Archive for the ‘Prayer…’ Category

Politely declining an invitation

that I know is wrong.

Praying, listening to the voice within,

obeying my moral imperative,

doing the right thing.

Unexplainable, perhaps,

incomprehensible,

but totally justifiable

to myself.

And that

is what matters.

 

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You know just the words

that get under my skin.

You know the buttons to push,

drive me to sin.

You don’t understand me,

you don’t want to…

I love you,

I hate you,

you are my reason for being,

problem is, I’m only happy asleep.

Pissing contest

par excellence,

MAD,

the sooner the better.

I destroy you,

you destroy me,

ourselves together, alone,

forsaken by all others,

forever and never.

Amen.

 

One year follows another,

and I am painfully reminded,

amongst the whirlwind of confusion and bad memories

(everything seems to conspire against me,

against us),

and I am so sorry,

it truly stabs at my heart,

my beloved friend,

if only I could do more…

If only I could pave a way

in

to

the Book Cover Life.

If only I could break the stones

and mend the heartbreak,

change words, actions,

malevolence, perfidy,

perversions,

things that should never have been.

Rest, reprise, reflect, regenerate, resurrect.

Hope in a savior beyond words, what else?

(And I pray and I believe.

Tomorrow,

sweet dreams to follow,

I see you front and center.

Book Cover Life,

where you deserve to be.)

 

I hear my voice speaking

and realize it’s not my own,

neither the words nor the tone,

try as I might,

I have no control,

much like the tension in my face

and the wrinkles creasing,

ever increasing.

Sick and tired of being compromised.

Manipulated.

Stultified.

Desecrated.

Violated.

Implicated, extradited and extricated

by external forces.

Taken away from myself.

Compromised.

Shaped into a me that I don’t want to be.

 

Each morning I don’t

presuppose the worst will be,

pray, stability.

 

This is a shout out to those of us who have lost a parent (or two),

whether to death,

something divine,

or by ugly human betrayal,

perfidy (things which should not be!).

Love, respect and understanding to us,

we who are left behind,

in pain and confusion,

the orphans, the denied.

 

So, you had the idea and determination to follow through,

to do the right thing.

So, you find yourself beset by complications and knots that are beyond Gordian.

And, to distract yourself, you listen to the radio news

and then you realize that it’s all futile.

Humanity is screwed.

So, you get tired.

The best you can hope for is to sleep and remember the past, when there was hope and the possibility of progression (pleasing to the soul).

Waking moments, you pray in indiscernible whispers of pain.

Hoping for some hope.

… 

Do you ever resent having to pray about something? Like, a complication wrought upon you by another person, a system? Something totally unnecessary. If only people were more decent, more reasonable and moral, you wouldn’t have to waste your time with this prayer. Indeed. I feel that too.

Like, I want to pray big, life-changing, world-changing prayers. Not be limited to praying reactionary, small-scale prayers to get me rid of the shit that someone’s placed at my back-door and back to square one. I believe I’m in this world for bigger and better things than the banal crap people seem hell-bent on burdening me with. I’ll bet you do too.

So, let’s all pray in solidarity…

That we can be free from the bondages of this world, free to pursue our God-given gifts and talents and, together, we can and will make this world a better place.

Sex slaves (1).

Posted: 2016-04-20 in Anja, Blick!, Prayer..., Prostitute

Life sucks and then you die,

full of compromise.

“Fucking bitch!”, swore one to another,

as she went off, making money, denying everything proper,

her past, her present, her future,

dying a little more, every minute.

“Once a whore, always a whore,” said the wannabe wise man,

but aren’t we all,

whores?

Then there’s the modern-day slave auction,

Bulgarians are cheaper, don’t you know?

It’s prefaced in your mind with imagery of a horse drawn-carriage and Lada cars in Sofia – but surely that’s pushing it, the bounds of sick fantasy.

Still, the girls are here, regardless of you.

The poor girls, how poor, pushed into this situ,

on show, on offer, to the highest bidder,

room full of trash, exploitative scum.

Still,

these girls,

I’m surprised they’ve been allowed the luxury of underpants.

But, I suppose,

sad to say,

to these pimps,

one cunt is much the same as another.

… 

It looked like a miracle and it sounded like a miracle. We were impressed – that someone (an American!) would care enough to come to our distant region and heal this woman in front of us all.

Others followed. Indeed, we all wanted to follow. In one way or another, we all wanted to follow and probably did so, in our minds, if nothing else. A few of us nervously laughed, noticing the cameras, commenting that at the end they’d want to baptize us and it’d be like the Russian church where you had to be baptized naked as a sign of your pure acceptance of, and openness to, Christ Jesus.

Okay, maybe not tonight, I found myself thinking and that, perhaps, miracles in my life are more likely to occur in private.

Private, that is the way of Faith.

Private and still.

Still, I believe.

Still, steadfast.

Still…

Still, if I am to be an example in this world, as the Holy Word says, then why not be radiant? Miraculously obvious? … Okay, I am open!