Revival

/ Capella

“In reference to the freedom of expression challenge by iScriblr.com”

 

 

 

 

I sat calmly…

Knowing that at anytime.

My sitcom could be canceled.

 

I Rested on turmoil…

Slipping turmeric…

Plus rubbing alcohol.

Packing table salt into my wounds.

Was nothing kosher…

 

 

Roasting!

In a bath broiling in the middle of earth’s core.

Pills try to cure.

 

“Get away fraud!”

 

“I love silence more!”

 

I rose up out.

Dripping magma off my…

Feet of bronze…

Northern man armed…

With….

Sensory footsteps matching…

The sounds of a pawn….

 

“The strategy was to play dumb…”

 

I need options…

Yet I could live without them…

 

I got away from you by racking another 5.56…

In the chamber…

Stewing troops from the hip…

 

Training war ophans how to defend…

Broad bodies of selves from danger spelled.

Out loud!

 

Out of everything in my life..

The only thing that can kill me..

Are the tears of a suffering child..

Changing my ways for better days…

Claustrophobic I proclaim my innocence to God.

So one day I can see heaven.

 

 

I was told to.

“Walk through hell.”

“Freeing all strange fruits.”

“Cut them all loose from choking.”

“In returning.”

“I will announce your new universal rules.”

 

 

Basically I have to sacrifice myself.

By eny means…

To die helping others in need.

I’ll be free from some type of contract.

Apon release….

 

I then can free all my soldiers.

From the death penaltys of.

Agany!

Unchained from all technicalitys!

 

I signed up…

 

Times up…

The new resurrection of.

This new man that..

Isn’t the man he once was.

Changed by looking back at.

All my overcame boundaries.

 

There is no dought that.

I’m going to burn forever in hell.

I’ve always been the one to.

Amplify my self for the peace.

For the easy reach for my blessings.

Up under my canopy….

 

So I may live forever.

Just to watch everything die around me.

Everyone!

Everybody!

That’s my problem…….

 

 

The old me is gone..

All praises due to..

The father…….

I’m alive…

All tomorrows…..

9 thoughts on “Revival”

  1. One thing I can say about you, Christopher, is that you never write at less than full passion and intensity. I don’t understand all of this poem. Yet. Seems like you’ve got the whole history of your tribe in here. I may not be the grandchild of slaves but I am the grandchild of people who were burned in ovens. The irrelevance of my personal pain is a profound blessing. This feels like the last poem you ever need to write about yourself. The Self is a joke, a stage play. The poem is great and painful. Do you want to be taken seriously? Learn to spell, dammit! The tears of a suffering child. That’s your line. Honor your gifts. You’ve got ’em.

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

    • Hahaha haha!

      man you are sincere as hell wit this!

      I’m trying to get my spelled right lol!

      and I will cuz I know you mean well plus you sound like my late gran dad. no offense

      thanks man I can’t even thank you enough for your motivation and the courage you give me to keep on writing.

      at the same time I don’t care what people like or if they want to follow me.

      this I write for me because it’s therapeutic.
      it’s either I do this or I go and revolt and cause chaos.

      or just beat up some people that are child sexual abuseers…

      hmm what else…

      just going crazy and taking over the world.

      Like

      Reply

  4. Have you consumed any of my works? I’m a novelist, musician, photographer, I do a lot of things. I play drums, piano, sing and write, etc. etc. Go to my site http://www.artrosch.com and check out things from me. I do poetry too. Coltrane? Are you kidding? At sixteen I left home and went to NYC to hook up with Trane and study. It took me two weeks to find him but I did and it was an amazing experience. Read my novel, Confessions Of An Honest Man.

    Here is my poem: Prophet

    Oh lord, oh lord,
    what has befallen me?
    That which I hoped to make straight
    becomes more twisted.
    That which I should understand
    only becomes more strange.
    How did I land on this unexpected shore?
    What am I to make of the walking wreck of myself?
    I can still think, still work,
    still speak in poems
    in the sleepless time of the night.
    It is a mixed gift, this life, it is hard
    to feel so completely lost
    in complexity I don’t know how I made.
    I wanted to be a radiance
    but I am more like a garbage can
    tipped by a starving animal in predawn hours.
    I pick myself up,
    I sweep my contents
    into a tidy pile,
    but each time I think to rest,
    I am again overturned.
    I speak to you, o lord,
    like the wounded Jew,
    like the baffled bloodied prophet,
    like the broken fated sage.
    I take help from any quarter,
    even those with dangerous denizens.
    I take comfort with the scorpion,
    I sleep with diseases,
    I’m astonished that I’m alive.
    Oh lord, what has befallen me?
    You see, I have nothing but questions.
    It could be much worse, I freely admit.
    It could be much better,
    I ruefully entreat.
    Pieces of me have gone numb.
    Whole continents of my psyche are submerged,
    drowned, forgotten.
    I am the world I have made.
    I am a man, dreadfully incomplete,
    unwilling to meet the terror,
    reluctant to behold the fire,
    shrinking always from the worst case,
    taking the hand of any wiser being,
    like a lost child who needs to be led home.
    I shall try now to snatch a bit of sleep
    from the bottom of the night’s cup.
    I’m glad we had this little talk.
    I thank you, awkwardly,
    like one who has opened the wrong gift
    at the wrong party.
    Oh, is this for ME?
    I’m not quite sure it fits,
    I’m not sure how to use it.
    I’ve broken it a little
    but it still works. See?
    I’ve tried, I’ve hopped on one foot,
    I’ve danced insanely.
    I’m still here,
    waiting for your soft voice
    to bring me peace.

    Like

    Reply

Leave a comment