Rubble of Pain…#176

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A Poem

Rubble of Pain…#176

Light flows through our war of disrespectful words, tears fall, cheeks wet. In these times of uncertainty an unknown sadness rolls over us, we smile, we jest, yet, there is a fear clinging within my breast. Your words do not bring me rest, or smiles, you give me your hand and hush for a while. Let me read your soul deep within your lucid eyes, a mind filled with disapproval.

There is no one now that can unlock my heart, nothing that can be said or felt. Your thoughts, did not reveal or conceal, or disguise your lack of sympathy, place blame and criticize. You became alien to me, yet you would not allow my heart, our voice, if only for one moment to be free. Fate, you felt possession, you poured out your strife like a muddy river, never to change.

You have no genuine self, you force to obey, despite and un-regarded for life you could not see, you were blind with doubt it was eternally. The knowledge of our life buried, fire and force, walking down the rough path; deep pain always mine. You had no spirit, only power to control, nameless feelings that course through my hurting breast, a life unrepressed. I speak and act so no one will know hidden burses down to the soul.

My hidden self, there are those that see you as charming and kind, this is not true! Inward I strive and follow demands; in return, a thousand nothings by the hour, all miraculous compensate your power.   I am numb, yet I answer your call, from time to time I hid in the depths of my soul; my voice a floating unheard echo conveys pain. Your jaded eyes stare, glare, I read the words unspoken deafening creating fear. A bolt of tones, frightening, is piercing my ears.

No feeling stirs, the heart lies plain, you never became aware of a life winding down, you see no meadows of flowers, no sun, no breeze, and your madness is elusive to all the rest. There is no feeling there is no respite. The calm that I never knew, the mountains that my mind did climb; our war of mocking words; I held back the tears, the sadness, I wish that I lived by the sea where I could lose myself in the crashing waves; anything but here, my soul and spirit want to sink within its madness and always stay, stay, stay.

It was too late, your love came revealed in death, and my heart has nothing to say. You lived and moved in disguises, alien to all but yourself, there was no heart beating in your human breast, until the end. In life what did you truly possess, your own strife, your identity; the river of our life unclear flowed its way. I lived in blind uncertainty, life for me buried from the day we met, no fire or restlessness, just a thirst for the mystery of it all, nameless feelings lived in vain. The loss, my heart lay open for all to see, the hurt hidden twisted among the rubble of pain.

 

 

©elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

 

Author’s books at Amazon.com

 

https://www.amazon.com/Flying-Broken-Wings-Charlotte-Murphree/dp/1547051329/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=elizabeth+ann+johnson-murphree&qid=1586107137&sr=8-1

 

https://www.amazon.com/Cherished-Memories-Life-Mason-Murphree/dp/1722763744/ref=sr_1_2?dchild=1&keywords=elizabeth+ann+johnson-murphree&qid=1586107373&sr=8-2

 

https://www.amazon.com/Passage-into-Madness-Frenzied-Activity/dp/1688948996/ref=sr_1_3?dchild=1&keywords=elizabeth+ann+johnson-murphree&qid=1586107529&s=books&sr=1-3

 

https://www.amazon.com/Fragments-Time-Bits-Pieces-lived/dp/1981472142/ref=sr_1_4?dchild=1&keywords=elizabeth+ann+johnson-murphree&qid=1586107558&s=books&sr=1-4

 

https://www.amazon.com/Rhythm-Rhyme-Thoughts-decade-poetry/dp/1723433055/ref=sr_1_5?dchild=1&keywords=elizabeth+ann+johnson-murphree&qid=1586107582&s=books&sr=1-5

 

https://www.amazon.com/Echoing-Images-Soul-Journey-into/dp/1500366811/ref=sr_1_fkmr0_1?dchild=1&keywords=elizabeth+ann+johnson-murphree&qid=1586107627&s=books&sr=1-1-fkmr0

 

https://www.amazon.com/Journey-into-Art-Johnson-Murphree-2014-07-28/dp/B019NRG4YG/ref=sr_1_fkmr0_2?dchild=1&keywords=elizabeth+ann+johnson-murphree&qid=1586107665&s=books&sr=1-2-fkmr0

 

https://www.amazon.com/Honeysuckle-Memories-Ann-Johnson-murphree-2014-07-02/dp/B019L4LL1W/ref=sr_1_fkmr1_1?dchild=1&keywords=elizabeth+ann+johnson-murphree&qid=1586107698&s=books&sr=1-1-fkmr1

 

https://www.amazon.com/Reflections-Poetry-Ann-Johnson-Murphree-2014-06-20/dp/B01A0CW1FO/ref=sr_1_fkmr1_2?dchild=1&keywords=elizabeth+ann+johnson-murphree&qid=1586107724&s=books&sr=1-2-fkmr1

Civil Casualties…#97

 

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Civil Casualties…

The homeless cannot sleep on cold nights,

they gather around a burning barrel, men,

women and children, forgotten, shattered

and despised. In the distance, a baby cries.

Begging for food, living on the streets, no

jobs, family no longer sound.

 
Government talks end up in contradictions,

massive poverty is the prediction. The spirit

freezes, fruit of labors rot, life squeezes and

struggles persist. Bad luck smothering heart

and soul, hope ceases to exist.

 
Shifting winds turn into storms, will the world

grow wiser or beaten back into servility? Trust

departed, a cardboard box in the streets is

where the homeless make their beds, hope

disappears and the future appears dead.

 

©2019.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

 

Authors books at Amazon.com and Barnes&Noble.com $.99 to $15:

 

https://www.amazon.com/s?k=elizabeth+ann+johnson-murphree&i=stripbooks&crid=2BGV3NKK8VSOQ&sprefix=elizabeht+ann+johnson%2Caps%2C213&ref=nb_sb_ss_sc_1_18

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/elizabeth%20ann%20johnson%20murphree

Anger and Sadness…#88

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Anger and Sadness
Doubt and despair, there is no end, life comes and goes, and no one knows

how it will end. My child’s pure light flickering then silenced; no longer with

us our angel delight.

Words like a blade thirsting for blood, I could not save her with a mother’s

love. The day over, my heart ripped from my bosom tossed into the night,

with the sunrise your soul took flight.

God let me see you blossom, he let me see you grow; when he wanted you

back know one would know. Anger and sadness cloak me, I will never be

free, my child is gone and with it, I watched my happiness flee.

 

©2019.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

 

Books available on Amazon.com
https://www.amazon.com/s?k=elizabeth+ann+johnson-murphree&i=stripbooks&crid=2BGV3NKK8VSOQ&sprefix=elizabeht+ann+johnson%2Caps%2C213&ref=nb_sb_ss_sc_1_18

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/elizabeth%20ann%20johnson%20murphree

11th                                                        Cover Artwork by Author

Beyond the Voices

 

Benevolent Memories

I have enough memories from the past to last me for the rest of my life. My bountiful memory will not bury them from which they were born.

A small country church, a chorus of crows; the splashing sounds of the brook running through the Birch trees. The wind caressing the colossal row of Oaks in the field.

Death, a road away from the weathered house of worship, followed by black feathered angels. No longer will the water beneath the Birch cool, nor will the winds surrounding the Oaks embrace flesh.

The rocker on the porch is stilled, no hand waves goodbye. In a cobwebbed corner of the room, the sun shines through a cloudy window, as the image of tattered curtains dance in a nearby mirror. Childhood is dead.

 

 

 

My Place of Reality…#82


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My Place of Reality…

 

I have spoke of horrifying things, are these

words built from understanding? I am neither

a coward nor a saint, my thoughts are clear,

my plan open to change. There are times when

I live in that “Outer Place”, where no one can

get to me, where no one knows me, where I will

not be bothered by human drama.
There is no place that I can flee; I fear I was born

too early or maybe too late. At night I dream of

Heaven, traveling from star to star. Do I have a

wish in that dark realm… yes, there looking toward

Earth I see the creation. Heaven was not open to me,

nor was Hell; the dream, the darkness of night, mine

was a strange descent into my place of reality.
Within the dream of reality I search for truth,

following a dark stream to the bottom of the

sea, and it is there that I find a blessed place to

dwell. The place that I dwell is not for the faint

hearted, it is on this path that I find true worth,

and within time I may find the creative divine

entity that I may follow. There are no more

delays to this life. I must travel forward on this

hard and dreadful way of learning life’s lessons,

before I return home.

 

©2019.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

 

https://www.amazon.com/s?k=elizabeth+ann+johnson-murphree&i=stripbooks&crid=2BGV3NKK8VSOQ&sprefix=elizabeht+ann+johnson%2Caps%2C213&ref=nb_sb_ss_sc_1_18

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/elizabeth%20ann%20johnson%20murphree

 

 

 

A Sheepherders Life…#76

As a writer I love to take writing prompts and create short-short stories, the words for this creation…Sheepherders, Grass, Gypsy, Father, Heaven.  Sometimes they come easy other times difficult.

sheepherders

A Sheepherder’s Life

 
On a dark hillside, the sheepherders and dogs are tired, their long day is over and they are ready for the warmth of the fire. No bleating, cries of from wandering wolves, all is at rest; there is a shimmering moon and bright stars, their roof is Heaven and their beds the earth. The sheepherder’s whisper of the day and what will come tomorrow, they speak of past happiness and sorrow.

They talk of keeping the wolves away on this warm summer night when hours of darkness will cover the land. They watch the sparks from their fire ascend into the purple night. Tomorrow they will have to move to a new meadow or hillside, the grass where they lay is only roots. They smoke their pipes and talk of gypsy-lore, the sheep, the dogs and herding, a gift from God. This was their father’s life, now it’s their life.

©2019.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

 

Flying with Broken Wings at Amazon.com – Barnes & Noble.com

 

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/elizabeth%20ann%20johnson%20murphree

 

https://www.amazon.com/s?k=elizabeth+ann+johnson-murphree&i=stripbooks&crid=10BY5C00CJX55&sprefix=elizabeth+ann%2Caps%2C179&ref=nb_sb_ss_i_4_13

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Flying with Broken Wings is about the life of Charlotte Jean Murphree. Charlotte was not a famous person, in fact, not too many people knew her, but those that did knew there were many facets to her life. the book tells of fifty-two-years of daily testing of her will to carry on and the misfortune she faced. As a baby and young girl she was made fun of by schoolchildren, her progress was slow but she never gave up the fight to overcome her disabilities. As an adult, she fought Cerebral Palsy, Living with Bipolar, Depression and Schizophrenia disorders. Charlotte lived not only with herself but she endured the “Voices” that lived within her for over thirty years. This book is about her beginning, her middle and the end of her life.

What the Voices took from Me…#63

Charlotte Jean Murphree July 13, 1958-July 21, 2010

You left the world to early, free from a life that

Left you filled with doubt.  You lived the lives of

Many, the voices, always hoping just to be one,

You.

I now wait for that spark from heaven, I willed

You not to go, God did not agree.  Was your life

Fulfilled in such a short time, will I ever know?

You had beginnings, disappointments, new starts,

You worried about tomorrow, unable to feel

Happiness in what you accomplished today.

I suffer your being gone, sadness wretches my days,

The glow died there was no hope.  It seems like one

Long unhappy dream.

Roaming within my mind, I walk the fields of your

Life.  A time of clouded joy, then time was blown

Away.

Born in innocence, fresh, life clear, before the voices

Took over, bringing fear.  I could not help you in your

Solitude while you nursed your unconquerable fears.

As the moonlight pales, I yearn for lost years, before

The mental strife.  Before the voices took over your life.

It was after sunset that you died, a void that cannot

Be filled, you will never grow old.  I miss your smiles,

Your red tresses flowing down your back, your light will

Always shine; your radiance will never fade.

Sleep my child in eternal rest…

© elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

Lost Little Girl…#62

Lost Little Girl

I do not know if you are alive or dead.

I see your face your voice never

Forgotten.

The sun does not rise in the morning, nor

Fade into the west without a thought of you.

I mourn, nights are sleepless and morning

Eyes fill with fire.

No one more cherished, more loved, my

Heart bears scars of torture.  Where are you

My lost little girl?

©elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

Debris…#38

Within the soul emotions abound, both fear and truths stored out of sight behind invisible doors.  Filtering the mind is the only way; it may stop the possibility of getting lost in the fog of yesterday.

Clear the mind and soul of clutter, congestion and conflict; free it, keeping such thoughts will create an existence into which one will be doomed.  Knowing self-value is the first step for the soul to hear freedoms call; living in the “now” is the only way to tear down internal prison walls.

Love and Peace

Elizabeth

©2019.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree