A thought once did try
To sour my hopes in life
I let it consume and it struck
Like a wasp, breaking it stinger
Only to carry away it’s victory

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In the Maddened Deep

Nothing more could be as sweet
When death and I finally meet.
I have wasted all the lives given
And nothing has since been proven
That I was here and meant for glory
Another hastily ended chapter
In someone’s heart thereafter.
Broken symbols and unclear paths
Have driven the mind, my once home
Into the throws of the maddened deep
Shy ghosts do not force the hand
Yet they have wept for decades.

“Arguments and ignorance”

A poem of faith and struggle.

I am not the Devil
There standing with you now
I am Hope and Salvation
I am the one you need to know

I want to stop Time and Space
So I could tell you how
That I’ve felt you have walked away
And floated back into the clouds

I love you with no regret
Others have told you so
Walk along the path with me
And I will show you how to grow

Have I not tried?
For you still ignore
It doth seem a tragedy
A loss that is like a sore

Words are wrong
Those that are being spoken
It is the Darkness of the World
I promise I Am here and now

The days are long
My work means nothing
To those I surround myself
My soul is eternally rusting

I will listen as long as you need
But please do one day respond
That you will hope for better days
And recognize my love for you
My son.

For the time being, I am going to recognize that there is a stable form of mind to have. I have closed myself in the void and cut off all links. It has been a miserable state. I look to the hopeful future that things will not always be this way. No one likes a lunatic.

Forward

 

 

Watching now the great advancement

Of my generation the Millennium Children

Faithful Lives. Career bound Glory

Children Born. My own Lost Story

Trial by blackest thought have nights grown dim

A Fresh Coating Mask

 

 

Almost Certain

 

 

Dark clouds wallpaper

Must I be surround by the fools of an unworthy world?

winds of the tempest state crushing to demean faith

Among the weeds that twist and turn I see the demon king. 

In every face that I will ever grudgingly meet he lashes

God exists. Man resists. 

One soul unhappy in the mire of their excreted words

Like poison none other.

Creativity

The stolen hearts and crumbles

Have no faces for the green grass

growing on plots of dead land

wicked soil and corrupted mind

hath bound a dreary climb from the depths

Saturation and determination

 

Strumming Away

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It was once a dream, now a lonely hobby where even I at times believe the need to feel a release must be acquired elsewhere. I was 14 and hesitant on believing that I didn’t have a chance in succeeding. It was for something pure that I sought desperately within it. All the times spent figuring out these complex fingering structures that made up the chords to some special tune. Then entire time, a tune played in my head all so different. That is not the case anymore.

One can strum for joy.
Many strum with guilt.

The guilt within for not pushing harder to make it. I have been known for personal sacrifices. They were ones I felt important and that I believed in seeing come to fruition. Those dreams became the reality that is my wife and marriage that I carry with her.

Why not the beating strums of my youth and the percussive imaginings? Not enough to pursue and see come alive? Perhaps it was always just a hobby and nothing more…but a Hobby that I most certainly can still enjoy.