Tag Archives: Poetry

Anxiety: A Poem

The Abyss by Alexiuss at deviantart.com

The Abyss by Vitaly S. Alexiuss (alexiuss) at deviantart.com

I stare into the abyss of a future created by the demons of depression

It is not reality, it is not what will happen,

And yet as I cling to the precipice of sanity it is all I see

A nightmare that roams in the day consuming the green meadows of springtime

It saps the passion of the blood and fills my veins with ice

My heart pounds in rebellion, confined within the cage of my chest

Yet I move not

The very things that would free me are denied me

Hope is consumed by the illusion of despair

For it is not real…it is not real…it is not real

You are a liar granting me titles and names that are not mine

I am not worthless or weak or crazy but for your lechery

You are a parasite feeding off my life energy

Consuming the power of my dreams

 

You are a murderer and my soul is your mark

Locked into your arena, you call on me to yield

To proclaim you the victor

To give up

But you will not last

You will not steal this day and so I fight against my own mind

I name thee, I know thee, and again I rise

Sapped but still standing

Weakened but stronger than thou

For as I walk through your illusion, into the present that is present

I will again find hope and joy

And you shall be vanquished back to the depths of the pit you dwell in

Composed Neil White, 2013

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The Puzzle Master: A Poem

Apophysis by Sheri Lynn Meyer (1footonthedawn in deviantart.com)

Apophysis by Sheri Lynn Meyer (1footonthedawn in deviantart.com)

Hawkish eyes darting quickly through the layers of color and shapes

Making sense of each riddle in turn, seeing the pattern in the parts

Problems become joined into solutions and chaos begins to be shaped into order

Heart and hand, eye and mind, vision and patience all work in concert

At the joining of things once pulled apart

And upon the workbench of possibility shapes begin to emerge

What will the message in the medium be?

The puzzle master sees the picture in his mind

Only he knows how one piece might fit within the whole of the body

But with one piece missing the puzzle is not complete

Each piece is precious, sacred, worth holding onto

And so the puzzle master sits at the workbench, the creation unfinished

A labor of love out of the broken pieces of life

A puzzle, a challenge, a riddle

Out of brokenness, wholeness

Out of pieces the picture

Out of diversity some mystical unity

Without the puzzle master’s perspective it is merely jagged edges

A cacophony of color

More problems than solutions

More questions than answers

More pieces than places

And yet in the patience and vision of the puzzle master

It is the beloved masterpiece that he has poured his life into

And until all are again one

Until all the jagged edges form a smooth surface

Until the wounds of time are healed

The labor of love continues

Composed by Neil White, 2013

For my son’s 14th Birthday

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La Magdalena

Guido Reni (1575-1642)-The Penitent Magdalene

Guido Reni (1575-1642)-The Penitent Magdalene

A poem inspired by Michael Parkes’ picture La Magdalena and by extension Mary Magdalene. La Magdalena is a copyrighted image but click the link at the name to see the image that inspired the poem.

The cards of destiny were stacked against me
No hearts or diamonds, only clubs and spades
The scars of my past and the demons of my present
Howl for my skull in the fish town of Magdala
Outcast. Harlot. Sinner. Prostitute. Pariah.
The names and titles I bear before the world
A lover, unloved.
A heart shattered under the weight of misdeeds, real and imagined
No longer whole, but made to be defiled
Invisible to all who might help, a face unseen and a voice unheard
In the dust-filled wilderness of my captivity
No sun or moon or stars to light my way underneath the brimstone skies
A future damned by the past which forced itself upon me and violated my soul
No way to master the rock of my shame
Liberated from the demonic debris of my desolation
From the top of the boulder of an identity I could not remove
I let the cards of destiny fly in the wind
The darkness of the night gives way to a new dawn
Death dies to make way for the fecundity of a new creation
The sinner becomes the saint. The outcast becomes the sister.
The harlot is drawn near by the friend of sinners and tax-collectors
The pariah becomes the disciple
The unloved one will see love itself die and be reborn
For no tomb can contain love
I will be the first, but not the last, to weep tears of joy for a tomb opened
The gates of Gehenna shattered and the prisoners of Hades set free
Freed from having to seek a better past I sit upon the rock of eternity
Watching the beginning of the life of the new eon
Leaving the wastelands behind, I journey towards the horizon

composed Neil White, 2013

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Ashes and Dust

AshWednesday

By the sweat of your face you shall eat bread until you return to the ground, four out of it you were taken; you are dust, and to dust you shall return. Genesis 3: 19
 
The fire of time burns in each of us, slowly consuming our days and our years
In the springtime of our youth we seemed immortal, we didn’t feel the touch of the flames
Nothing could touch us, we burned brightly while our wood was green
Our branches were too tall to be licked by the toungues of flames that licked the ground around us
We were warmed by the risks and the dangers that we believed would never shorten our days
And yet each of us leave a trail of ash on the pathways we walk.
But in the summer of our adulthood, when the air was hotter and drier we begin to feel the touch.
Our joints begin to dry out, the vigor of youth wanes, and the rainment of youth begins to dry
The pain of loss begins to touch our lives and we begin to wonder whether we will endure
For the fire of time burns hotter as the days get longer
As the seeds we planted begin to grow and we marvel at the vigor of youth
We also begin to see the trail of ashes that we left behind
And we pray that the ashes and the dust fertilize the ground for the journeyers behind us
Rather than poisoning the wells from which they and we shall drink
In the fall of our lives, the third age, when leaves begin to fall to join the dust of the ground
We are no longer young, not yet old, and yet we have seen those whose roots caught
Those whose the fires of time consumed far too young, and we know we are but ashes and dust
We pray for those who make the journey behind us, and rejoice in the seeds we have sown
We look back at the trail of dust mingled with ash and we wonder what could have been,
What should have been, what still might be, how long the ash and the dust will continue to blend
We wonder what we might do in the autumn days of life as the fires of time continue to dry us for winter
As winter comes, the green has gone and our wood has dried
We are not creatures of iron or bronze that can be melted down and recast into youth,
No, we are dust and to dust we shall return.
Some burn brightly and shortly, other molder on throughout the winter
But the fires consume us all, and the energy of our lives returns to the earth we were taken from.
We are dust and ash, mingled together on our journey through the seasons and ages
We begin and we end, we are all born and we all die, we are mortal as much as we flee our weakness
Yet, dust and ash though we are, we are precious and valued
We desire to live and breathe, to make a difference, to share our journeys and stories
We love, laugh, cry, desire, struggle, we are always life and death mixed together
And yet even though we end, we make a place for others to begin
And life continues, sustained by the hands that formed us from the future and past
The ashes of history that become the dust, the earth of the future
Marked by ashes, we continue our journey to the dust
Trusting the potter who breathes breath into dust and ash
Treasuring dust and ash beyond gold and diamonds
Though diamonds are forever, dust and ash live and die,
Yet dust and ash live, precious under the mark of the cross.

Composed: Neil White, 2013

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