Disturbed – Knowledge of the forbidden

“It’s not him who’s disturbed. But he likes to disturb others–to shake them out of their rut.” ― Jostein Gaarder, Sophie’s World
 

pozadia – dark water

Disturbed within,

troubled are the waters of deep dark sin.

Without a tale does not tell,
that crawling underneath all is not well.

Froth and thick mire,
disguise the water and lay straights dire.

Lift my head Spirit on High,
knowledge of the forbidden brings great sighs.

Wrapped irony and ruse,
dark times wring a soul’s purple bruise.

Who can see the a way through,
all the pains and sins that shadows knew.

Troubled thoughts, disturbed again
quiet atrocities within.

Also published in Broowaha Citizen’s Magazine 

05292012

Triage

In Love’s service, only wounded soldiers can serve.” – Brennan Manning, Abba’s Child

He jests at scars that never felt a wound.” William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet
I gather the wounded, from near and far
Giving my gift, no matter who you are
There are those who hurt, rip, break and maim
Even when slashed deep, I’m still the same
Reaching out in the raging battles night
With calm words healing, bringing compassions light
Warriors hardened with ease they kill
My talents bind the bloody that is my skill
So go with your swords, by them you’ll die
I come with second life, breaths from on high
I’ll relax on that day, with friends all around
People I never knew, in the field I found
They made it through with unsightly stitches
My helping hand, pulled them from the ditches
Triage is my name, and I wear it with pride
The next skin I save, may be your ugly hide

The Tub – Abuse cannot be cleansed

“When you aren’t loved, you aren’t real. Life is cold, like the stone against my palm.”
  – Richelle E. Goodrich,
Dandelions: The Disappearance of Annabelle Fancher
“Many abused children cling to the hope that growing up will bring escape and freedom…She is still a prisoner of her childhood; attempting to create a new life, she re-encounters the trauma.”
Judith Lewis Herman, Trauma and Recovery  
 
I hear him coming, old truck grumbling

Stumbling up the stairs.

I hear him cussing, broken glassesthrowing

Threatening me to tears.

I hear his belt undoing, drunken fury lashing,

Bringing my young fears

I hear the slaps landing, bruises are coming

Staining my skin with smears

I hear the bath filling, his sorrow is falling

Draining his guilty water clears

I hear the door slamming, darkness is calling

Suffering my torment through the years

Related Post: Slamming Doors
Also published in Broowaha Magazine

02282012

The Tub – Abuse cannot be cleansed

“When you aren’t loved, you aren’t real. Life is cold, like the stone against my palm.”
  – Richelle E. Goodrich,
Dandelions: The Disappearance of Annabelle Fancher
“Many abused children cling to the hope that growing up will bring escape and freedom…She is still a prisoner of her childhood; attempting to create a new life, she re-encounters the trauma.”
Judith Lewis Herman, Trauma and Recovery  
 
I hear him coming, old truck grumbling

Stumbling up the stairs.

I hear him cussing, broken glassesthrowing

Threatening me to tears.

I hear his belt undoing, drunken fury lashing,

Bringing my young fears

I hear the slaps landing, bruises are coming

Staining my skin with smears

I hear the bath filling, his sorrow is falling

Draining his guilty water clears

I hear the door slamming, darkness is calling

Suffering my torment through the years

Related Post: Slamming Doors
Also published in Broowaha Magazine

02282012

Nature of the Beast

“I think that if the beast who sleeps in man could be held down by threats of any kind, whether of jail or retribution, then the highest emblem of humanity would be the lion tamer, not the prophet who sacrificed himself.”Boris Pasternak 

frenchtwist

I stared into the abyss, long and hard, and became the evil. The evil, this is what draws me, so unspeakable the acts, the players, yet, so alluring. Why? I pulled my thoughts back, and not quick enough, for long writhing things, slimy with lies and deceit, slapped me down.  Lying there, head bowed and sweat stinging my eyes, I knew my visage had changed. It allowed me to crawl away, but in my soul I bear the young scars of the beast. I am tainted, bruised without recovery, and bear the purple and yellow-green signature of one bold, yet foolish enough, to stare the beast down. These scars validate me to fight in the battle of the mind. Long will be the nights, prayers for the morning vehemently spoken. Calling out a challenge, the fight came to me. Why did I challenge it? I did it for those I meet at every moon rise, those hurt and trapped. I did it to free them, to know their battle. How can I help unless I too know the ways of the beast. Ways that disappear with light, yet remain within. Ways that never forgive you for your violation of fear.  My fellow soldier, I offer you my assistance, let’s fight this evil together. Cast your lot with me, I bear the scars, I have walked in your shoes. This will end but we must persist until the rising of the moon, the rays of light will mark our path away from the edge. It is the nature of the beast to kill and maim, it is the nature of those bold in life to bear those injuries and yell, “WE WILL NOT FEAR!”

Related Post: The Fall

Nature of the Beast

“I think that if the beast who sleeps in man could be held down by threats of any kind, whether of jail or retribution, then the highest emblem of humanity would be the lion tamer, not the prophet who sacrificed himself.”Boris Pasternak 

frenchtwist

I stared into the abyss, long and hard, and became the evil. The evil, this is what draws me, so unspeakable the acts, the players, yet, so alluring. Why? I pulled my thoughts back, and not quick enough, for long writhing things, slimy with lies and deceit, slapped me down.  Lying there, head bowed and sweat stinging my eyes, I knew my visage had changed. It allowed me to crawl away, but in my soul I bear the young scars of the beast. I am tainted, bruised without recovery, and bear the purple and yellow-green signature of one bold, yet foolish enough, to stare the beast down. These scars validate me to fight in the battle of the mind. Long will be the nights, prayers for the morning vehemently spoken. Calling out a challenge, the fight came to me. Why did I challenge it? I did it for those I meet at every moon rise, those hurt and trapped. I did it to free them, to know their battle. How can I help unless I too know the ways of the beast. Ways that disappear with light, yet remain within. Ways that never forgive you for your violation of fear.  My fellow soldier, I offer you my assistance, let’s fight this evil together. Cast your lot with me, I bear the scars, I have walked in your shoes. This will end but we must persist until the rising of the moon, the rays of light will mark our path away from the edge. It is the nature of the beast to kill and maim, it is the nature of those bold in life to bear those injuries and yell, “WE WILL NOT FEAR!”

Related Post: The Fall