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Song - I don't want

Post by Blaze » Mon Jul 21, 2003 8:43 am

<a name="#forty six"> Song - I don't want </a>

I don’t want to lose sight again
I don’t want to lose that light from within
I don’t want to lose my way
I want to make it through everyday

I don’t want to have to face the dark
Only if it’s the truth
I don’t want to hear the lie
Only if it’s from you

I don’t want to have to face myself
In the mirror of my life
Because I know I’ve changed…
I’ve changed this heart of mine.

I can’t look at you and say
That I want you to stay
I can’t stand anymore
No one’s knocking at my door
To help me
Get up

I don’t want to have to face myself
In the mirror of my life
Because I know I’ve changed…
I’ve changed this heart of mine.

I don’t want to open the window
And feel no breeze come in
I don’t want to raise my sail
Only to find that there’s no wind

I don’t want to write down
This song of mine
Maybe there will be no tune
Maybe there will be only one line

But one thing’s for sure…
I’ve found myself.
I’ve found myself…
I’ve found the ‘me’ inside
I’ve found that the ‘you’ had died
I found that I can cry
Just to see
Another day
Just to see
Another way

I don’t want to get lost again
I don’t want to find that there’s no wind
When the rain comes
And I want to go

This is more of a song than a poem... but hey! It works.

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Post by Blaze » Sun Jul 27, 2003 4:33 pm

<a name="#forty seven"> Telemarketers </a>

Ring!! Ring!!
I jerk from my nap
Just got home from school
And my mom isn't home yet
Ring!! Ring!!
I hurry to the phone
"Hi, this is Mary calling about a new service..."
I hang up and go watch TV.
Ring!! Ring!!
I roll my eyes and pick up the phone
"Hello, the Barnum residents."
"Hello, do you believe it's right to support the police at this time?"
I think. NO.
"Yes, sir I do but..."
He doesn't let me continue. She. Whatever.
"Would you like to make a donation? You can donate $20, $50, $100, or $1000."
$1000? Hah!
"Uh, I'm sorry, I'm not the person you're looking for to ask."
"Oh, ok, is there a person there that can make this kind of decision?"
"No. Bye." I hang up. Wouldn't have I already gotten that person?
I go on the computer and play some games.
Ring!! Ring!!
I pick up the phone, but think a bit before answering it...
"Hello...?" What the heck.
"Hi, this is Mary calling about a new service. I believe that our connection was lost when I tried to call you before. One more reason that you should sign up with AT&T phone service!"
"Uh... ya."
"First let me ask you a few questions. Is your number still 353-5263?"
Gee, I wonder.
"Yes... but..."
"Is your address still 2144 Brookview Pl.?"
If it's a phone service, why should she care?
"Uh... ya... but..."
"AT&T service includes blah blah blah blahand... "
"Oh, I'm sorry, do you have any questions?"
"Ma'am, we have a phone company and I'm afraid we aren't interested."
"But like I said, our connection was lost earlier..."
"Ma'am, I hung up on you."
She hung up on me. How rude.

Originally posted at: Telemarkters

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<a name="#forty eight">Mary Magdalene </a>

This was the death of Jesus in the eyes of Mary Magdalene... this was also written at 11:30pm when I wasn't in a good mood so sorry for the sloppy details and everything.
They took Him away the other day. One of his own followers betrayed him. Dear Judas, how could you have done that? But He said that he must follow the prophecy. They slapped him, spit in his face, meaning they believed that He was the lowest form of all creatures, when His own Father had created them all. They cursed Him underneath their own breaths, the takers of Him, to coward to say what they had to say. At least Jesus spoke out the Truth! But they didn't believe that; the takers of Him, they didn't believe that.
My own screams couldn't be heard above the crowd wanting that old fool Barabbas to be set free instead of Jesus. What has Jesus done to you? I shouted. Barabbas is the true robber and thief! But no, my voice, my woman's voice, could not be heard much less listened too. If there is nothing to hear, there is no sound.
And yet I'm sure, so sure, I saw Jesus take a glimpse of me, and... smile. He'd just been taken in front of the crowd. They'd dressed Him in a beautiful, yet deadly feeling, purple robe and crown of thorns. Meant for royalty I supposed, since He'd called himself the King of the Jews. He seemed to be almost crying blood with the mixture of sweat and blood on his brow. But he did not wince nor did he show any signs of pain. The king of the Jews, save yourself now! They shouted to him. Mockery, the one thing I couldn't stand. Listen to me! He will save you! Don't you want something better than this world? Anything? Surely better than that Barabbas... surely anything better than him. Why, when had Jesus killed someone? Or stole of someone? Besides of their sin!
They have no king, they shout, they have no king besides Caesar; that old rut of a man. They will not have a king, and that shall be their own fault.
I watched Him breathlessly take His own cross and throw it over His back, and I felt His pain as he slumped to Golgotha, the place to be where His last breath was to be taken. I wondered if they?d allow Him to keep even that as they had taken everything else from Him.
They set up a sign consisting of three languages. Only being fluent in Aramaic, I read 'THE KING OF THE JEWS'. I heard the protesters tell Pilate to write instead 'This Man Claimed to be King of the Jews' but Pilate replied, "What I have written, I have written," Causing me to give him more respect though it was he that sentenced Jesus. I stood near the cross with Jesus' mother, His mother's sister, and Mary the wife of Clopas. Jesus said to his mother, "Dear woman, here is your son," and I realized that he was talking about one of his disciples standing close by who I had not seen before. And Jesus said to his disciple, "Here is your mother." From then on, the disciple had taken Jesus' dear mother as his own.
I didn't dare watch the death, but my eyes couldn't stay away from the cross and his body upon it. My eyes saw, but my heart didn't, so in any sense, I couldn't explain what happened. But I just know it was the most beautiful and most horrid thing I had ever let my eyes watch.
The next day at the market I heard that a man by the name of Joseph had taken the body of Jesus and laid Him in a tomb. I had a dying sensation to go see Jesus, just to make sure He was really there, but I didn't. The next night my brother, Peter, and his family would be coming down to eat and I needed to prepare for that as they were a slightly large family.
The night at the dinner table was a long, harsh one. My brother kept on asking me about 'my Jesus' oblivious to his screaming children. His wife, exasperated and exhausted did nothing about the small child that had just flung a small piece of lamb that landed in my lap. She seemed to hardly even notice and my brother just got annoyed at my sudden stop in the conversation and my staring down in my lap.
Finally when it was time for them to leave, they were headed down to my sister's house to stay the night, the little one who'd flung the lamb at me tugged at my skirt. I leaned down to hear what she had to say.
"Miss Mary? I'm sowwy for fwinging da lamb at you," I smiled at the way she stumbled on her words and I let her continue. "Will you fogive me?" All of a sudden my smile disappeared. She obviously noticed for she started to make more apologies but I interrupted her.
"Of course dear, it's alright, don't take any worry in it." She smiled slightly and bounded out of the door following her family.
The prophecy! Why hadn't I realized it before? He died so that we could be forgiven. I quickly looked over to the east and saw that it was starting to get light. The night had lasted longer than I thought it had. Assuming it was about 3 o'clock in the morning, I headed over to the tomb where I'd heard the day before that Jesus had been buried.
When I finally reached the tomb, I hadn't taken care to put anything on my feet or take one of the cattle to ride upon, my hand rose to my mouth instinctively. The tomb was empty. But how? I ran until I caught sight of Simon Peter and the disciple that had adopted Jesus' mother and told him, "They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we don't know where they have put him!"
Simon Peter and the disciple started to run and the disciple reached the tomb first. He looked inside the tomb, but did not go in. Simon Peter did. They both clearly saw that Jesus was not there and went back towards their homes.
"But wait!" I shouted. "What are you going to do?"
"Nothing. There's nothing that can be done. He's gone, and that's all there is to it," Simon Peter said. I sank to my knees in bewilderment feeling betrayed. I felt my head slip into my hands and I just stayed there in front of the tomb even when I started to feel the sun shining on my back.
After several minutes of sitting there, I glanced into the tomb and was surprised by two glowing figures sitting on each end of where Jesus' body must've been.
"Woman, why are you crying?" They asked me. I hadn't realized I had been crying until then, I could feel the salty tears against my lips. Surely they knew the reason, but I answered anyways.
"They have taken my Lord away and I don't know where they have put him." I heard a rustle in the grass beside me and I saw the gardener come up to me. "Woman, why are you crying?" He repeated the question that the angels had asked me. But he continued, "Who is it you are looking for?"
"Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will get him." I replied.
"Mary," I felt all of my fears and pain slip away from me, that was no gardener!
"Rabboni!" I reached for Jesus' shining face and I longed for his touch.
"Do not hold on to me, for I have not yet returned to my Father," I pulled my hand away and held it, ashamed. "Go instead to my brothers and tell them, 'I am returning to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.'"
I ran as hard as I could, not looking back, until I reached the disciples having a small meal in a small house. "I have seen the Lord!" They looked at me in question.
"He is alive."

Originally posted at: Mary Madgelane

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<a name="#forty nine"> In between the lines </a>

In between the lines
Is where it all began
In between the lines
In between the lines
In between the lines
In between the lines
The only Reason
Anyone went out of 'in between the lines'
Was because
they ran out of

Originally posted at:
In Between the Lines

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Post by Blaze » Wed Jul 30, 2003 9:18 am

<a name="#fifty"> The EXPRESSION </a>

A simple tune
A simple beat
A simple song
The tapping of feet
Is where it all began

Love ... (Why not express
Hate ... what you can do best
Hope ... sing your own song
Fate ... because you have...)

Sing your song loud and clear
You have nothing to hide
Sing your song for all to hear
Just show what's inside
Then everyone will see
It's not just what's written
Your side of the story
It's how it's said.

They'll see your EXPRESSION
Love ... (Why not express
Hate ... what you can do best
Hope ... sing your own song
Fate ... because you have...)

Sing your song
......Your tune
......Your beat
......Your words

Everybody's feet.

Sorry about all of the ....s, I had to do that so the words would end up where I wanted them too.

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<a name="#fifty one"> Truth and Lies </a>

The problem with the truth
There's an opposite meaning
And they both sound the same

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<a name="#fifty two"> Life </a>

Life is best left unexplained
The happiness and the pain
The sunshine and the rain
The pride and the shame

It's just not something we understand
Why we stop or even why we ran
People who don't care and who can lend a hand
How we fly and why we land

There's really no reason why
The apple fell from the sky
Whey day turns to night
Why we smile or cry

Life is just something that is and will be
Something where we're captured then freed
Something that most of us need
Something that belongs to me

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<a name="#fifty three"> Fly </a>

getting seriously mad at the fly as it flies.
trying to make it stop flying.
wish it had never flown.

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<a name="#fifty four"> Stars </a>

A brother and sister watching the stars
The sister says, "Wow! They're so far!"
The brother says, "Well, they are there and we are here...
Yet there's one thing that we share."
She says, "What do you mean?"
He replies, "We can't see what's on the stars,
And from there we can't be seen."

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<a name="#fifty five"> Untitled </a>

I sit down on the leather couch
It made a breathing sound as it deflated slightly
A very lonely sound indeed
The cat looks up at me from the recliner
How dare I ruin his peace
Sorry Joe.
I turn on the TV
Something weird is on
A slutty looking teenager
Watching a business like man put white sheets on her bed
That highly contrasted the room around her
"I was going to do that," She says.
"Uh huh," He says.
"We should get married," She smiles.
"We were already planning on that."
How strange a couple.
They were happy though.
I frown and press the guide button on the remote.
Digital cable rocks
Turned to the wrong channel.
Shoot, how many sluts can there be in the TV.
The stupid box seems quite small to me.
I wonder if they have fun.
Not that I'm considering.
Oh well.
I think I'll live.
No matter how lonely
I'll live.

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<a name="#fifty six"> Jewelry </a>

Pins, necklaces, and bracelets
Drying on a plaid towel
Bid on and bought at an auction
A deceased woman's jewelry
Cleaned by "Sears Jewelry Cleaner"
Each one trying to be shinier than the rest
Except the black heart
Bought separatly
Placed separalty
On the plaid towel
Cameo's with the side of a girl's face
I wonder who's
Jeweled hearts
Glimmering, showing their love
Diamond eyed birds
Watch me as I write
A locket with no picture
No meaning
No purpose
Until I put one in there
A tear drop opal
Dropped on the floor
With a tangled chain
Shouldn't have picked it up
A single diamond studded cross
That once was laid upon a beating heart
Lays with no chain
All for fourteen dollars
All just because a lady died
And her family didn't want any of the beauty
So they sold them
In an auction.

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<a name="#fifty seven"> Untitled </a>

Encaptured by her music
On her wooden flute
Played softly but sharp
As a mother towards her child

Surrounded by string instruments
Only wind instrument seated upon the stage
Her music as soft as a breeze
And as strong as a gale

Even when she doesn't play
She moves her blonde head
To the soft beat
To the soft rythem

Defined cheeks
With gentle lips
And closed eyes
Darkened and weathered skin
Yet soft and pale in it's own way

Shoulder length, crimped hair
Capturing her face
Pulled back by a glistening headband
As to give her freedom

Beautiful in her way
Makes you want to look at her again
As she dances
Sitting down

She loves the sound of the music
Better than her own flute
She sees with her ears
Hears with her heart
And plays from her soul

She even had magic
But I decided to let her keep that
As she had lost her beauty and talent
To pen and paper
About this piece: This was written at a small concert I went to tonight. After I had written this piece, there had been a recorder playing so it is wrong about being the only wind instrument. I had left during the intermission because I had said that I didn't feel good (I really didn't after I had said that) but it was really because I felt like I had stolen something from her. She even lost some of her magic after I had written that last line down. So I was like a criminal, running away from the victim before she could find out what was stolen from her I guess I could say.

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<a name="#fifty eight"> Script </a>

When I was younger
Maybe 4 or 5 years of age
I believed that I was supposed to be acting
That the "whole world was a stage".

I always wondered
If someone had forgotten to give me my part
I wondered if that had expected me
To remember my lines by heart

But now older
I had been given my script
But now it's in the trashcan
Torn and ripped

I had decided that I wanted to be me
Not part of this fake play
People always whispered me my lines
But I just pushed them away

Soon I tried to tape the script back together
I liked it better than this me
By not doing my part, I was ruining others
And I hated not knowing who I was or who I would be

I just couldn't get it back together
But I heard that God kept copies of our scripts in heaven in a stack
So God, I'm just wondering,
Could I have my script back?

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<a name="#fifty nine"> A Few Words </a>

Walking by the harborside in Baltimore
I try to take in its beauty
But there's a man behind me cussing into his cell
I wish I could've said something, but that wasn't my duty.

His wife/girlfriend walked behind him
A little child in tow
"I'm hungry," The child whines
But his mother hushes him and tells him to keep his voice low.

"I want this fuckin' shit done!"
The man yells at his phone
I could hear his phone yell back at him; then:
"We don't need another fuckin' loan!"

A few words
Is all it takes
To change a little child
And the future he makes

The man continued yelling into his phone
About something he called "fuckin' shit".
But it wasn't me who was to stop him, to change his life...
Or was it?

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<a name="#sixty"> Can't Stop the Rain </a>

I can’t stop the rain from pouring down on you
But I can try to shield you from the pain
Never try to change the weather
It’ll make you stronger; so let it rain.

I can’t stop the rain from making its music
But if you don’t want to hear, then cover your ears
But it’ll keep on playing… a never-ending song
Day after day, year after year

I can’t stop the rain from falling
So just stick out your tongue and hope for the best
“If all the raindrops were lemon drops and gum drops…”
And maybe God will do the rest

I can’t stop the rain.

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<a name="#sixty one"> Rassberry Ice Tea </a>

Bought some rassberry ice tea
From a waterfront festival in Baltimore
Went over to where live music was playing
Underneath a white tent by the harbor shore.

Sat down on a black fold up chair
And put the rassberry ice tea on the table
Looked at the plastic cup - they said to return it in three days for a buck
I wondered how'd they know it was theirs - there wasn't any label.

I looked on the stage
And watched a blonde haired woman sing into a microphone
A mid aged woman with a guitar in hand
And sunglasses that shone

As I watched, drinking my rassberry ice tea
I saw another band starting to unload
A man with long brown hair and a baseball cap
Stared at her - his interest showed

She strummed her guitar and smiled
Over where the man sat
Her next song was about self-confidence -
About a shiney pink hat

He got up and bought himself a drink
But kept glancing at the woman holding the guitar
We saw her as entertainment
He saw her as a star.

I watched them flirt with smiles
And saw a relationship grow
But I just sipped my rassberry ice tea
And watched the show.

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<a name="#sixty two"> Interstate 95 - Richmond, VA to Home </a>

Driving down 95
Coming home from Richmond.
Me and Mom sitting side by side,
In the front seats
Of the burgandy Blazer.
Laughing when she makes a wrong turn
Because we know that we can turn around
And get back onto the right road.
Watching for signs
That lead the way:
Greenville - 119A
We turn off our straight path
Our trustworthy path
With only the hope
That this new road leads to

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The Effect of Shadows

Post by Blaze » Wed Sep 22, 2004 5:31 pm

<a name="#sixty three"> The Effect of Shadows </a>

If you look at a painting
Prefebly of a person
There is always one thing
That will make the subject look
More realistic;
Keep in mind that I am talking about
Realistic paintings, Picasso
is a genius but his art I
would call just a tad more abstract.
Now, the "shadow" of a person
in an abstract sense
is the "bad" side of a person.
So everyone has a shadow
Esecially when there is
Shining upon us... almost
ironic really.
But a shadow is what makes
a person solid, three dimensional
in paintings.
So this shadow defines
who we are... it isn't bad.
Why, who would want to hold,
or to love,
A flat object? There would be
no warmth in its hug,
no experience in its voice,
There would be no comfort
in its ability to relate to you.
Why would anyone like
Or want to be it?
Which I suppose you're
Thinking that I'm describing
the "perfect" person in my own words.
And that I'm making the
person seem unliked and

What about Jesus?

Well, you see, Jesus I agree
Has no shadow...
But this is because, He is light.
He is The Light.
It is He that gives us our shadow
And it is only He that can take it away.

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Last edited by Blaze on Thu Sep 30, 2004 6:50 pm, edited 1 time in total.
"Being smart is a good thing... it's the dumbasses that make you think twice about it."
-John Swick

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Highly Contagious

Post by Blaze » Wed Sep 29, 2004 8:07 pm

<a name="#sixty four"> Highly Contagious </a>

I dream
..............I dream
That I can
........Only I
Can hold your heart
...............In my own
My heart's hands can carry
.....My manicured hands
Are strong enough
....To carry your love
My heart's arms
........Are open
Come discover
..Discover my
Lose yourself in my
I watch the sky
............The stars
..Get higher
I'm falling
...........I'm staring up
...Catch me
..In love.
Maybe you'll catch too.
...Highly contagious.


Kind of a scatterbrained poem... but I mean really, when you're in love... can you really think straight? And sorry for all of the ...... only way I could get the words in the right place.

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"Being smart is a good thing... it's the dumbasses that make you think twice about it."
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Post by GoddessErika » Sat Aug 13, 2005 2:14 pm

<center>Edit complete 08/13/2005 - GoddessErika</center>

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Tag line: Do no harm
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Post by heinzs » Sat Apr 21, 2007 5:17 pm

An' it harm none, do what ye will. Blessed Be.
My Poet's Page Archive | Topics I've started

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