I've never seen an angel bleed
Till I stood with knife in hand
I've never seen a devil cry
Till I looked once through it's eyes
You were my drug
Long before I acclimated
Long before withdrawal
I needed you to survive
I can feel your eyes on my back
Can't you hear me?
I'm silent on the outside
But screaming on the inside
I'm soul-lost
I can't find who I am anymore
Maybe I'll be fine
Perhaps I will survive
But I just don't know if
I can outlast your memory
If I lose myself in drugs and dreams
Or fly away to places and things
To fill the gap you left behind
Consuming body, soul, and mind
But there is no need
To conjure dreams
When life comes
In such radiant colors
They say Pandora is to blame
Her curiosity brought us pain
And fear of darkness in the night
But there was hope in candle-light
From the dark, a light will shine
Before the day, the night has gone
And now we know it burns so fine
That is why it's called, breaking dawn.
And maybe, just maybe
That which dies gives birth to something new
When I was a child
I remember you carrying me in your arms
the grey pseudo membrane covers my pharynx
making it difficult to breathe
Diphtheria was common in those days
You were turned away
from the footsteps of Holy family hospital
I saw despair
Flow down your cheeks
Where to now
You murmured
As I slipped into unconsciousness
The haveli in Shimla
Amidst blue pines
You, your young family
My father, his brothers and sisters
Settled, content and happy
Forest was your business
Himalayan cedar, silver fir, white oak
Your touch turned them to gold
You took to the road in ‘47
Independence from British Raj and idolaters
carnage ensued
innocents, vulnerable
those who had no say, paid
The Punjabi sky above endured,
said no word but it poured
you spoke little about exodus of your own choice
and loss of everything
the hardship years, the eldest his fits of psychosis
chained, there was no PTSD in those days
people took things in their stride
his young siblings, their silent cries of pain
for the valley, the green trees
the wind that rustled between
the paths that led to nowhere
your hands never spoke of the stories
but you rebuilt the nest
and one by one they flew
some near
others to faraway lands
I want to know more about you grandpa
I am not small anymore but your legacy is so much bigger
One thing I am certain
giving up was never in our blood
Before his love,
she had been afraid
before his touch,
she had been ashamed
Mirrored in a gaze,
stormy blue
she beheld her Grace,
in clear view
He awoke in her a song
long repressed, so natural
then a dance, demanding rave
with beauty, raw and sensual
He made her feel safe in love,
to yield to body and voice
he taught her it was always
something meant to be rejoiced
What do I write about?
Sunday morning Gospel
At a southern Baptist church
Praising with the choir
Listening to the Word of God
Where grudges are forgiven
And friendships re-united
We sinners find forgiveness,
Family, and a home
But here I sit
Alone at home
I couldn't be roused
To my own Father's house
I can hear the church bells in the distance
Calling white-washed tombs to repentance
Calling broken souls to be renewed
Calling crushed hopes to stand firm
Yet, here I sit
Looking out the window alone
Listening to their tolling
Refusing to be more
Than an armchair theologian
If my “deeds” are just words
Then they are not worth talking of
If I didn't speak to my Father today
Then why do I expect answers
If we are “the Body”
Why are we so apathetic
So CONSUMED by our own lives
That our faith wastes away
And as these thoughts come to me
I make myself more comfortable
Still refusing to be any more
Then an armchair theologian.
From the coals of sacred texts, brought fouth from ancient whispers of a circle of unbroken time, dipping and acendinding its change state, as the one constant in unending continuity. Therein lies a simple truth, corrupted with gentle persuasion.
The state of being, the being of state and status of beings.
There are three main laws for us to purview and avail here and now, or in past and future possibility. There is one rule that seperates, yet, reconsiles and is master of all truth; ugly or beautiful it renders life in death, death into life and life into death.
to live evil live to - live.d.evil
to Evo L ovE to
The cycle that never alters its identity making Its mood known in all forms and states; the All as in the We collective; and as the I; AGAPI, the known mystery of presiding over both and the first of the third.
Go.d and evil.
Live with the hidden truth in plain sight. Felt with intense realness, hidden in semantics of languages long lost and forgotten, but none is needed to unless seeking to corrupt the incorruptible what is known and fails in explanation.
For this very reason, the logic of AGAPI (love) in all its moods, colours, ugliness and beauty fail to be described. And still, the poets' pride tries in vain to capture the whole. Ever so often though, glimpses resonate and we can see a temporal portal with the promise of the indescribable known.
Blessingss
Tomorrow
By jfarrell
Tomorrow will not be the same as today;
It never is.
Spilt coffee, missed bus,
A million different reasons, mishaps.
Tomorrow will not be the same as today;
You can convince yourself it is….
But when you review it..
You’ll see that at least one tiny thing was different.
Tomorrow will not be the same as today;
What if…
You make a different choice….
Tea, instead of coffee…. try a pub, instead of drinking alone.
Tomorrow will not be the same as today;
It never is.
Tomorrow is not written, it hasn’t happened;
Maybe, tomorrow can be different? Better?
Start, as you mean to go on
By jfarrell
(inspired by coldplay and Sting’s brand new day )
My fingers bleed from racing them 6 strings…
Since I realized I can play guitar….
….”Don’t stop me now, I’m having such a good time…”
I’ve just turned 50,
And as a new year starts
I will be starting as I mean to go on….
Blasting out T-Rex and Chuck Berry licks….
‘Mirror in the bathroom’ with
‘My browned eyed girl’
And that sweet, so sweet…
‘red, red wine….’
….’ a taste of honey, is worse than none at all…’
…...depressed, drowning, for so long….
….just wanting to die…please… what a coward, let me go…
NO!…. now….
‘I can’t let the sun go down on me’….
Won’t….. can’t….
I was ready, now… all of a sudden I ain’t!
Turn the ‘Gain’ ALL the way up….
Just a little more volume….
… and start as I mean to go on!!!!!
‘Take a little bit of my heart now, baby….’
‘I’m your toy, 20th Century boy….’
…
‘we’re starting up a brand new day.’
50 was a crossroads
By jfarrell
I did have a party on my 50th birthday…
And it was decided on your votes and contributions;
And, I think, it was great!!
My first birthday party, ever
Two folks did turn up..
Definitely better than no-one.
And we spent the night jamming on guitar;
With everybody begging me to stop singing, hehe
But, it’s my party and I’ll sing if I want to.
The real guitarist, I hadn’t seen him in a couple years;
And ‘Dodge’; well he couldn’t dodge the end of this friendship…
“Jim, you’re always so negative.”
A crossroads;
A natural ending, without bitterness;
My last friends and I go our separate ways.
“The times we had were great, we gotta keep in touch….”
We, all three, nodded, big smiles…
But.. the smile never quite reached our eyes….
I maybe losing the remnants of the only last good thing I got left;
Maybe, depression, pain, clouds my judgement….
….but
Maybe…
To move on to something better…
I gotta let something, stale, go….