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Wednesday, November 10, 2004
worshipping the past,
bowing down to idols made by your own hands
much more polished these days,
not rough hewn from clay but engraved,
handpainted
yet still, dead servitude,
taking the form of that faint red glow that never leaves your heart
that haunts the upper rooms of your house,
lives on your doorsteps
bound by duty
fear the traditions you dare not abandon
the ways that keep you tangled in death
charlotte oke
posted by Unknown @ 1:51 PM
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Saturday, November 06, 2004
Small and held
I look at the sky , the stars above
And I realize just how little I am.
I feel enveloped in your love,
So small and held like a child in their father's arms.
I go back to my daily routine,
Important and proud.
I feel complete and whole,
Everything I have achieved fills me.
I see the waves crashing against the archaic lighthouse,
And I realize just how weak I am.
I feel enveloped by your power,
So small and held like a child in their father's arms.
I go back to my daily routine,
Strong and independent.
I can do it on my own,
Nothing holding me back from my own sucess.
Why can I not grasp it?
This realization of how little and weak I am.
Why can I not understand?
That I am that child small and held in my Father's arms.
deziree houle
posted by Unknown @ 1:55 PM
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tell me no lies
Poetry has always been, at least for me, an outlet of honest expression.
Our perspectives often become blurred by our circumstance
and the difference between what is truth and what is merely what we feel can sometimes become difficult to determine.
But poetry is a sweet expression of us trying to comprehend the world around us, trying to comprehend life, circumstance, emotion.
It can be theraputic, it can be freeing, it can date a period in our lives,
and it can give others a glimpse of us that they may have never seen.
So share a poem, send me your story, give me a picture (I'll do my best to put it on), send it to godsbutterfli@gmail.com;
share your honest expression here, and tell me no lies.
Links
life of a not so ordinary jo
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