HugheManne

Sometimes I just want to put you on a shelf so I can hate you from a distance, with your idle persistence always demanding someone feel sorry, for the life you chose to live. People keep on giving you all the things you ask them too, but all I ever see you do is cry, cry, cry, and beg for more. Generosity isn't good enough people try to help you up, and you bite the hand that feeds you arguing against the truth, while you look for another hand out. Co dependent backbiting arguing dismissing self hating Masochist

Ahh loneliness, how I wish you were not such a familiar feeling Leaving me,                 breathless,                       restless, the sea,        not so tranquil without the waves    the sky,          not so bright without the sun      the heart,           not so joyous without its love What of this thing then, this, loneliness? the absence of bliss without a kiss and goodbye fading into the night waiting by the phone hoping for that voic

So this is only the beginning, and yet I feel so close to the end. If we are to exist within the humanist, collective, conformist view then I am what I have always been, but if we are to see past the blind belief that we are what the world tells us we are to be, then I am the captain of this my life and that would leave me no alternative but to steer this vessel to my desired destination. Its only a few more miles now, she's right over that next hill, but that hill is really a mountain to far distant to know its true height, the sky only a flimsy covering hiding the true glory of a god whose waiting for us to look beyond the mundane,

In the springtime you will call to me; You will call to me with whispering's   and sighs of murmurings of breaths   and longings of heartbeats, Yes, In the springtime you will call to me but I will not come. In the summertime you will call to me; you will call to me with joys   and sorrows of laughter's of breaths   and dancing's of heartbeats Yes, In the summertime you will call to me but I will not come. In the autumn time you will call to me; you will call to me with heartaches   and disappointments of remembrance's of breaths   and fears of heartbeats Yes, in the autumn time you will call to me but I will not come. In t

Its not over till its over over there, Everybody listens but nobody cares breaking down the walls and people stop and stare reaching for the stars but they're not really there let the angels sing a lullaby to my soul the universe is yours sinking in this black hole grasping at straws hoping for another day awake in this dream you created to satiate the craving Porcelain dolls playing house without a door the cracks in the floor creeping keeping us apart standing still the world turns on its own holding the torch high for that lover you can't touch in a rush to fulfill the fantasy but its not all its cracked up to be once you get there e

I want to write a poem. a sonnet telling of all mankind's sorrows and triumphs a story spoken in the heart of every child a whisper heard in the ear of every lover I want to cradle it like a newborn in the arms of a mother and feed it from the smile of joy on the lips of every person who reads it. I want to sing a song. a ballad played to the rhythm of the cosmos a heartbeat stretched out for eternity a ripple playing across the lake of time I want to nurture it like a heart that's been touched by the one divine and watch it grow in the soul of every person who sings it. I want to write a poem that is a song. a sonnet telling of all mankind's

I am unworthy o lord of lies. indeed I am unworthy of your disguise of your shame and of your guilt, I am unworthy of the assumptions your servants make of me indeed o fallen one I am unworthy, equally so my brother who stands beside me and my father who resides within me, these angels which walk with me are no less worthy then me, and yet shall we not all stand before the throne and that day in that great hall we shall surely see that we are indeed unworthy of thee, and my father also who's ears you disgrace with treachery speaking ill of the children of he that made them and me, the eyes of the blind shall be open the ears of th

The church stood tall and stately a mighty cathedral built to house the glory of god and I stood outside its doors waiting for services to begin. The parishioners filed by making their way up the steps and I noticed on the bottom step an old man homeless and filthy wearing only rags and I heard one of the people whisper to another of how deplorable he was and how they despised his presence there and thus was gods will placed upon me so I approached the man and bid him come with me leading him to the alter I knelt with him and asked of a child nearby to find me a pail of water and a towel the parish stood in astonishment and the pastor approa

The red car drives forward into the coming fog, Like foreboding it rolls across the edges of the senses, see the red car? The red tail lights flicker reflected breaking against the coma white, Night in contrast not so bleak but dim with mist. The boy comes to the edge of the road, see the boy? His attention not on the flickering Red but on the barking sound, "Charlie" he cries walking across that little white line. The tires squeal out protest, Hear the sound of agony? Rushing sirens flailing in fury, Red reflected flashing lights in fog, and whispers, whispers, whispers, Wings of angelic becoming enfolding youth to soon departed, Red tear

Azure moon rise in disguise the intent is self apparent dancing beneath the stars for the sake of loves rising glory the love songs seem endless Troubled times  seem weary of consolation passing on with fateful  kisses in secret places and heartbeats discretely the aura glows in little earthquakes aftershocks whispers of commitments foreshadowing tomorrows coming bliss symphonies of memories in peaceful repose in those final days bring us to the gates of heaven.