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Wounds are healed with time, 

yet this time my wound is too 

painful too heal; death came 

too claim my father's soul~

Now sadness, confused tears,

and laments are heard 

throughout my home; this year

and those too follow there will

be no Christmas in December~

No present, gift, nor condolence

will bring my father back too life;

God selfishly took him away....

no holy night, far from silent; 

mother's cry awaken my 

slumber~

Burning the pain into the night 

does not contemplate the 

feelings within; a dirty glass 

brings stale memories....after 

taste of death on my lips~

The night before you will find 

me on one, maybe two binges 

of a chemical romance,  by the 

seventh binge I will be satisfied 

if my eyelids find rest~

Unhappy holidays without

decorative lights and a pine tree 

to display....while most will be 

merry, I will bury my father; for

you see there is no Christmas in 

December anymore~   

R.I.P {DAD} 

08/19/1950- 12/11/2014

Soulkritic° copyright 2014

It was forty-three years ago today when I left your womb.

Your death has brought about tears, despair and gloom.

Usually pregnancies last nine months but you had a longer wait.

You carried me for ten months, I was a month late.

From the day I was born until the day you died, we shared a special bond.

You were always there for me and I'm still unhappy because you're gone.

You didn't deserve to suffer the way you did, what a horrible fate.

The doctors did all they could but you went to the hospital too late.

I didn't know what I had until I lost it and I lost you too soon.

It was forty-three years ago today when I left your womb.

LAMBING TIME

*

Lambing time: Is it

 their
spring birth
or the time of slaughter
when their souls leave earth

*

-saiom shriver-

***

Whether it's cows, pigs, sheep, deer, dogs, cats, or any other mammals, birds, reptiles, fishes, insects or other... they are God created and holy creatures.  Picture is of a feedlot where enslaved animals are held before their final sadistic journey.

when i was just an irresponsible fetus

One baby is born 

Wailing at the top 

Of his lungs.

Another whimpers,

And coos, as if to smile

Their way here.

Self-expression thrashing,

Or gently frolicking it's way

To life, along with our very breath.

There are the first

Inklings of vocalization,

A cry into the shadows.

Within weeks,

Light arrives for some,

And figures can be seen.

Caregivers of the baby

'Read' and interpret what they think are

The baby's needs, heart, desires.

Like poetry, 

Sometimes the reading

Is misinterpreted.

Sometimes the reader 

Places extra lines, words, phrases

From their own unfullfilled needs, heart, desires.

And sometimes the reader

And the writer can be falsely led

To think they understand each other.

Sometimes the reader

And the writer are falsely led

To think they misunderstand each other.

Sometimes, on rare occasion,

The reader reads because they have an inner love

For the beauty of self expression.

Like the newborn baby

That wails,

Or whimpers...or coos.

It is not the wailing or the whimpering, 

Or even the cooing, but the beauty

Of human expression that touches them.

And sometimes, upon occasion,

The writer writes for the sole purpose

Of self expression.

And people read into it,

And see what it is

They need to see.

We are all wailing,

Whimpering babies,

Pretending to be adults, it seems.

How will you express yourself today?

How will you be understood?

Will you be understood?

Chances are,

You will not be understood,

Or at least, not completely.

Humanity, being 

Connected through the heart,

But lost in words.

Verbalization,

The longest lie that has 

Ever been told.

So poets, write your poems,

Cry your wailing sagas

Of horror and grief.

Coo your flowery words 

Of love and forevermore,

Undying beauty that stirs your passion.

Remember yesterday,

Dream about tomorrow,

Cry and coo to the shadows in the dark.

Thrash and dance your way

Back to the heart, and express all you have

Been wanting to express.

....

 ♥

wake up precious beauty,

as you lie inside my hand,

drops of tender gentleness,

await you in this land,

♥

open eyes, sweet baby,

there is so much here to see,

we're trying hard each night and day,

to make a better place for thee.

♥

breathe in air my loved one,

taste the milk that will sustain,

this life is full of sunshine,

and it's also filled with rain.

♥

So as you feel each droplet,

know that love is leading the way,

kiss the sun each morning,

hope will shine bright on this day.

♥

.

WINGS OF LIBERTY!

Softly but gently surges my mind,

Into the un-riddled world of emotion;

Sets me gracefully with uncontrollable notion,

Afar, it drifts to my dreamy land of ecstasy!

Infancy made me quite sober and mild; though

I got groomed by, the compassionate hands of care!

Childhood swung me into the enviable wheel of motion,

And I could toddle around within my physical boundaries.

Boyhood gave me the unfurling freedom of thoughts,

But couldn’t ponder and fly into my infinite world of dreams;

Manhood provided me the wings of liberty that I could stretch; but

I just flew away breaking all moral shackles to reach unseen lands.

What I couldn’t experience in childhood and boyhood,

As a grown up man, I came to be aware of; but got spilled over.

A heavily laden life-package with quite a few likes but with too many dislikes;

What unfolds and emerges in mind after all this is; life’s last riddle of life after death! 

..........

Like the love affair of the moon and the sun,

the stars and the earth...and then we awaken to our human birth,

feet on the ground, we walk in this dream,

grappling all for the question,

"what does this mean?"

something unseen,

to be pondered upon,

and apply to life's realities,

and bring in a new dawn.

1:07 pm 07/15/13 ©

inspired by dove 

....................