Life…#332

Life

With each mornings shaft of light 
I begin my conflict of words, sometimes 
I let the tears fall and sadness engulfs 
me.  Sometimes I smile!  I tell myself to 
“hush”; it is too late my soul dies further 
toward the end as time goes on.
Sometimes I am weak, my heart locked 
away too long?  Thoughts are concealed, 
feared, live and move forward out of blame.  
The heart beats on as the voices in my head 
feed from the heart with each beat.  My words 
continue quarreling with my mind.
Has life been no more that random destiny’s?  
How lighthearted my life has been, lies, 
lies to keep the outside world in dumbness.  
Daily I drink from the cup of dissension, 
and erratic thoughts, words, look into my soul, 
despite pending doom I float thoughtless in 
the river of my life with my words clinging 
to my throat like gnarled fingers.     
Buried in the cesspools gathering on the 
shore the river flows with ambiguity.  Life is 
eternally blind!  My words flow from within, 
buried in knowledge, found by fire.  The 
mystery of my heart beats, words line by line. 
 Am   I  worthless.  Hour after hour the 
words demand power, read what pulses 
through my veins.
Life flows, arrives and moves on, from 
morning glow to evening sunset; it winds 
through the valley’s filling with expression.  
The words, a story from the hours past, they 
rise from within to the page swirling in the 
cesspool at the river’s edge.  They cannot move
 on into the river of life, they must remain as 
the past.  I wait for the morning shaft of light
 and life.      

©2021.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

Visit Amazon.com

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_c_0_11?url=search-alias%3Ddigital-text&field-keywords=ann+johnson-murphree&sprefix=ann+johnson%2Caps%2C252

Barnes&Nobel.com

Elizabeth Ann Johnson Murphree | Barnes & Noble® (barnesandnoble.com)

Black Feathered Angels…#323

Black Feathered Angels

Old memories, new memories,

memories last for a lifetime.    

Unstinted buried deep hidden

from the surface of the mind. 

As I sit on steps where paint is

peeling and rotting I have but

one thought.  Childhood is dead.

Some memories refuse to stay

buried, I see a small country

church, a chorus of crows; the

splashing sounds of a brook

running through Birch trees.

The wind caressing the

colossal row of Oaks in the

nearby field.

Death, departing the small

weathered house of worship,

a wagon pulled by six black

horses, and a manifestation

of black feathered angels.  A

sad memory, a heart has been

silenced, and a rocker on a

porch stilled.  Everyone we

love soon leaves us. 

©2021.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

Books by Author at Amazon.com and Barnes&Noble.com:

1.            Fragments of Time

2.            A Passage into Madness

3.            Asterial Thoughts

4.            A Sachet of Poetry

5.            Rutted Roads

6.            Rhythm Rhyme and Thoughts

7.            Reflections of Poetry

8.            Beyond the Voices

9.            Honeysuckle Memories

10.          Echoing Images from the Soul

11.          A Journey into the Soul

Free Style Poetry – A Life Unrepressed…#303

Free Style Poetry-Books at Amazon.com

A Life Unrepressed

Lighting surges through a war of disrespectful words, tears descending, wet.  In times of uncertainty, an unknown sadness is out of control, a smile, a gesture; or fear clings to a receptive body.  Words may not bring rest or smiles, the soul deep within knows.

There is no one that can unlock the heart, nothing that can be said or felt.  Thoughts, do not reveal or conceal, disguise the lack of sympathy, place blame and criticize.  Alienate the voice, if only for one moment feel free.  Fate, possession, strife, and life.

The genuine self, forced to obey, despite and un-regarded life blind to the hurt of others will embed hate eternally.  The knowledge of life fire and force, walking down a rough path; deep pain.  No spirit, hate has the power to control, nameless feelings that have conceded to a life unrepressed.  Speak and act so no one will know hidden damage floating down to the soul.

The hidden self, inward strife and following demands; in return, a thousand nothings, all-miraculously give power.   Hide in the depths of the soul; echo speaks of pain.  Lackluster eyes stare, glare, and the words unspoken deafening creating fear.  A bolt of tones, frightening, is piercing ears.

No feeling stirs, the heart laid plain, unaware of a life winding down, no meadows of flowers, no sun, no breeze, and the madness is elusive to all.  No feeling, no respite.  In quietness, the war of mocking words; the tears, the sadness. The thoughts of the sea, the crashing waves; soul and spirit sinking within its wet madness and always stay, stay, and stay.

Too late, love revealed itself in death, and the heart has nothing to say.  Living and moving in disguises, alien, until the end.  Life had nothing to possess, strife, identity.  Blind, uncertainty, life no fire or restlessness, a thirst for the mystery of it all, nameless feelings lived in vain.  The loss, the heart lay open for all to see, the hurt hidden twisted among the rubble of pain.  Yet, after all that, there is tomorrow. 

©2021.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

Visit Amazon.com to see all of authors’ books.

Doubtful Heart…#64

The world stops, time stands still, the

Universe becomes a vacuum, the heart

Pounds.  Life is unkind; memories fill

Emptiness, emotions surface into an

Unyielding mind.

The search for happiness is a story untold,

Bearable by barricading heart and soul.

Seek a reason to unlock loves door, sealed

Shut so many years before.

Why does love come so easily to have people?

Toss it away, for some it never comes to stay.

The mind tells the one left behind that they will

Survive, love will come and love will thrive.

The heart behind the wall is always trying to

Escape; waiting to be found.  The world stopped,

Time stood still, the universe becomes a vacuum

And, the heart begins to pound.

Yet, if you can remember only one unforgettable

Time, sometimes love has no reason or rhyme.  The

Clouds part, familiar stirring begins; you tell yourself

To be patient doubtful heart.

©2019.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

Books on Amazon:

On being me…#7

On Being Me…

Listen, you know who you are when I say, that when you hear the Heavens rumble with lighting, darkness and wind, remember me. 

Your heart is made of crimson stone, your soul of fire.  Destiny has set me free.  Free to be me.    The miles that we traveled on the journey to Hell, meant nothing to you, but pain and sadness for me. 

The pain of leaving did not trouble me.  True prophecy is that I must say goodbye, you only have to look at my broken mind, body and soul to know why. 

Realize that all is lost, and it is I that paid the cost.  My life was a cursed hell…no longer in your shadow; I can learn to take care of me and to be free…

It is simple; I have to be me.

~

Authors Note:  The wisdom of these words did not come quickly, it took years to cultivate a new mindset after years of living a less meaningful life.  It came with age, which is unfortunate.  We pay a lofty penalty for mistakes and we do not weigh the cost of our assumptions, we willfully pay no heed to the wealth we have in our present moments, after all the threats are gone . Throughout our lifetime, these accumulations of bad thoughts or practices build silently, and we close our minds to it, doing nothing.  We are who we are; we may never touch the fullness of our possibilities.     We believe that we know where we are going, our mind paints a calm picture, all the while we endure veiled feelings, we mostly think about the past and the future, we think of what we want. Being in touch with only the moment, this day never trying to cultivate mindfulness. Meditation has become a way of life for me; it is simply being yourself and realizes that you are on a path and direction that is always unfolding every minute, every second, and every hour of the day.  Don’t rush it let it unfold joyfully, be mindful of the pitfalls.

Love and Peace

Elizabeth

©elizabethannjohnsonmurphree


AUTHOR’S NOTE: We cannot think about the “seasons” without bringing Mother Earth into the fold.  She has served us well, beware she made not be here forever, be good to her.

AUTHORS BOOK AT AMAZON.COM
https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_4_8?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=ann+johnsonmurphree&sprefix=ann+john%2Caps%2C221&crid=RM5ALVGUNEEB