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After his Image

~ Mostly philosophical musings after religion and politics

After his Image

Tag Archives: Fear

Sometimes

26 Tuesday Mar 2013

Posted by myrthryn in Poetry

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

amnesia, banshee, child abuse, Fear, hate, love, memories, motherhood, Pain, Poem, Poetry, relationships

image

Sometimes. Sometimes,
even your mother gets it,
against all the odds
of accumulating wisdom.

Though, this nagging presence
is nightmare-born from the gutters
of yesterdays’ guilts,
like ghosts impaled by the want of forgetting,
love-screeched banshees
peeling fingernails back,
down, down against the black.

Pain breaks slowly through the ground
of graves trampled to often and too early,
past the scorch of frozen barrenness
as buttercup and daffodil,
shallow and bitter,
shadow things to be
and to be forgotten.

(posted for open link night at DversePoets)

The Greatest

14 Thursday Feb 2013

Posted by myrthryn in Poetry

≈ 13 Comments

Tags

beauty, Fear, lord byron, love, Poem, Poetry, truth

“She walks in beauty,”
so said the poet-Lord.
Yet, beauty thus beheld
is painted by external eyes,
and with those lashes,
hopes and lies.

“She walks in truth,”
replied philosophy.
Ideals of truth oft lead
to broken paths of pain
and loneliness.
She is guaranteed to stumble
on the blocks of reality.

“She walks in fear,”
so said the villainous.
Fear in pain and darkness call,
following sorrowing to evil’s fall.

“I walk in love,” said she.
“Love guides most truthfully
past fears that would beset
life’s stroll through joyousness.
And if the love I share should fumble,
I throw that love to others double.
My love will cast
the perfect beauty
to a pavement queen
of homeliness.”

“Fear my love,
it is my truth
and beauty.”

The Room

09 Saturday Feb 2013

Posted by myrthryn in Poetry

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

child abuse, Fear, Poem, Poetry, punishment, torture, underground, villainelle

The rocking chair and tear-stained quilt
remain to soothe, yet fears to gain,
in sobbing darkness, left with guilt.

It matters not what milk is spilt,
or if this time obeisance wane-
The rocking chair and tear-stained quilt.

The punishment not what thou wilt,
entombed below the living plain
in sobbing darkness, left with guilt.

Embittered rage to sleepings’ lilt,
what brings to life their love again?
The rocking chair and tear-stained quilt.

In childish torment, joys are killed.
With cries and kicks and screamings vain
‘gainst sobbing darkness, left with guilt.

No neighbor knows these fears are built
next door in loving discipline.
In sobbing darkness, left with guilt
to rocking chair and tear-stained quilt.

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