Not one of my better missives or even near to good. But try to enjoy. All CONSTRUCTIVE criticism welcome.
August comes from the Latin word augustus, meaning “consecrated” or “venerable,” which in turn is related to the Latin augur, meaning “consecrated by augury” or “auspicious.” In 8 B.C. the Roman Senate honored Augustus Caesar, the first Roman emperor, by changing the name of their month Sextilis to Augustus
August by nature, he strode the palace floors.
Revered by all, feared by most, yet sad beyond his strength.
Ruler of the known world but not of his own.
Troubled and tormented by fear and guilt.
About which he knew not either why or how.
His problematic mind anathematic to his own.
In dreams he saw only what he dreaded.
The gods of Rome were powerless to abate.
What power can come from him who is not there.
Sacrifices to your empty deities bring no healing.
Waxing moons supposedly bring spiritual hope,
Waning again like unrequited love on a distant shore,
White sand running through your fingers like the days of life.
No hope was found, no pity lost on mortal man.
Jupiter, supreme ruler of the gods, Juno his queen,
“Surely I am a god, does not Rome worship me?”
“Woe to you Minerva and Neptune, fake deities of Rome”
“Venus and Mars, you are planets not gods like me.”
“Apollo, son of Jupiter, loose your arrow and slay your father,
Thought he does not exist, but then, nor you.”
And so he curses every useless god he knows in hope of finding peace.
But no, each non-existent deity curses him back in incredulity.
How dare he say we don’t endure, just because we ……………..
“Some days, some hours, we soar.
Hawks, eagles, miles above sea level, worshiping the splendor below.
The wind lashing around us, we are boundless…complete…
Other times we bleed – dreadful children,
scraping our way through a field of shattered glass and dreams.
Yet we carry on, feigning normalcy;
actors, playing the part assigned to us by the others,
All the while perishing.
All the while feeling as if we’re unique to desperation.
Can no one feel the tears?
Can no one see our heartbreak?
Has no one the same perception of hopelessness we possess?
Hanging in the eternal balance,
somewhere between life and death,
We watch the years tick-tick-tick by,
soul gradually unburdening itself from skeleton,
ever so gently, as mortality snakes in.
Frantic, we grasp the nearest olive branch,
be it friend or foe,
cleaving to any veneer of chance.
As water sashays through our fingers, though, we frightfully…
Picture is Connecticut 10th grader Sarah Harrison’s Doodle, “A Peaceful Future”
Who is my neighbour, do they live next door? What if they’re ugly, or drunk or a whore? What if they really are just not like us? Quiet, refined, not making a fuss.
Who is my neighbour? Not just in my street, Surely my neighbour is all whom I meet. They’re black, they are white, they are straight, they are gay They’re the every day folk, that I meet every day.
I shall not judge them and they’ll not judge me. They’re my brothers, my sisters, and all should be free. My neighbours, they cover the face of this earth, So I’ll love and respect them for all they are worth.
But one day there will be a reckoning for all, Black, white and ugly, the big and the small. On that day, a sorting, the wheat from the chaff, And then the down trodden will have the last laugh. The wheat go to heaven, the chaff down to hell, You’d best love your neighbour or you’ll go down as well.
This is not one of my poems, I have reblogged this because it is so beautiful. Please read slowly and aloud listening to each phrase, it may move you to tears, or it may not. Look up the poet and follow her work. She’s has some really fantastic pieces.
Ever thought? How sin caused by pleasure, Can cause so much pain after. And that pain my mind could not contain And my heart bled with loss It’s because my king added to it Because he left me.. With no sun and without a son I had no love, no consolation
Photo obtained from Google
So I discovered another pen Bleeding with ink, not indelible one this time And a paper to bleed on I adopted poetry as my daughter She was free, yet came at a cost So cheap, yet carrying a value unmatched And here we are, talking to you, sharing us. We hope you hold on, as we sail with you On this journey that never ends
Did the elders not seek your face?
Did they not pray out loud to you?
Did they not wait upon you
And seek your guidance?
Did we not fast and pray
To do your good pleasure?
Late into the night
To seek your true guidance?
Did we not take your precepts to the people?
Did we not tell them the word from the Lord?
Then why oh Lord have they not heard?
Why Oh Lord do they not listen to your truths?
Are we like prophets of old?
Despised in our own house.
For You will withdraw Your blessing,
From a house divided against itself.
When they say, oh Lord,
We do not like the style of worship,
Did they ask you?
Did they really seek your face?
When they say Lord,
We do not like the drums
We do not like the cymbals
Do they argue with your Psalms?
