Healing Poems
A Sonnet of The Eternal Beloved
by Ayatullah Nurjati
O Eternal, beyond the grasp of flesh and time
In silent nights, where stars softly weep
My soul wanders, yearning to taste the divine in time
I search for You in depths still and deep
What am I but dust, mere clay and bone
O Beloved, pure as the morning’s breath
While You are the Unseen, seated on Your throne
Draw me near, release me from death
......
"the process of removing toxic substances"
by Soulayma A.
Why do I write?
.
Is that because writing is the act of being alive as Ryad said?
Even when I cannot breathe, I can write what suffocates me before my heart stops beating. I would point to the sun and make my last poem out of rays instead of words.
Is it because I’m still not healed yet?
But how much does it take? Three years of medication, 3 thousand words per month, 3 colors of dying, 6 new haircuts. I’ll break the record if I kept changing, I’ll break the record but I will not be healed.
Is it because, I write cuz I can do nothing about my rage, the rage that I don’t even recognize?
Writing is my "detoxification", but what if I was made of poison? When will I be healed?
......
77. ADHD
by Kea Campbell
I turn on the shower and my thoughts quiet to a whisper.
I start to undress as I ease my brain's exert.
My eyes avoid the mirror and I step into the tub.
My mind starts to wonder while reality falls out of touch.
I try to clear my head and focus on being present.
I re-feel shame for granting permission after his ceaseless exhortation.
My musings recall his unwanted hands on my skin.
My body stiffens in distress and the trauma floods right back in.
......
54. #prayformichael
by Kea Campbell
I'm not afraid of deep water, just the lives that are stolen in it.
I can't sleep tonight because my brain streams the incident.
It replays the same show, with no breaks or commercials.
The pool took his future, leaving only a faint pulse.
I didn't even realize, and beforehand we were playing.
"Who can stay underwater longer? If you breathe, you lose the game."
Hours went by and the contest had been over.
Next thing I know, he was dragged out of the water.
......
The hour of the last goodbye (Making your peace).
by Sharon Morgan
How careful is the craft of conscience?
Which wields the sword of sorry,
That strikes the heels of discord,
And visits the home of the elusive.
Healing the rifts of former days
Respect is now paid,
As healing is sought
And time is bought.
Now, a conscience at ease
Grudges now cease.
......
77. ADHD
by Kea Campbell
I turn on the shower and my thoughts quiet to a whisper.
I start to undress as I ease my brain's exert.
My eyes avoid the mirror and I step into the tub.
My mind starts to wonder while reality falls out of touch.
I try to clear my head and focus on being present.
I re-feel shame for granting permission after his ceaseless exhortation.
My musings recall his unwanted hands on my skin.
My body stiffens in distress and the trauma floods right back in.
......
54. #prayformichael
by Kea Campbell
I'm not afraid of deep water, just the lives that are stolen in it.
I can't sleep tonight because my brain streams the incident.
It replays the same show, with no breaks or commercials.
The pool took his future, leaving only a faint pulse.
I didn't even realize, and beforehand we were playing.
"Who can stay underwater longer? If you breathe, you lose the game."
Hours went by and the contest had been over.
Next thing I know, he was dragged out of the water.
......
53. Corinthians
by Kea Campbell
Peace acquaints companionship, and you might not see it now,
But the Devil befriends seclusion where no witnesses are found.
Some battles are mental, and even those leave visible scars.
So, as you go about your days, please offer your whole heart.
Hate is a criminal and casualties are evidence,
And, although 'be kind' is cliché, it furnishes joy and declares reverence.
You might find yourself asking what differently you could have done.
And to that, I would say, “Do everything in love.”
......
A Sonnet of The Eternal Beloved
by Ayatullah Nurjati
O Eternal, beyond the grasp of flesh and time
In silent nights, where stars softly weep
My soul wanders, yearning to taste the divine in time
I search for You in depths still and deep
What am I but dust, mere clay and bone
O Beloved, pure as the morning’s breath
While You are the Unseen, seated on Your throne
Draw me near, release me from death
......
"the process of removing toxic substances"
by Soulayma A.
Why do I write?
.
Is that because writing is the act of being alive as Ryad said?
Even when I cannot breathe, I can write what suffocates me before my heart stops beating. I would point to the sun and make my last poem out of rays instead of words.
Is it because I’m still not healed yet?
But how much does it take? Three years of medication, 3 thousand words per month, 3 colors of dying, 6 new haircuts. I’ll break the record if I kept changing, I’ll break the record but I will not be healed.
Is it because, I write cuz I can do nothing about my rage, the rage that I don’t even recognize?
Writing is my "detoxification", but what if I was made of poison? When will I be healed?
......
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Pilgrim Roy (1 poems about Healing)
I am a pilgrim travelling the heavenly way walking through life with Jesus. He is my constant companion and friend