Metallic structures surround me as I walk between my reality and dreams, my fears and hopes seem to be dripping through the seams, as I maunder deeper into this halted moment, I realize that most of who I am is injured and broken, locked deep down inside is my truth, unable to be opened by any other but me, it is up to my own soul to set my gaze free, to supplant myself in the verity of time, to know the difference between the feign and sublime, to know what belongs to them and what's mine, to know that I have no fears and that I am not blind, that the lies I have told myself need not exist in these moments of pure revelation, that I need not suffer from the pain of the baneful indignation, that what I want and need is the truth and it's sweet salvation, not mendacious ruminations that are detrimental to my elation, that don't push me forward, that only provide dander and stagnation, a step in the right direction, proper and thoughtful introspection, not botheration or dereliction, a moment to look in the mirror and reflect on who I am, what will I say, where will I go, these are the verities one needs to know, the things that will galvanize me so, that which will make me water, more easily I'll flow, in a more tranquil and irenic state I'll grow, escaping the wretched feelings that pool concurrently down below, my thoughts will reveal themselves to me, through the pain and suffering I will see, that all of which I know belongs to me, that during moments of rage, one can percolate love and still feel the sweet tender touch of supinity, that peace comes from the ability to achieve temperance over one's self, without screaming or crying out to others for help, the lines are mine to cross, if I falter or waiver, I will take the loss, for the truth of it all, is that one must fall to stand, one must hear and listen to understand, so that one may do, so that one can rise through the stages of the deleterious and tragic, to the moments filled with adoration and magic, swim through the amorphous seas of static, fly through the nebulous times, remain who you are, and you will shine.
About the Creator
Charles Freeman
Spreading the truth about our own realities to one another opens up a new page in our history. One filled with the mellifluous sounds of laughter, the warm feelings of love and the power of caring. So I, will spread my truth.
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Tears
Water flows, filled with the tears of a thousand mothers, ridden with the burden of loving all they created, watching their beloved daughters and sons, incinerated by the thoughts of war and fire, believing all those arrogant liars, destroying their dreams and true desires, engulfed in the debris of the doleful thoughts that would encapsulate their reality, descending further into the cumbersome foibles that are fallacies, said to them time and time again, to heaven or hell you will be sent, broken, out of shape and bent was the truth, you will be tried and scarred before you step foot out of your beautiful youth, you will be stomped and bruised, infused with the paroxysm of abuse, a lit fuse, prepared to send those souls who have denied their god to hell, to speak to the children, as the blood runs down their faces, to put them under a spell of true fear, to whisper to them, we, the ghosts will never disappear, our lord put us here, to control, maim and burn, they do not realize, that when they dream and awaken, it will be their turn, peace within their hearts they will yearn for, to seep back into time, so they could've lived happily like before, to not light a spoon and plunge another needle, while crying on the floor, needing more ears to listen to their sorrows, or they'll just torture themselves more, locking themselves inside their minds, they leave their peace somewhere far away, drowning in the radiant pools of blood, beside loved ones they cannot stay, screaming out for forgiveness, they want to forget the motionless bodies of the young, the chained lovers who were shunned away from the promise of freedom, the redolent corpses burning in the sun, the cold wroth from the barrel off a gun, the bullets that flew by in the garden of Eden, the churches and homes that burned for no reason, the parts of the earth they stabbed that are still bleeding, the help that their conscious minds are still needing, soulful healing, warm hearts beating, irenic thoughts fleeting, the sounds of their torments are so defeating, will our people continue on repeating the rapacious, horrid nature of war, or will they live on and create something the dead could adore, a cool breeze, near the shores of existence, the slow pulse of love with no resistance, the growth of benevolence with delicate persistence, the splash of laughs on the sands of our homes, the touch of another hand, never feeling adrift or alone, the burning of a fire during a polar night, a beautiful, angelic, entrancing sight, to be surrounded by the virtuous light of magnanimity, a glimpse of brilliancy, peace will one day reign instantly, a perfect symphony, symmetry.
By Charles Freeman6 years ago in Poets
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