.
?
?The pen is mightier than the sword,
?I just killed a man.
Just thought of the B-word,
Perhaps it’s tied to the F-word.
Now I feel like the S-word—
They all strike sharp, like a sword.
Cutting both edges, cold and fierce,
Though I remain just a piece.
But my mind pleads for peace,
To understand and release.
B for bad, of what just came,
I hoped for more, maybe fame.
Yet the result spelled more shame,
Replaying like a cursed game.
It’s F, etched on the cover page—
Failing at life, stuck at this age.
Both my career and my wage,
And my end, I cannot gauge.
Sick is how it feels inside,
Falling hard, with love as my guide.
No one warned how much this kills—
Though love once lifted me up hills.
I failed again, lost the test,
To give it my very best.
Perhaps I should have copy-paste,
For now, it’s all a waste.
Man often kills
that thing he loves
Dying inside it
— when push comes to shove
(Dreamsleep: March, 2025)
i drew out my glittery pens
and turned them into swords
ready for the war
against their words and my thoughts
i pen down my feelings
in stories and prose
my ink like cannonballs
aimed at their high forts
not every pen can be turned into sword
not every sword can save you in the war
sometimes wish to be free from living is high
whether its eclipsed or blood moon night.
Red rose I love much
But your red lips stop my eyes
Kiss hugs the sword stream
©Mahtab Bangalee_12/01/25
Apollyon, demon destined for obliteration
Prince and god of the metropolis of destruction
Order, sin and death: These are the chains of his dark hole
Looking, you see the hill of Chokmah above sheol
Livid, Apollyon wrapped his fish scales around your soul
Yaldabaoth trembled, as you lunged your sword up high
Opening his dragon wings, he fled to hell's ash sky
Now you continue, as the pilgrim just passing by
Poem inspired John Bunyan's The Pilgrim's Progress, specifically Christian's battle with Apollyon in the Valley of Humiliation.
visit your neighbors
often you’ll wear out welcome
telling lies unwise
~
metaphoric yet
as so harmful as hitting
them with an ax,---chop
~
chop, chop, chop, chop, chop
wounding them spoken mouth as
swords kills with arrow
12/18/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.2024©
Every touch at the edge of the sword,
Cuts through skin and cuts through words.
The delicate sliver, plated on the sides,
To decorate and embellish the sharp glide.
As beautiful as night,
Astonishing many mortal breaths.
The sword can determine, life or death.
I stood before the hordes
Alone with only my sword
And I waited for the fight
Having done all I might
It did not matter of the outcome
Just my stand in fighting meant I won
For there was truth behind my sword
And a faith that has its own reward.
© Paul Warren Poetry
All work ethics and human virtues, he hoards
for twenty-five years, he has never stepped on mud
in him, civil service has a lord
every signboard shows he’s a man of his word
against financial crimes, his clothings include a sword
the spectrum of his fans is nowhere near broad
and has rejected any pen that has written fraud.
The long-suffering,
finally over at dawn...
when tears fall like rain!
He prepares himself,
to meet him in the mirror...
who calls himself me!
The man gives his heart,
to the blood-thirsty sun god...
to pay his sons' sins!
The evil swordsman,
defeated by the hero...
with no time for hate!
The sword, its' vastness,
entrains the swordsman to find...
the enemy's soul!
A pen who never bleeds blue nor black
As the changing shades of a clear night sky;
Bleeds blood, ever deep red
As a sword who fought million battles.
He never reveals his tale
But it is to be remembered
And will be remembered.
He sets aright others' lives
Make corrections, make amends.
Unlike his kin, with a white skin
The correction pen, bleeding white;
He never hesitates to unveil blunders,
Others made;
Only pronounce them, guiding them
To learn from their faulty footings.
The White King asserts:
" I, who, hide his flaws
Flaws of juvenile origins;
Grateful, he is, to me.
In his life's canvas,
With no scars to be blamed for,
He starts anew.
Turning the hourglass,
To let his scars go into oblivion,
Never to be seen again-
To him nor the others
With a history anew,
He starts afresh."
The blood sword, now spoke
He voiced his voice, as he said:
"Let your wrong footings stay,
Learn from them; grow."
How I used to be
Is now old news to me
If I said observation is the only way
Someone should ask did I observe the universe today
Or am I able to observe the observing of all things?
Particulars and universals will never exchange rings
If I said life is meaningless
Someone should ask does that statement have meaning?
If so I need to do some intellectual cleaning
I have toys in the attic
My thinking has become static
That is problematic
If I said there is no absolute truth
Someone should ask is that absolutely true?
I should become a sleuth
Or at least a tailor to mend something borrowed
with something blue,
and something old with something new
You can't put new wine in an old wine skin
You can't re-enter the womb to be born again
Pointing the way by Ithuriel's sword
Reanimating you by God's [S]Word
So truly the truth will set you free
If God will grant it to thee
While He is yet near.....seek
As the Holy Spirit does quietly speak
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