My mind hungered the untimeliness
of shattered existence above all grave
battered thoughts sullen whispers quiet
hushes I employed to write to empty
oneself into an invisible crowded realm
ecstasy of the soul craving my hearts
glow the brilliant hue that send signals
down my spine as if I'd swallowed the sun
capturing necessity illuminating fields
of joy my bones cringed beneath my flesh
holding my pen I'd write of sadness madness
courage and mirth a rapture awaiting newness
fanatically so the meeting of the minds shall
gather in spite my absence an yet I invited
myself deep inside criticism once again
vaguely I'd remember a time of calm
creating prose and song shaking off
writers block like a bad poisoning
chiseling away at a masterpiece hidden
within the braising wall I'd cleverly built
around myself protecting my craft my work
exposing my scars revealing emptiness
very closely dancing with insanity uncertainty
merely unfolding leaf's binderies of truth of love
Written by Mrs Yolanda Joy Nicholsen
What do I know of soul?
Nothing but its close conspiracy with death
As the soul disconnects and flies when we die.
The world's soul can be seen in the clouds,
And death looms and hovers high
Over this tumbling clod of earth.
I also see the wind in the clouds
And hear the floating truth the wind conveys.
The world is a Barnum and Bailey hoax,
An elaborate deception.
Does not the earth look flat?
Does not the sun appear to rise and set?
We are but a mere handful of dust
Thrown into the face of the wind.
That may or may not be soul,
But it sifts us along, anyway,
Like the silt of destinies.
No one is accountable for the accident of his birth,
Although he may be for the untimeliness of his death.
Life is a great chaotic secret,
And we are merely ignorant
Searching souls in constant cosmic disarray.
Author's note: We are all ordinary. What is extraordinary is that so many of us ignore what few strengths lie within us as we try to live with and around our flaws. "Soul" is an imprecise term, or so it seems to me. "Mystery", perhaps, has the advantage of a more precise application.
Of all the vices humanly known,
Death, you're the most cruel!
Beyond doubts you have always shown
How pleasurably in griefs you dwell.
And what is pathetic of you the most
Is your unrepentant untimeliness:
Too adept at making one's life a ghost
Subjected to shameless nakedness!
Ipso facto I cannot but accuse you
Of your partiality and misjudgement,
Which whether or not you agree is true,
I still wouldn't rescind my comment.
Yet it should never of me be said
That I have spoken at you too rudely
—Not when for you I have no such dread
That would make me act so cowardly!
"Every man his fears; Death, you're not my dread!"
upon my emptiness I am filled
a gentle spirit soaring about
my manic mood swings
I cater to soft scents
hints of violet clusters covering
the ongoing greenery of untimeliness
I capture my melancholy madness gravely
lost unprepared for thee upcoming storm
of pure panic my breathing is subtle
my cries are calm chuckles hidden beyond
the sudden episode that releases unwanted
energies my mind needs for sheer survival
afterwards a coming melody heard far off
within my emotional state and my positive
mental attitude somehow arbitrated
quietly between personalities I fold myself
into a fetal position and weep so
empting my wretched soul
however filled with the holy spirit
There she lay
While a crimson pool around her head
Reaching into the cracks of the blacktop bed
Still and inaudible
While the her last breathe lingers in the mist
Taken from her mortality
A sad and horrifying reality
He didn’t focus in the moment of rage?
Now mapped out he’s turning another page
If only he had faith in the Lord above
The angels called on him but he gave them a shove
Trembling and frighten with his actions
A glitz in the brain with a minor distraction
His jealousy took a hold
Now minutes are ticking, and the damage is done
And he finds himself on the run
The police enter the scene
With shock and remorse for Christine
Just a week before she paid the police a visit
Asking for help and a restraining order with it
Miscommunications and untimeliness won
Her husband killed her with a gun
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