I was sad as a child

I didn't wanna go on living

As a teen I was real rowdy and wild

I was far beyond driven

My mamma didn't take it mild

All the pain she was given

After the night my heart was styled

To my mamma I just wouldn't listen

Cards against me stacked and piled

Due to not having any kind of vision

Insanity was the case to be filed

It was hard for my momma to make that decision

At the age of fifteen

I hit the roads grit and grime

I wanted to see those sights unseen

Even if it meant commiting a crime

I set out to do those things unclean

It was hard for me to make a dime

I wasn't fit for the the in-scene

So I ran with the worst of slime

Begging for bread like a machine

Hustling anyone who'd give me the time

This was to become my daily routine

My never ending mountain to climb

I made my way home

After livin' six years on the run

All over the country I spent time to roam

My soul felt as though it weighed a ton

So I let a head doctor mess with my dome

I wanted to make sense of all I've seen and done

I let the doctor know I was struck by the moon during the peak of its gloam

I let the doctor know the pain I felt while missing the rays of the sun

The doctor went over the case with a fine tooth comb

He found me to be a lunatic that should never own a gun

Together we set out to put some meaning and rhyme to a fatal poem

Sad to say the doctor and I didn't always see as one

Time and again

I went back on the road

To live a life burdened with sin

On my mind spirits have tugged and towed

Sending my head for a spin

After all the bad seed I've sow'd

When it comes to my confession I don't know where to begin

I ramble on to loosen the load

Knowing by my lifestyle I'm cutting it thin

Leaving me with no ground to hold

When it comes to being like my kin

And keeping a heart of gold

Listen to A Heart Made Of Gold 03.06.2023_2308PM_1_1_1_1.aac by J.Wiggy on #SoundCloud

https://on.soundcloud.com/hPyo4

Mystery's

brought about

by knowledge

from a long

time past

gained from

insane diligence

In findin' answers

to Earth bound

secrets left

to be

Camouflaged

while fallin'

from well

wheathered lips

Like a code

to be discovered

The Information

drops from

the tongue

of the

heavenly divine

Keepin' things

From becomin'

Cryptic

Peculiar prayers

reachin' above

to the Heavens

engraved on

ancient hinged

tablets linked

together in

threes written

on by the way of a

supernatural stylus

this is the

design of

Holy prayers

painted in three

separate pictures

that can

be seen

closely nit

together

as one

appearin'

to be so

very tryptych

A battle front

inside the

head of

the innoscent

livin' amongst

the guilty dead

A battle to be

thrown under

the shade of

sun not

givin' off

it's blindin'

light due

to bein'

blocked by a

blood red moon

makin' the battle

of the righteous

less volatile

less vile

makin' the

battle appear

to be no

more than

ecliptic

The Holy watch

as the war

of all wars

The war with

Heaven known

as the final battle

of Armageddon

The war to bring

fire down from

above wags its

prideful flag

by rearin'

it's ugly head

The Holy

know the

Earths reserved

for fire

bringin' fourth

weepin' along

with lamentations

from royal

courts above

in return

for the manifestations

of a New Earth

of a New Heaven

as seen through

the revelations

of those

who chose

to view things

through eyes

known as

apocalyptic

Hello, Writers and Dear Readers.

Today, we feature another talent with a nice, sharp edge. See the author tag in the comment below.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MNOHbyybh50

And, as always...........

Thank you for being here.

-The Prose. team.

on the other end of a camera lens,

sweetly sitting

or framed in curtains and flowing silk

like raindrops down your body,

flow to the floor, and

gaze upon the other side.

so, too, are the whispers,

like gentle paintstrokes

across your collarbone

they sit in the light, they all do,

with those glittering ceilings arching

like heavenly eyebrows above,

and lanterns dipping down like

hands to feed them light

cracked tile under their feet,

to tie up their skirts or their tongues,

and doorways upon doorways,

a maze of open rooms

flit like a bird

sit still and pout

look straight ahead

fill their souls

or be forgotten

immortalized on their walls,

displayed and beautiful and ornate.

more than just you, but

becoming the eye: the place for the eye to wander,

to sink its teeth in and pretend to know you

on the other end of the camera lens,

knowing or unknowing

and becoming a moment in the past

for someone in the future.

a grand illusion--

living your life in shreds

(forgetting one moment to the next)

waking up from a dream

so visceral you can

barely breathe.

and facing the faces

that you can't see--

can't quite remember

(blurred into memories weak with time)

smelling salts, perhaps

for the next time you

fall asleep, because this

time you might not wake.

might fall so fast into

the dream that you don't

remember why it is you

need to open your eyes at all.

(or else wake on shaking legs

with ice-lidded eyes and the

hazy feeling that there's something

you're supposed to get back to--

something forgotten,

or only just remembered?--

a grand illusion?--

leaving you questioning,

your life in shreds.)

It all feels heavy, all at once;

It comes and goes, but lately it stays a bit longer.

The fear of the unfamiliar dawns on me,

I am scared to face these infant days.

I relapse into what feels the most customary-

A small flower cup you gave me,

cradled in my hands;

One of the only things I have left of you.

Not every poem is about you, but this one is.

There are things I'd love to tell you-

How discouraging it felt to have

a job I thought I wanted, to think it would fix it all-

But it didn't. And how even my

successes feel like failures most days.

I'd love to tell you I got a promotion

At the job I only just started;

I changed rooms- I have sunlight every morning.

If we were still friends, I'd tell you about

The things I hated, things I don't hate anymore.

The taste of alcohol, sushi, coffee in the mornings.

I'd tell you about the sunroof in my car,

The tattoo that no one knows about.

I'd tell you I still love you, not knowing if I mean it.

I can't tell if I miss you or if I just miss

the feeling of not being a stranger to someone.

I don't want to fit in

With the mighty

And the small people

I don't want to fit in

With the pretty

And the ugly people

I don't want to fit in

With the happy

And the sad people

I don't want to fit in

With the privileged

And the poor people

I don't want to fit in

With the loners

And the famous people

I don't want to fit in

With the norms

And the inherited rules

Heard, unheard

Seen, unseen

Deserved, underserved

I don't want to fit in

With the hellish

And the paradise people

I don't to want fit in

I want to hold that space

In between

I don't want to fit in

I want to fade into that space

Between heaven and beyond

I don't want to fit in

I want to be

Like I never existed

I don't want to fit in

I want to go home

Where none of us ever happened.

The great lakes would swallow you,

the ocean not know you're there.

The Finger Lakes will cradle

and expand your life, and share.

Water a mile across.

Water an hour long.

Water white-capped in the wind

and glass at night when it's gone.

Stand beside it with some wine;

drink its bounty deep.

Smell and gaze and hear and taste.

Feel its breadth, then sleep.

Writers block can be a real pain, however, inspiration is all around us. be it from a movie, an event that took place in your neighborhood. But manly I use music. For every intense or loving scene I try to use music that will best describe what I am trying to put out. I listen to the song on repeat until I feel I have successfully written the scene.