Symphony of OneI stumbled late into my garageSymphony of One1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
A blinding thirst in my visage
And heard the sound of a somber lay
A little tune by a cricket played
As I heard his soul outpoured
His song, I knew, could not be ignored
This late at night he plays alone
And in my heart his song was sewn
When I passed his song was paused
The halt in rhythm had gave me cause
To stop my walk, to ask my friend
If for his song I could hear the end
My little friend continued, his tone so bright
Laid bare his soul before the night
Warranting me to sit and weep
For this song I knew was mine to keep
For lost ideals and forgotten rhymes
My forgiven soul, and it's pardoned crimes
A loving God who beckons me
Now to His side where darkness flees
In this moment I could thus reflect
Upon my life so richly blessed
With friends and duty, to honour Him
I've grown so much, sang this nocturnal hymn
My song has changed from D minor to F
No reason now to remain bereft
God changed my heart with this little song
And now comes the time when I pl
The Fount of PeaceI fell fast asleep one night,The Fount of Peace2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
With cold tears in my eyes.
I had wept upon my bed,
With bitter thoughts inside my head.
It was o're a small, small thing,
Compared with what was to come.
I was in a small, small world,
Considering where it was from...
I was either sleeping, or awake;
A vision, or a dream.
With eyes open or eyes closed,
I saw my Savior. And his clothes
Shown with a great, great light
That swallowed up the dark.
Then somehow, somewhere,
And in some amount of time,
I found peace;
A sweet, sweet peace
That only comes from inside...
I turned to thank my Savior,
Who had given me this peace,
But I was in my room again;
So I got down on my knees.
I prayed a prayer;
A small, small prayer
To thank him for his mercy...
And finally I had found that Fount
To drink from when I'm thirsty.
Sucks to be SickIt starts with a cough, a sniffle or sneezeSucks to be Sick1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
This invisible monster, indifferent to pleas
Will come as a doorknob, a puddle or nail
Before your immune system surely will fail
Once deep inside, it spreads out a lot
Before everyone you love is covered in snot
You cough, and cough, and sniffle and sneeze
And the only thing you want seems to be "Water please?"
If only this sick business was a little issue
You bring to your nose yet another tissue
You blow, and blow, you hack and you feel
"If only this Day-quil stuff would work for real"
You just want to breathe, to sleep or to eat
But you feel sick all over from your head to your feet
In no time at all it's coming is quick
And I think to myself "Man it sucks to be sick."
JesusJesusJesus2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
In a walk with Christ
can be the hardest place to be
when all you see is what is in front of thee.
I know Jesus died for me.
But it is hard to follow all the laws
when I have so many flaws.
Yet still God loves me.
Even though I can be
he will remain.
He loves me so,
He will wait until I open my do(or).
I want to be a Christian,
on a mission.
If only I could stop dissin'
everyone and everything
tryin' to help me in a walk with my King.
If only I could see
It's not as hard as it seems to be.
The ThingI lay still in my bed,The Thing1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Mr. Ted by my side,
And listen hard for the thing
That crawls around outside.
He'll start with the scratching,
It's always the same,
His claws carving the face
Of the wooden door frame.
Then he'll move onto the blood
Seeping beneath my door,
Dripping from the walls,
Covering the floor.
The wardrobe door will squeak,
Those green eyes appear,
Voices will whisper
Dark words in my ear.
Their dead hands will tug
At the edge of my sheets
And insects will crawl
All over my feet.
I lay and wait
For their games to begin.
But tonight will be different,
I whisper with a grin,
Tonight I will show
Those monsters a scare.
They can come back again,
IF they dare.
The Littlest ArtistThis life isn't easyThe Littlest Artist1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
I weave my work
Wherever I please
But I've been run out
Place to place
Wherever I end up
I've had fans
Who I'm thankful for
Critics that ignore me
But the one thing
That I'll never understand
Are those who hate me
They see me
They destroy my work
They try to kill me
My legs are tired
I can't run
I can hide
But if they find me
I fear the thought
Is it because I'm so small?
In such a big world
Is it because I scare people?
I don't mean too
Or is it because...
...I am merely a spider
A MORTICIAN'S TALEShe laid chafed by the austere Silence of the room,A MORTICIAN'S TALE1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
its weight a counter-clockwise pendulum to the rope
that squeezed the last gasp of life from her broken neck,
now she laid on the table limp and still and waiting
for my examination to exume the secrets of her last hour
-the minutes that demured to seconds and the seconds
that became an ether frozen by Death's fermented breath,
like a rune waiting to be deciphered by the fingers of
phantom Moonlight filtering through my basement window
I studied her, this strange girl with the fiery amber
eyes staring blankly ahead, eyes gasping up at the sterile
ceiling, a lonely tear had frosted the pale blush of
her cheek and her lips had long since dried from the
apology that once moistened them, how I yearned to kiss
those lips to life again and see if a drop of nectar
still clung to their expiring splendorous decay,
and her naked corpse all bled of virtue and modesty
I craved to caress-now succumbed to the intercourse
of my embalmer's fluid, but
Not the CrossThe gold, not the cross, is what defines your religionNot the Cross1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
And Christ has no part in your worldly addictions
The Bible's pages broken down into pieces and bits
Remolded to form the scripture of capitalists
The salvation meant to free the poor from their sins
Now the domain of intimidating, middle class individualists
The measure of godliness now the counting of blessings
The poor disregarded while we accumulate things
In our vain pursuits, our god is nothing less than money
The words of life twisted like adverts for economic commodity
I pity the man who walks into our walls
With nothing to offer, or anything at all
Yearning, groping for the Bread of life
Whilst imposing on our comfortable, self-imposed rights
The man who had no place to lay His head
Now the King of the rich and spiritually dead
He who fed thousands with bread and fish
somehow left a way for His flock to be selfish?
Hypocrites! How will we save others from Hell
when there is no love even amongst ourselves?
Where were you wh