Nostalgic Man
I have faint memories of what the world I live in use to be. Now the world is a faint memory of what I use to be. I remember the faint cries I use to cry behind those walls, when there was no one there to see the misery I had inside.
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Nostalgic sense of reality, is what my faith is based on, the trust that I have is based on the past transgressions my life is built upon. When you cry tears of pain, and no one is there to wipe those tears away, no one but the ones that love you the most like mothers, brothers and sisters. Those tears will harden the softest of any heart, and lock pain in places that not even a strong rain can wash away.
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I can remember days that I use to pray that my brother make it back home, and I prayed that the demons of the night wouldn't take him away from this world and leave him a lost soul. I spent timeless nights praying that my younger brother would be in a state of mind where he would not need to be, stuck in a place where people uncaring could not see the person that reside. Not know that his pain is unknown and our selfish heart will never know, what his mind is thinking of, when our simplicity in faith leaves us in the unknown.
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I prayed that God would bless my mother, so after all the years of tribulations she would not have to struggle and the setbacks of the past would stay just that, in so she rise, in so she rise. Â I prayed that God would bless the footsteps of my little sister, she is so special, she is confirmation there is a presence of a higher power somewhere in the heavens.
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Now with these faint memories I remember God lessons. He said to me. “My son you have to be strong and faithful to whom you are, you will be the world’s blessing and no weapon formed on this earth will get in the way of these blessingsâ€. So as I walk these lonely streets physically alone, I understand that within my body is each one of the loves of my soul. I now understand if the people I love continue to love me the same. Then In reality I am never alone, the lonesome days and nights are only a figment of my dreams. Then I know when I wake up I will be a faint few miles away from the home where I should be.
sttulove
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Nostalgic Man
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2b2b2 says: OUTSTANDING Share....thanks....ONE |
OTHER POEMS WRITTEN BY sttulove
Nostalgic ManNostalgic Man I have faint memories of what the world I live in use to be. Now the world is a faint memory of what I use to be. I remember the faint cries I use to cry behind those walls, when there was no one there to see the misery I had inside. Â Nostalgic sense of reality, is what my faith is based on, the trust that I have is based on the past transgressions my life is built upon. When you cry tears of pain, and no one is there to wipe those tears away, no one but the ones that love you the most like mothers, brothers and sisters. Those tears will harden the softest of any heart, and lock pain in places that not even a strong rain can wash away. Â I can remember days that I use to pray that my brother make it back home, and I prayed that the demons of the night wouldn't take him away from this world and leave him a lost soul. I spent timeless nights praying that my younger brother would be in a state of mind where he would not need to be, stuck in a place w...  |
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Ghetto Dreamshetto Dreams  They say the sun don't shine in the ghetto. Not in a place full of corruption and so much greed. A place where the rain never stops and the people live on empty dreams. The ghetto is the site of so many tragic events that has led to so much pain. The ghetto is the places where so many mothers and fathers that have trapped their kids in a place that is so close to their graves. Only to travel alongside their baby that is destined to leave the ghetto one way or another.  The boys in the hood travel that mystical pipeline from crayons and chocolate milk to handcuffs and jailhouse food .The situation that they encounter then in turn leads to broken homes and families that lose faith when they are forced to live without their only family jewel. The children are swept away into either graveyards or penitentiary gates. Still the ghetto produces so many young kings and queens only to be locked away into the dungeons of their own kingdoms, or to be persecute... |