fear poems

Mother Darkness | Sarah Emily

Even darkness is a thing
yet indefinite and empty
devoid of all light
still surely an entity.
Made up of nothing
no planets or stars
no thoughts or emotions
black, blank, vast and dark.
If It was a place filled with nonbeing
how far did it’s nothingness stretch
and if dark was not yet a concept
which thing first thought of that?
And asked us to believe it
this incomprehensible musing
that existed for always or never
and to it we became trusting?
Was it a dinosaur’s meditation
or a Neanderthal grunt
an Egyptian hieroglyph
or a babies first hum?
Or did we just get really perceptive
over the last however many years
with scholars and prophets
philosophers and seers?
Christians and Hindus
Buddhists and Atheists
Mormons and Witnesses
Jews and Satanists!
These weren’t even words
or concepts or thoughts
when the great darkness was everything
and light entered the naught.
Could it actually be out there
it whom the nothingness brought
and eventually set free
bringing forth that which is now taught.
The vast nothing was first
dark existed before light
so is darkness our Mother
birthing all that is bright?
Has the light told us lies
making darkness the enemy
for it came second, was the child
do the ghost stories of fear stem from its jealousy.
Could darkness be so humble
content to remain quite
like the black of night and the ocean floor
it’s lack of color mistaken for ugliness.
What is the answer
the truth of the story
did darkness give birth to light
then allow it all the glory?
And doesn’t that seem human
what a true Mother would do
give Her child the spotlight
allowing it to fruition come to?
Did the light smite the dark
say to its Mother, be gone
I am younger and prettier
these humans feel invincible during my song.
You were dark, they couldn’t see
so they couldn’t wreak havoc
I turn on my brightness
and they can see all they have not.
In my light there is noise
in your dark quiet tranquility
the farce close to complete
only in death will they see your humility.
Who knows? Really I ask you
who knows the whole truth
is darkness our Mother
and light her child, just youth?
Dear darkness and nothing
dear black, vast and quiet
in your lack of color come death
Mother, lull us to sleep in the silence.

More at http://sarahemilypieces.tumblr.com/.

Frozen Woolen Blanket | Michael Kagan

Among the moonlit thistle
in guilt-ridden fleece
weeping under thick coats of burden
Grief never truly sheared
whispered prayer trembling fear
Now spun and artfully woven
the heavy woolen blanket
emotionally frozen hopelessly folded on sale in
a quaint country store
A couple long seeking
a flawless loving cover
yet one more poor selection
challenged history on it’s
shaking shelf
In the pain and longing
forever’s chill winter night
lay still barely breathing
among the moonlit thistle
under a fear-spattered blanket
of secrets and lies.

The One Who Says That It Is True | Jurg Friedli

The one who says that this is true
Probably does not have a clue
what he intends to talk about
since he doesn’t talk as much as shout.
Louder the voice, head getting red
not taking breaths, but gulps instead
but no one listens, what a shame
he’s pretty sure, he’s not to blame.
His message is strong, so he does think
they will agree and they will shrink
by his sheer presence and his will
still getting louder, almost shrill.
I stand in front, before the stage
and watch him living through his rage
’bout dropping bombs and punishment
kill all the commies in the end.
I watch him closely, ’bout sixty years
and the biggest thing, I think, he fears
is that one day someone’d come around
with arguments that stand their ground.
Which will get him to shut up once for all
cut him to size, until he’s so small
that people will wake up and see
the logic upon which we can agree.
No noise is needed to see clear
no forced opinions causing fear
wise words and true thoughtfulness
being the best defense, no more, no less.

Seasons of Life | Jurg Friedli

Springtime of my life
my mother’s voice inside me
C’mon, it’s time to eat
she’s always there to guide me
her shoulder strong and near
she’ll never disappear.
Summer of my life
full blossom girl I found
dark beauty as she was
she made me turn around
changing my life from wild
to marriage and child.
Autumn of my life
I see the branches fall
the soul becoming grey
hearing the voices’ call
from friends who have just left
to not come back at all.
Winter of my life
the years that lay behind
were so full and rich
it all comes back to mind
I smile and don’t regret
a single day and yet
that little life I fear
will never reappear.

Come Touch His Cheek | Gary Shulman

This child of mine you stare at so,
Please come closer so you will know
Just who my child is and what I see
when those sweet eyes stare back at me
I see no limits to my child’s life
Although I know
It will be filled with strife,
I’m hoping that doors will open each day
I’m praying that kindness
will come his way
You look frightened?
You tremble with fear?
Come, come closer
touch him my dear
Touch his cheek so soft
so sweet
Be one of those people
he needs to meet
Someone who will look
and hopefully see
The skill, the talent
The ability
Please come closer
You don’t have to speak
Come a little closer
Just touch his cheek
And when you do
you will see
this sweet, sweet child
is no different
than you or me

More at http://garyshulman.jimdo.com.

Wishful Thinking… Success | Julandie Greyling

Forever and ever and ever
Destroying
Dragging this down
Like a living zombie
Fear, fear
Uncertain, waiting
Hoping for failure
Trying with no success
Hating the beauty
Of what should be
Despised, confused
Hating hating
Nonetheless thinking wishfully
The result is… nothing
Nothing, nothing,
No result, no meaning
Death.

How to Be a Good Friend – A Poem by Kaleena Stroud

Be supportive.
Remain close to the heart
and keep close to the chest.

Hold tight
but don’t smother.
Make an ex-lover stare.

When in doubt, go nude.
Never go to bed with one:
you’ll always regret it in the morning.

Don’t pretend
or lose it when wasted.
Finding a replacement isn’t easy.

See also:
“10 Ways to Finding the Perfect Bra.”

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