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My mercy may prevail over my wrath
But my humility fails to conquer my pride.
With patience, may my heart be kind and my mind heal over time.
Yet as more time passes and the betrayal of my friends remain engraved,
My trust begins to dwindle and, darling, you are to blame.
"My mercy prevails over my wrath" Rick Grimes
My flow of motion knows one path
Confronted only by mostly wrath
Homegrown turmoil hath
A distinct flavor of aftermath
Can't solve the problem with broken math
The simple's simply to slippery to grasp
Daily attempts lead to a nervous laugh
It's never the last
If it was, would it matter?
Perhaps,
Though I'd have to ask

©2024
You hit me like a wave. I drifted away, coming into the shore, and lied there with nothing but my naked eyes; the sun covered my cold, barren body. Radiating sunshine and weakness as the sea called over me, you traipsed and towered over my sight, blinding me with your ivory skin lit as the match fired the sky.
 
The waves in the sea squished me in like a soft linen blanket, wrapping me all over like the comfort of a mother. My hands were trembling as you stood there unmoving, and the melodies and blasphemous beats almost dug me out of my ears; I couldn’t even do anything. You were there like an angel lost in his epiphany. It was as if a goddess were in front of you; your eyes spoke as you became a slave to your own wrath, worshipping what was in front of you. You laid your eyes on me like I was some kind of song you could not decipher.
 
You stood there, solving the creeps and mysteries and finishing the last verse of a poem you will never read again. You hit me like a wave, and I drifted away, hoarding memories left astray. You were there, godlike and lost, and even the sun loathed your fire. You burn like a match, your skin a stain of crimson—of sunshine and weakness. You called me, but I did not answer.
 
It was cold, and I loathed it. Perhaps it was the month of October where the enigmas of night lay open, and achingly, my flesh was found in humiliation. I continued to bleed, on and on.
What is love, if not impeccable grief?
What is love, if not that one dreary night of October?
What is love, if not broken bones and bruises?

Grief is sweet and heavy. Abundant and empty. I remember grieving and feeling everything all at once. Without shedding tears, my heart continued to know the heaviness of my silent pleas. I remember writing pieces that do not make sense, and by the end of the day, somehow, they do. I’m glad it's over.

Song: Where’s My Love - SYML
Renae Sep 2023
Revenge, sounds like fun, sounds like healing doesn't it?
Revenge, sounds like justice, but is it?
Hate is a wall we build within.
That wall reaches the heavens, and revenge can turn everything dark.
The knife that we pulled from our back with revenge, has now stabbed us straight through the heart.
The liars deepest lair,
The sinners widest court,
The deceivers tallest chair.

Tradition has come to pass,
Prophecy has come to full,
Teachings to the mass.

The Way is made as tradition,
The Truth is made as foolish,
The Life is made as religion.

When will We behold Thee Glory?
How soon will you make vengeance?
When will you end this story?

You will shout over me with joy,
I sing to you with praises,
You are my mighty Warrior who saves.
Reflection on Zephaniah 3:17
Grand Piano Nov 2022
I have since learned how to temper the storm that is me.
On the outside at least.
Inside however the wind still rages.
The waves still beat with an unforgiving furry.
I have not known stillness in quite some time.
With stillness, peace has also been a stranger.
Every day I fear that the storm I have caged will break free and show the world it’s wrath.
I bought a book whose prompt was to write about a storm.
nadine shane Aug 2022
the dirt
continues to grow and fester
beneath my fingernails.

but i don't stop groveling
down to my knees,
i don't stop to breathe;
to rest.

you, who bears god's love;
whose love i could not know.

you and your sin-stained palms
continue to enshrine
dilapidated ghost towns.

i undo the stitches on my wounds
and pick at the grisly scabs
under your scrutiny,

yet you chastise me
for the pool of blood
bespeckled on your feet.

the darkness
already dropped,
the night hides me once more.

the living sorrow,
simmered, bitter, and fresh;
everything remains.
nothing can be seen from the rafters.
Kenneth Gray Jun 2022
Writhing, wroth and seething anger.
From this fool arose the urge to strangle.
Fiery hatred burns forth like the breath of a dragon.
An all consuming wrath that overflows the flagon.
From this worthless, living man lies the issue.
As I choke the very life from his dying brain tissue.
From this mental fantasy I finally awake.
Taking a life - Ah! what a piece of cake!
I was on Facebook and saw a post where someone was challenging people to write a poem using the words dragon, strangle, cake and brain tissue. So I thought for a while and wrote a little bit. Then this is what I finally ended up with.
CIN Apr 2022
Let me walk along the roads like a wanderer
I’ll glance at the beggars
Side eye the kids walking home
Someone asks if i'm selling
I say not today
The nights are cold
Grass and dirt stain my old clothes
Traffic sounds
Anger and wrath
Where am I going?
Where will I go from here?
I don't know
for some reason lately all i want to do is hurt myself.
Steve Page Jul 2021
A cup of promise
A cup of wrath
One cup he offers
One cup he took
Luke 22.20 vs Mark 14.36
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