Tortured
souls I know all too well
Hell,
I am one of them—
Melancholy
to the core.
If
you only knew the pain I’ve borne
You’d
know my need to write these poems.
Yet,
as it stands, so do I
With
ink stained pages
These
think pained sages
Chronicle
my journey from despair
To
joy and everywhere in between
On
an eternal search for destiny
A
quest that leaves me wanting—
Haunted
by the memories.
These
are the psalms of my hands
Testaments
of broken dreams and broken hearts
Unspoken
things that once captured me
‘Til
I was freed by these words
These
are the psalms of my hands
Mentions
of redemptions from sensations
Temptations,
degradations, and toxic relation-ships
From
the pen to my lips
These
are the psalms of my hands
Unleashed
with a purpose to disperse
Dispel
and compel those things back to hell
So,
listen well and take it in
These
are the psalms of my hands
And
with open palms, I demand that you stop
Hear
me, no need to fear me,
Just
join me on this journey of life.
As
I share what I write and narrate a story
Of
hope and healing
And
every feeling that led me there
Through
these, the psalms of my hands.
No comments:
Post a Comment