force

Painful Reality

 

 

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

 

Roses in a vase, he received from his true love,

Forced by an armed hand, to pretend to some other his love,

Oh how painful, I feel your sorrow, cutting like a knife,

Please know when you associate in waters so rancid

It will bring you nothing but strife.

 

"Your roses gave me comfort", he told me,

"Upon my darkest hours,

My heart is yours forever, my love,

Through all the worst of our showers."

 

Reality can be alarming, but hope is always close,

If it was truly love it will leave you with a ghost,

Take the ghost and make it all the good things that you shared,

Learn the lessons, and if you do

another chance with the next person might keep you spared.

 

For love is the great teacher, if we only take it's hand,

We cannot learn what love can teach, from a woman or a man,

We have to stand our ground so firmly in integrity and faith,

And never be fooled into thinking that love will be given 

Through you helping to foster someone else's disgrace.

 

3:28 PM 7/15/2013 ©

 

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

Author's Notes/Comments: 

a story about roses i bought my love in his darkest hours

Hide - February 21, 2013

Conflict's repitition leads to progression severed;

a life in which the enemy you're no better.

Outrages, rampages, fights beyond any cause

lead to a world in which you're no better off.

 

The only resolution to a problem so unreal

is to find a place where you no longer feel.

The pain of others on your life already cold,

forces you to hide to cover up what you're told.

 

I need to escape from all these lies;

these indescribable pains, all the time..

I need to recover, to get a hold on myself.

I will discover what truth is left at all.

 

I sit alone in the blackness of reason;

a pathetic target for the others to tease on.

I don't want to face the pain of publicity,

but I cannot stand the pain of no honesty.

 

Cover me in paint, lock me in my coffin,

never let me see, let not any light in.

I need to be concealed, need to be away

from the lies, scars, and pains of every day.

View unheilig's Full Portfolio

All Inside Of You (inspired by squawk)

The thing
about reflection
is that it needs
a source
that feeds it
force to spur
it's might.

Holding
reflection
gathers light.

Let it be...
and it
will do
you right.

Let others be
themselves...

...without
any
spite!!
*smile*

 

4:43 PM 4/16/2013 ©

 

 

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ajCYQL8ouqw

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Reflection is what we make of it. It should really be called vibration...but because we have eyes...we 'see'...sometimes not too clearly.

View nightlight1220's Full Portfolio

Time & Dreams

Folder: 
Just For Fun

Time
A realm which holds space, matter, life
A giant force that controls everything
The death of nations
The birth of children
The ageing and growing of life
The erosion of the earth
The degradation of society
The reaper of souls
And the house of love, life, youth, and happiness

The only thing that time cannot touch, is dreams
Dreams are time in no time at all
In a dream you can live a lifetime, to wake in 10 minutes
Or live just a moment, to wake up years later
Dreams are emotions
They are desires
They are our will manifested as we want it to be
They are when we play God
They are windows to timelessness
Dreams are where we see the past
Where we clarify the present
And even, where we glimpse the future
Gateways to eternity
Mirrors of our psyches
Doorway to the world

Sweet Dreams

View seraphim's Full Portfolio

"Faithful"

Folder: 
My Work

Cobalt storms; not azure skies,
predict changing seasons.
Vague ambiance of lies,
waltz with fated reasons.
So tug upon the corners,
try to veil the smile.
Gather all ye mourners,
weep for her awhile.

He knows that she flows,
rivers channel deep.
But ocean's floor below,
caress his troubled sleep.
Golden pair;wounded dreams,
silently entreat.
Moments slide between the screams,
stranded in the heat.

She can't draw inside the lines,
of howling winds deranged.
And up ahead; ominous signs,
the highway looks so strange.
But he can hold her brave will;
in his hands so tenderly,
not even strong enough to still,
his mind she cannot free.

He is the lust to breathe and fly;
his wings stay unused,
within her voice; an angel's sigh,
but the melody, confused.
When questions birth insanity;
saline begs for more.
But he can only hear and see,
the vision behind the door.

And he will toss; and he will turn,
until his eyes are bright.
But in the loss of orgasmic burn,
the other sighs in the night.
He cannot wait; the world is open,
quiet, he leaves the bed.
Heart is faith; pulse is broken,
but his soul must be fed.

With trembling hands;he gasps to feel,
her curves and body light.
Silken strands and he must kneel;
to deliver here tonight.
He hears soft cries;for all too soon,
the other is in pain.
As his soul dies; behind the moon;
denying need again.

Have you ever had to choose;
one over the other?
And you knew that you would lose,
giving up one lover?
Life is a composition;
he strives to hear the source.
He must create; orchestrate,
passion is the the force.

When you read this piece of art;
you may think me wrong.
But I've heard the rhythm of this young man's heart,
and the music keeps him strong.

As he grows closer to his wife;
it's the stuff dreams are made of.
But from now til the end of of his life;
he's alive in guitar love..

Author's Notes/Comments: 

My son, in the Air Force, loves his new wife, but oh my.....that guitar beckons in the moonlight.