The Millionth Prayer

In memory of where words used to be
it was easy to say exactly what was meant
now!... words evade, in the shade of unwanted actions

"For i am with you!
My rod and my staff they'll comfort you!"
Even in memory of those words
nothing changes what was done

And as i pray that millionth prayer
the feeling of guilt still hold firm
that ever present thought that remains

When words decide to form
that monologue does as well
simultaneously lessening faith as it builds

As faith begins to dwindle
that monologue grows louder
forcing hearts to believe deep wallowing

Never the less!... that prayer is said
while even  less! no gain is felt initially
just roaming questions to whom you speak

Like faith, "the evidence of things hoped for!
the substance of things not seen"
words must form to inform the word of newness

and where no blood is given
Blood was shed!
a clear voice beckons in the charcoal night

Rustling waters stir silent stares
in an orchestra of crashing cymbals
a single sigh is heard

"Forgive me! Father! Help me PLEASE!"

The LAST attempt

Once again i stand here

wishing to scream before i cry for you

in the belch of a banchie's scream

its your silence alone that deafen's me

Then and then alone i feel my bleeding ears

then and then alone i feel my gaped heart

then and then alone i feel gushing rivers of salt

then and then alone i feel i'm on my own

and for this reason i'm frozen

and for this reason i'm torn

for this very reason i'm forced to say these words as yours which went unsaid

i wished a thousand wishes that this were not so

i begged the stars to have you utter a single vowel, but nothing still

my thoughts roll storms while my heart sinks in them

these are the words of a broken man

a man who dreams of your mind married to mine to live in wholely conversation

a man who whould not only lend an ear but would mortgage it just to pay attention

once again my thoughts grow numb

with nothing left to do

a wondering soul in space amidst galaxies of your silence that haunts me

and silent you are still

though even within your eyes you speak so eloquently

keen attention as your thoughts lay structure to your internal lecture

a monologue!

one so loud that sound itself gets quite and all is heard

while nothing is said, everything is read

read in the silent code of silence

the potion served shaken not stirred

but has stirred and served one reaction

Tears that are never seen

thoughts that have never been

actions that were never screened

and still you stand silent

Within one wish for sound

as sound as the weight of your word

i'll cry loudly!

as no part of me will stay silent in rebellion to your position

i'll scream for your silence to cease

then again...

i'll scream with your silence

serve you your stir

to lure you to my pain

serve you your stir, serve you your stir

i'll serve you your stir

to aid your want for my words

while i starve for yours!

written by: Yaphet Jackman (Leonidas)

www.thoughtsoftheunheardman.blogspot.com

Tis' the season

Tis the season to be jolly

While we take the time to empty our accounts and pocket books to do so

Only few remember why they ought to be

And as we take the time to sweep the dust out of the house

and roll out the new carpet

only few take the time to clean their hearts and say “thanks! for that day you came”

you see in this season to be jolly

the folly of many appears in the blinking fairy lights, green garlands and red bows

when true love should show for the appreciation of the Christ that came to this earth

and died for our sins

instead we repay HIM with brand new curtains, a chair set and a new stove for one dollar down

tis the season to remember

to remember the real reason for the season

clean your heart and your mind

Give him your soul and he will give you a whole new life

He is the reason you’re in this season

He is the Christ in Christmas

Tis the reason to remember

That Christ is your first and every season to be jolly 

Written by: Yaphet Jackman 

Matrix Mode

Riddle me this

How dismal is the turning circle on a square?

That has no answer to bare on the surface

But has called a thought to the hair

Running tracks have no signs

Feet know how to take a turn

Bare bottoms pace their spaces

Hurdles know their tune

It’s not the down that matters

Yet it’s the journey to the “up”

 With each stage met you hold a number

One that will be called and tucked

Stand steady... flow calmly through the system

Rings wrapping, card swiping games

Where hands hold you to stop

And white legs free you to go

Read the signs!

They’re all about you...

This is not a dread locked thing

Divine conception of the heart

Tunnel vision gets you sick

Where can you go when all you find yourself doing is reading the signs?

Makes you miss all that you ought to see

The false sense of being “up there” when you’re really not

When making it to the top is all you can dream

Cause you’re lowest to the low

Stop reading the signs!

Stop being “systemized”

Snap out your trance

And after that you’ll be hearing

We! We! We! All the way home

To comb your kinks to the new beginning

From roots on end

Something about that trend that makes me sick

Make cure for me in my new verse

WAKE up! Get out the system

NY Baby

Wide itself couldn’t have missed the wanton gaze amidst their lashes

Air drew no ticket to wait in line for the next stop

Brown saw brown to clasp themselves for this time

Nothing was planned for this collision

Song birds wore coats to float on dry air That skimmed the lips of a silent tune

Retiring crickets kicked two more legs just to make the dead space alive

But why would nature peek at the 11^th hour?

Could no second wait?

Why didn’t fleeting feet trip on the cord that joined these 2

Where could the police have gone for this moment?

Sweet agony was in the air but only nature could care

Chattering teeth would ask for smoke breaks

But drew bluff as they’d face the wind every now and then

Stupid twisting and turning would make restless legs restless

When all knew what not to do but did it

Useless words

Serious faces

Observation ceremonies and pedestrian recruits

All led to the sudden moment that even new brides hadn’t a clue

Fresh breath... now nothing is said

Fresh breath... now all is thought

Fresh breath... now its happening again...NY BABY! That’s NY for you.

9-4 at 3-9

So many beginnings to one end

Which starts to form slowly

A knitted brow worms closely towards a plateau

Crumpled fingers live life again

 to hear the sound of a familiar scale

A S D F semi colon L K J

Some may have worried

Some wondering what must have gone wrong

Now time has released that slow potion asking for one last time to flow correctly

I think of changing time

With changing pleasure

Like changing season and changing suns

I think of peaking mountains

To flowing rivers

Rolling country to screaming town

I think of where i was

And who i am

Where i’m at and where I’d like to be

But none can compare to what i’ve thought

And what im thinking this is!

The flow of the pen again

I pray it doesn’t end.

Where to?

there is no peace in the shallow memory of the wandering mind

there is no depth in the skimming root that sups along the dried ground

there can be no texture in the leaves out of crumpled buds that hold no promise

there can be no color in the dreamless sky

for the sake of the seed, the tree sheds age

and for the sake of the age, the seed claims likeness

the ongoing cycle of what must be... and just what is

never to wander! only to dive! only to die! only to live!

there is no peace in the shallow memory of the wandering mind

the morn speaks no mercy

the midday says no prayers

the eve begs no reconcile

dried bare bones of "what is" and "what must be"

dried bare bones of "who is" and "who should be"

the collective of "what not" and "who not to be"

drilling the dried ground to take root to sup on "what should be..."

there is no peace in the shallow memory of the wandering mind

where stars wished to be wished upon and passes a purposeless life

when man can stand shadowless and feel more worthy of their coming hour

as birds sing no song! need less to wake to catch the creeping worm

where life is still...

and still there is no peace in the shallow memory of the wandering mind

where there is nothing to remember as we roam

nothing to learn from...

for peace

as peace

to peace

but just to wonder and wander in shallow memory that there is none to have

none at present and where none has passed

how so does that wanderer seek refuge in the tasteless wind
no seed can bare fruit in sight of him end in the grasp of water
no way can be had and all at once each is chosen
what is and what isn't! who's now and who shouldn't
where can and where couldn't the wandering mind save memory of its dawn