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You can hit rock bottom…

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MIND OF THE JUST MEDITATES WISDOM (Mantra)

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radicalhope:

This poem gives me hope. Thank you Mikial.

Originally posted on An Ever Changing Writer I AM:

Let there be goodness somewhere in the darkness
May the waters of wisdom touch the lips of those who thirst
Where in this world can we find true salvation?
May the mind of the Good be a temple of solace

Do not let the end come before liberation
World let us find wisdom & peace before we leave

If there is a higher love somewhere
Let us live in that place and leave behind the tears we have shed in the world.

By Mikial Kenneth Millard
Copyright Feb 2014
All rights reserved.

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Poem For Today “Hatred”

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“Hatred” By Gwendolyn Bennett

Hatred

I shall hate you
Like a dart of singing steel
Shot through still air
At even-tide,
Or solemnly
As pines are sober
When they stand etched
Against the sky.
Hating you shall be a game
Played with cool hands
And slim fingers.
Your heart will yearn
For the lonely splendor
Of the pine tree
While rekindled fires
In my eyes
Shall wound you like swift arrows.
Memory will lay its hands
Upon your breast
And you will understand
My hatred.

(1926)

More Gwendolyn Bennett Poems.

 

 

Quote For The Day

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Believe those who are seeking the truth. Doubt those who find it.”    André Gide

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A Song for Ourselves: You’re the One For Me

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Hansel From Another Perspective

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The Drama of the Gifted Hansel by Debora Lidov

Shit are we lost?
Should I tell her we’re lost?
If we had some pot, we could sleep—
and worry in the morning…I’m sure
tomorrow my friends will find us.
If I tell her, she’ll cry;
women are
so weak. I
thought we had a plan
when I lay down that bread.
Fucking birds.
Should’ve used stones.
Wish we were stoned, because
she’ll panic if we’re lost.
She’ll say, “I told you so”
about the crumbs.
Then she’ll scream or faint
or start in about witches. Shit. I mean,
no one needs to live
inside that kind of anxiety.
It’s obsolete. Take me.
Things hurt, but not really
once you understand
everything is chemical
if you let it be what it is—
a matter of seratonin and not-seratonin,
control and not-in-control.
At least she knows what it’s like.
Man, I’m such an asshole. I’m
such an asshole. I’m such
an asshole. Or am I? Anxiety
is just a matter of thinking
for too long
about yourself.
I wonder if we’re lost.

Debora Lidov writes poetry, prose, and is a social worker.

This poem appeared in the Three Penny Review, Summer 2002.

Quote For Today

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From Bartlett’s Familiar Black Quotations: 5,000 Years of Literature, Lyrics, Poems, Passages, Phrases, and Proverbs from Voices Around the World

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