✝ ✝ ✝ ✝ ✝ ✝ ✝

Raw emotion, an open wound

sore to touch and feeling

that time has drawn a veil

or laid a skin and caused the sounds

to mutter inaudible and blurred

by bright light and anger

✝ ✝ ✝

An anguish that looks, enquires –

Questions raised against a dark backdrop

a curtain of certainty within the …

Theatre of the Abused

where patient hands tend

the broken and bloodied

and patient people listen

to sordid tales true

and set moist with tears

or wet and daubed in blood

✝ ✝ ✝

The searching lights that probe

outline many failing thoughts

where children’s laughter once would be

but now lost in the grey

or faint in hope or sense

they wait for the water cold to stir

and a new light to invade their memories

✝ ✝ ✝

If sad we must be

then sad and mourn we

with the cold night wind

that frail flesh that gave its heat in dark despair

No truth can sooth the marvelous mind of reason

so teased by fate and the chance of evil’s choice

or drawn and limp on the wheel of human pain

✝ ✝ ✝

Only personalities special touch

can sense or divine healing medicine

to calm the tortured night

The warm, tropic breeze of feeling light

a gaze, embrace, a kissed poultice

pressed and moistened by summer sun

and evening dew which lays heavy

on the brow of many dazed and wounded

✝ ✝ ✝

Only personality, which loved and needed

takes the broken bones so brittle

and in small moments warms the embers

to fire and spit the energy

back into emotions corpse

To confront the taped, stored scars

which lay in steel cold drums

in damp, forgotten basement places

labelled by a system even faded, lost

as never meant to use or aid the bearer

✝ ✝ ✝

Personality speaks a language so rare

we have heard it only in a distant dream

where soft words engage our earliest memories

to instruct us and enlighten

This world a bigger place where part

of universal chemistry we once stepped

unfettered by any sadness

the decreasing skyline offers

the earth’s choice, singular, selfish, insular and divisive

✝ ✝ ✝

We born of personality – a person!

we born of sense, reason and love – a living person!

 ❋ ❋ ❋ 

and Baladin only weary, turns slowly in his sleep


written byedenbray 2.10.1991 edited 19.02.2012 

✝ ✝ ✝

Flip,Flop,Fly~BigJoeTurneron YouTube1xH31pxy_k0butDontForget ToComeBackNow

YouTube wont let me embed this VIDEO in my post so I have to show it like this – if you would care to watch my choice please visit edenbray again – thank you!


About edenbray

I've always enjoyed writing and thats all I want to do... .. . I’m not sure why I stopped writing, was it 9/11? .. . Eden Bray is born ugly, wet and covered in blood, mucous and bodily functions. The effluence of my short life .. . I'm a Writer and Artist - since 1966, now a Blogger ~ I write lots of poems, written essays, articles, reviews, opinion + comment .. . please join the shebang but more importantly please leave me a marker with a comment for my ego and my encouragement :- thanks, edenbray
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