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One of the ancients,once said that poetry is "the mirror of the perfect soul." Instead of simply writing down travel notes or, not really thinking about the consequences, expressing your thoughts, memories or on paper, the poetic soul needs to seriously work hard to clothe the perfect content in an even more perfect poetic form.
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Reading books RomanceThe unity of form and content is what distinguishes poetry from other areas of creativity. However, this is precisely what titanic work implies.
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Read books online » Poetry » Once A Shadow, Now Alive by Serena Axel (red white and royal blue hardcover TXT) 📖

Book online «Once A Shadow, Now Alive by Serena Axel (red white and royal blue hardcover TXT) 📖». Author Serena Axel



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I hunt and search for this alien creature, but to no avail.
Dirty, weak and in need of sleep, I barricade myself in my room,
missing you next to me to keep me safe, still questioning this doom.





Removing the clothes, observing my body, bloodied and stained,
I shower the filth; jellied red-brown water swirls down the drain.
Did I love you more than was allowed? I know I placed my faith in man.
Unworthy and unable to trust any love for me, ignorant of God's plan.

Curled in a fetal position in the dark space, the anger returns
with a vengeance. My fist in the air unwilling to surrender, I burn.
In my sleep torture awaits. Screams of my children cause unrest.
Reaching out, they are so close, and then a face of a monster, an ugly jest.

With wild animal-like eyes appearing, following my every move,
my feet turn to clay, unable to lift, stuck in a rut, stuck in a groove.
This mutant comes close and my fear is perfume in the air.
He sniffs, and his mouth drips onto pieces of his hair.


I tell him I did not sin. I took care of myself, I did nothing wrong.
With him I fit in, it's okay to feed my jealousy; to him I do belong.
Awakened! A scratching and digging at my bedroom door...
“Go away, leave me alone.” Frightened by the beast to my very core.


Through the door a voice thunders. "I saw you last night, was I such a fright?
You have every right to be angry, rage on dear child, it’ll be alright.
I am getting stronger, I will be by your side, I’m your fate."
I must get dressed, run away, thru the window to make my break.

I think I am free of him--then feel something next to my leg,
with an odor so foul. I turn. His stature's increased. “Please leave, I beg.”
Puss dripping from him all around. "Don’t plead! On your anger I feed
I chose you! Someone self-centered, full of lust and material greed.


I can’t stand

those thankful for what they have, no matter how small,
or those who are kind to strangers and willing to give their all.
You chose earthly treasures in this material world full of the needy
and sick."
"Is there a formula to get thru those pearly gates? Or some kind of trick?"

My words are not what he is seeking, not what he wants to hear.
He gets life from all things evil, like murder, adultery, even fear.
Ignoring him as he belches and spews at my side, I decide to hunt and forage
for useable items of wood, and food to add to the rest of my storage.

I’m rattled by flashes now and then of those innocent ones dear to me,
stepping back in time, longing for peace and how things use to be .
A cry, a sound so faint. Surely there are no little ones still lingering here.
Chaperoned to a sheltered spot, I weep and draw near.
All the time prodded and encouraged to go take a different part,
selfish suggestions handed me, though something tugs my heart.

A child left to fight for his life; cold, and hungry and now in my care.
My heart is warmed, he is so welcome to all that I have to share.
There is a new stench in the air and grumbling all around me.
“Leave him be! Don’t be generous! He won’t make it, can’t you see?”


With red-ember eyes he hurls his craggy body in our path, ranting.
I run to the house, the baby held tightly to my breast. I am panting.
Once inside I make a promise to God to protect this child with my life.
A voice so warm and tender says, “I never wished my daughter such strife.”


Such tears of rapture; to be called his daughter. I lift my head up and cry,
filled with overflowing joy, now I surely wouldn’t say this is the day I die.
This is the day I walk through columns and ruins, the clouds swirling at my feet.
A long-awaited day for my father and me to meet.


Imprint

Text: (c)Serena Axel 2011
Publication Date: 04-22-2011

All Rights Reserved

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