I feel you as a wave of deepest pain
And you and I crash forcefully on shores
Of midnight islands; sometimes summer rain
And other times the icy tide takes o’er.
The heat pounds down in fire and boiling blood
Touching mountains, towers, rivers full.
The ice then hisses in, a frigid flood,
And I’m as tough as stone and cold and dull.
I feel you in the night and long for waves
Crashing, warm, with starlight skies above
To break through stone to find what my heart craves
Though lips cannot confess or profess love.
I feel you while I long for freedom yet;
And you fall through the ice of cold regret.
It Feels Like it Will Never End by LaBruyere, literature
Literature
It Feels Like it Will Never End
Where goes the pain that flows in rivers full
Of anguish down the mountainside of flesh
Carrying the crushed and broken hulls
Of ships that sailed once between the breasts?
The pain, the blackest soot of washed out fires
Muddies rivers deep, so much flows out.
Is the water black or red? Inquire
If you should dare, if you would bring about
The wrath and tangled torment of the heart
Whence flow the rivers. It knows not indeed
Which color carves the mountainside apart
Nor which is deepest; both course fast and bleed.
Now shall the river flow with blood or tears?
One offers death, the other, anguished years.
Each day I scribble notes to nobody
(Some people call them poems), slurping up
A quart or two of coffee from the cup
Nearest to hand when cravings nudge at me.
I edit texts, then rest, or look and see
Time's galloped past – best to stay in the stirrup.
Come evening, walk a while, next lightly sup;
Read a page or two. What, sleep's thrown in for free?!
How I hate my small hates, and love small loves,
A human sieve soaked in a sea of beauty
And hapless witness to indecent grace!
This game is one that has no certain moves,
Yet Christ still knocks against my heart for entry –
"I will be born here and in every place."
My eyes have seen the glory of the stars
Shining in the corners of your smile.
They see the growing solar flare you are
That I have longed to cradle for awhile.
A supernova, fire in your veins
Compacted into star stuff two feet tall
And glorious as nebulae. I gained
A speck within the universe, is all
But you, to me, are galaxies of light
And love of you could fill the sun and more.
My moon and stars, my harbor in the night,
I wait for all the wonder that's in store.
Your story will be sunbeams in the skies,
I know; I see the stardust in your eyes.
I took the hope you offered, clenched in fists
Still dried with blood and tears and without trust.
No matter how I walked, each step was risk
Without the father I had reckoned just.
Forward and still forward into night
So irretrievably the past pressed in;
My heart I'd hid in shadows from your sight
Began to beat in double time. Begin
The work you started, over; carry me
As I have carried love and joy and lost--
But do not lose me, do not lose her: we
Are cradled in a promise, crushed and tossed
Forever in the hands of neutral will
And I am begging love will win out still.
Will time perhaps begin to dull the edge
Of sharpened pain, bled long into the night?
The clock has stronger powers, some allege
Than any form of salve or balm despite
The tempting call of sleep or drink or ought
Which promises to soothe the deepest pain.
The arms of God are stronger still, we're taught
And truth of this I've found before. In vain
Does all else promise healing. I will run
Into the Father's arms, I know, and yet
My grief has not waned since it had begun
And God knows, sweetly waiting. I'm beset
Unready to be healed or soon consoled.
God knows it is not well yet with my soul.
Sonnets for the Night, 1 by Bobibillius, literature
Literature
Sonnets for the Night, 1
Driving the darker side of this earth, my
tires lap up the water from the road.
The dark is absolute - and though I fly
with head lamps on, it once or twice has showed
Its true(er) form to me, and leaf-like blew
(except, all black) as pages autumn sold.
But I perceived it was the night! And so,
it could not let me live. Thus, from of old
The dark came after me. First like a dog
(lapping the puddled dark from ditch) and still
it comes, (a bear - a gryphon now) the fog -
- Pressing - (a winged behemoth -) Round, until
I stopped the car - fell out to see the sight -
But there was nothing there, except the night.
And why the hell unleashed through tiny gates
When heaven is the destined end of us?
Come, answer this: what justice comes too late
To rescue sufferers? Why treat me thus?
Alas, for though you doled out life from trees,
We took bad fruit and unlocked doors to hell
and death and barren wombs and lost the keys.
I am no less than all the rest who fell.
Perhaps I suffer more for all the joy
I've glimpsed through tiny gates whence heaven bleeds.
For all the thief comes nigh yet to destroy
I know the restoration yet precedes.
The door yawns wide beyond the narrow paths,
But why this hell that cuts me off in wrath?
Shakespearean Sonnet Heroic Crown by MagicalJoey, literature
Literature
Shakespearean Sonnet Heroic Crown
6-2-16
When I’m in doubt as to whether I’m loved,
When shadows are o’er shadowing my soul.
It’s then I cast my eyes up, right above,
I find in you a peace that makes me whole.
When without fortune or when I’m disgraced,
When without favour in the eyes of man,
When I’m in doubt, mind in a petty place;
And now I’m forced to make a change of plan,
It’s then I lift my eyes up to your throne
Realising that I need to trust in you.
And knowing that I’m not act’lly alone
Brings forth from me a joyful, little mew.
For this is how you showed your love for me;
While I still sinned you died to
A natty pair of trousers came upon
A gracile set of stockings, quite by chance.
"Milady, say the word and I'll begone,
But firstly I must ask if thou wouldst dance."
"Of course, milord; but only if romance
And not a one-time fling dost thou propose."
"Thou hast my promise," acquiesced the pants,
Even as he sidled toward the hose.
In a manner unbefitting gallant clothes
He sought to lay himself upon her silk;
"Stop, cad!" she cried, "So thou'rt one of those!
My mother said to watch out for thy ilk."
Much wiser heads have voiced it best and first:
Those Worsted wools have always been the worst.