Saturday, September 14, 2013

Bequeathed.


      Bequeathed.



How my soul shouts now,
Cold are the sides of love.
Where were we when,
The theater threw thoroughly
Rare and rash reasons,
Into the mix we made?

Love was tithed to you,
Did we say how we knew?
Of the days in wonder,
When dreams became,
Torn asunder, under thunder,
Clouded judgements, our blunder.

For my part I ate fruit,
Sold my soul to Satan.
Did he know he'd long be waiting,
For the look of un-repentance?
Sucking air in torrid breath,
Watching how our bodies dance.

Awesomeness was brought before,
The court of my debating.
Surrendered to a hand of love,
Something wild but soft enough,
Held in trust until today,
Where all my veils be blown away.

Hope became a trusted friend,
Waiting for this heart to mend.
All the light we shared undone,
Left in tatters in the gutters,
Open wide these bawdy shutters,
So we see what really matters.

Honour is my foothold here,
Through time and space of one.
Given here no more truth,
Than all I find behind your eyes.
Take me with you, endlessly,
Arrest my soul in fantasy......







4 comments:

  1. Hello dear Warrior!
    It's been awhile since I've visited - Life continues, full speed ahead! But, I love coming to back to find you, poetry and so many thoughts spinning away on your blog.
    A note about this entry... while the prose is intriguing, I couldn't help but shudder at the photo choice of a young girl behind a veil. With the immediate issue of girls, or rather children being given and sold into marriage at such tender ages we have to be more aware. Just recently, an eight-year-old Yemeni girl died of internal bleeding on her wedding night after marrying a man five times her age. This girl pictured and the poem are incompatible in my way of thinking. Thanks for letting me say so :-)

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  2. Hey my dear friend, your comments are always very welcomed and I enjoy the vision they share, that may have been lost to me at the time of writing.
    I don't know if I ever said before , but I often don't really know how or why the words come as they do, I feel inspired to write. its as if a force within is telling me and I am the scribe. I do usually chose a title out of thin air so to speak, and have a rough idea what the subject of my musing is. In the case of this poem, it was about what was bequeathed to me upon looking into the eyes of a person in a cafe. The rest was idle fantasy perhaps....
    I am now aware of your references to women generally and specifically this young Yemeni girl. It is of course a sad reality that this is allowed to happen and an even bigger tragedy that the man (Her husband, a predatory and vile man) took the life of the girl in such awful and mortally destructive evil.
    I, in no way condone such acts upon another human beings, particularly Rawan Who sadly died from internal injuries sustained by the man she was forced to marry.
    I apologise to anyone who made a similar connection as you, I took the above image from google free pictures because it demonstrated something hidden, as in secret knowledge because the EYES are the focus of the picture. I figured the girl to be about 25/28 years of age and in no way wished to infer some kind of youth.
    IF YOU STILL FEEL AFTER MY EXPLANATION THAT YOU WOULD PREFER ME TO CHANGE THE PICTURE, i WILL NOT HESITATE TO DO SO.
    Meanwhile thank you once again for revisiting my blog and making relevant comments.
    Much love and light to you and your family in Astorga.

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  3. Thanks for your clarification. The girl pictured appeared much younger to me than 25-28, but I might be mistaken. The issue we've both addressed is a tragedy and we have to be very sensitive and be careful where the lines of discernment are fuzzy. Again, thanks for stating your intent and understanding of the girl in the picture's age. It's up to your discretion. You are a treasure and I appreciate your consideration of this matter. Greetings and love back to you!

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  4. Thank you again for your response.
    To be clear I have changed the picture so as not to give any reason to think that I am not empathetic with such crimes as we have discussed. What sadly happened to Rawan is not at all uncommon. Only yesterday I was listening to a story by a young woman from Somalia, about F.G.M. Female Genital Mutilation. I have hardly been able to stop thinking about how awful the lives of some groups of people have been made, by hypocritical and bigoted men. I think of the way Muslim women are made to dress. this is often because the men that 'Own' them, want to hide the beatings and torture they met out. No man that does this can say he loves god and is a true servant. What is wrong with leaving human beings the way god created them. Uncut, Unhidden, and beautiful in their own rights.
    I do not abide with anyone who takes away the equality of human beings to choose and have free will.
    Thank you Mary for engaging in this topic and for showing much understanding towards it.

    And of course for reading and enjoying my prose, rants and other feelings being expressed.

    Please also check out my Cloud Cuckoo Land Blog. (link at right hand side)

    Love and light dear sister.

    Namaste.

    xx

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