Godot51
Godot51's Journalrecovery
recovery
recovering from the pain from running the gauntlet of life
though love will never get better nor grace time once more
the hope perpetuates in some others see the carving knife
tears on the cheeks grow wetter while pacing a holy floor
to watch a stilling silence listening for the slightest sound
one flicker of movement flutters as then a soul disappears
after passing of the violence now to await the cold ground
as the breath no longer sputters to come to an end of fears
and yet the beauty is not faded the aura of strength lingers
the missing heart still weighing the missing warmth warms
in this love which never jaded holding to the ghost fingers
a sum of reality will be staying even as a dead icicle forms
neither the first love nor the last as spirits swoop and soar
deafness hears the trumpet blast love cuts to the final core
invisible scars
invisible scars
inside is a soul covered in scars and bleeding profusely
each cut smooth or jagged stretching both long or short
it is not a type of beauty it mars growing larger obtusely
the unraveling edges ragged too late to keep or to abort
mourn as each wound appears the loss too hard to bear
life drifts as profane and sacred sleep both intermingled
when water cools as fire sears defining fate in a despair
the needed or the unneeded as hair on the neck tingled
now is time to begin a healing to nip there to tuck here
a surgeon makes small stitches gently wrapped in gauze
each repair brings the concealing at a cost so very dear
so all that is left are the itches and the flies ichor draws
a heart alive in full bloom pumps the blood in its haste
sorry souls sleep in gloom where once an angel graced
dead reckoning
dead reckoning
there is a way through dark and dim into the night
each step is to be measured and every turn charted
to sail up to one single mark to pause and take sight
each nuance is pressured returns to whence started
ghosts spirit across voids eyeless in a gray universe
insubstantial without flesh unable to hear or touch
which senses are employed the deep gods immerse
as all of elements enmesh as constant particles rush
a breath inhaled is waiting and hesitating to exhale
seconds caught inbetween held no hope for escape
a hull against the rocks grating foundering and frail
what lies beneath obscene shrouds prepare to drape
to wander long lost depths in search of a route home
counting injuries and deaths as flesh falls from bone
when in the night
when in the night
when in the night shadows crawl as the ghosts howl
the deep grows further down as a fear flower blooms
winds rip rattle at windows sweet scents become foul
whether hopes float or drown into an eventual gloom
when in the night as nightmares haunt and interfere
the angels and the demons hard at battle for the soul
winds flow over as trees bare their black bones drear
whether snakes release venoms while reaping the toll
when in the night as a restless sleep refuses its return
the dawn offers a false light dreams of possible hopes
winds blow thoughts helpless regret and doubt churn
whether a black or a white creation as a spirit gropes
when in the night lives flicker as if candles going out
when in the night lies bicker every a whisper a shout
i cannot count the ways
i cannot count the ways
how much do i love her i cannot count the ways
to wake in the morning or to sleep in the evening
as fantasy and reality blur turn moments into days
adoring the adorning believing turns to deceiving
how much do i love her i am unable to measure
as drifting thoughts focus remembering the scent
the heart flutters astir the anticipation of pleasure
all other hearts are bogus the soul has been spent
how much do i love her i cling to the very dream
lying awake in the dark night will the hope repeat
liquid eyes skin of silken fur a taste of rich cream
to touch the mark might create the holy complete
how much do i love her she lay wrapt in my arms
how much do i hunger and search for her charms
gods of war
gods of war
now to bow before the gods of war in total abasement
knees in the dense dust forehead pressed to the floor
separate the true from frauds seeking no replacement
to measure the wind’s gust standing by a closed door
place a virgin sacrificial lamb on a blooded stone altar
raise the sharpened knife the scent of charcoal drifting
untested by a horned ram before belief begins to falter
to measure the depth of strife of souls of corpses lifting
the gods reluctantly appeased search for more victims
weakness fear and innocence sharing the likely targets
as insane violence is released according to the dictums
to measure a sacred omniscience in rubies and garnets
a place with no mercy shown amidst the stench of war
where even children are shorn by the harvests of gore
the apple
the apple
i stood behind the woman and understood the apple
seeing a perfect swell rounded and full of perfection
ultimate essence of human an entrance to the chapel
upon which all life is founded in the brief connection
time in the garden of eden as all was sacred and pure
to make love had no consequence outside of pleasure
life’s forms were as even as true reality could endure
a complete response of sense the values of a treasure
the curse of the original sin descends upon every soul
created by the sensual touch a careless casual caress
wears the whole substance thin leaves the hearts cold
spirits reaching for a crutch a guide for each destress
the body lusts for all desires those tingling in the dark
gods cannot quench the fires nor erase a lover’s mark
an empty man
an empty man
to exist shallow on the outside and hollow on the inside
the thoughtless and heartless the wrinkled and shriveled
no escape nowhere to hide with no one to stand beside
bereft of all talents and artless rotted ruined and riddled
to hide behind a blank mask to cover the eyes in shadow
winter winds whisk breaths the instant they are exhaled
hands gloved leave no tracks as lights reflect no rainbow
the relics here are not blessed as a life has been impaled
to cause the fingers to grasp grapple to reach and grope
seeking truth and meaning find an end and a beginning
owning a soul lost in the blast a flickering ghost of hope
and pass the side of dreaming with the demons grinning
to touch upon the outer shell a thin fragile delicate glass
lose the key to the prison cell to sink deeper in the morass
the violence
the violence
living in the violence unable to see the good
each step is wrong further away from peace
awaiting the silence and the misunderstood
a hollow plaintive song that can never cease
the violent bursting seed invading the womb
seeking of the fertile soil digging to the depth
releases only its need to the goal of the tomb
avoiding unnecessary toil holds onto breath
violence and the violent infiltrate all around
moments of life struggle as new reality forms
forgo the blessed silent promote sheer sound
execute the ones who smuggle gentle norms
ignore the real to pretend in safety’s illusion
knowing violence won’t end until conclusion
promised land
promised land
step across an imaginary line a border to the promised land
with great weight on the shoulders dirty weary and footsore
expecting change or some sign or god’s special guiding hand
to create a passage over boulders a welcome heavenly door
never look behind only ahead all those who follow trusting
as air seems clearer and warmer the water cleaner and cold
glimpses of both hope and dread storms and breezes gusting
milk and honey in every corner glistening of silver and gold
in desperation and in hunger the empty eyes begin to search
hands clutching artificial relics the remnants of sacred saints
amongst the innocent and vulgar the faithful turn and lurch
mulling academics and aesthetics mix praises and complaints
to shake off the gray trail dust and rest beside the calm river
measuring pleasure and disgust between a taker and a giver
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Member since: Wed Sep 22, 2010, 07:34 PMNumber of posts: 741