“Idle youth, enslaved to everything; by being too sensitive I have wasted my life.”

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  • finnisam 9w

    i have held back tears when pondering
    the loneliness that surrounds me
    the cords of death are surrendering
    even their wretched grip on me
    i live in stillness in the dead of night
    too tired to muster courage nor fight
    doomed to die but not yet dead
    to sorrow and madness am i wed
    i have held back tears and i weep unshed
    like a snake cursing coiling on my bed

    what did i give for this blessing
    what did i give for this curse
    is there something i am missing
    is this supposed to be worse
    where where where where where
    am i am i
    in darkness comes the echo
    in darkness the reply

  • finnisam 9w

    to the one I may never meet

    though you do not yet exist
    you have existed in so many ways —
    yours have been the lips i’ve kissed
    you have been the light of my days
    i thought once to have you written
    to have you as a part of me
    my heart was bleeding i was smitten
    in damascus — i cannot see

    i loved you but grasped you not
    nor had the courage to reach out
    so long so long ago that i forgot
    how to love you — learned how to doubt
    i wish that i had other words
    ones that would echo through you
    but i speak little — i am unheard
    and lies comfort me more than the truth

    my mind seeks to be occupied
    with things i do not know
    it is as if my heart has died
    the beats slower slower slow
    i want you to know that if i had loved you
    i would have poured my heart and my soul
    into making your happiness all things new
    into uniting us as one — making us whole


    we did not love nor can we now
    i write these words
    i don’t know how

  • finnisam 9w

    let your dreams assemble before your eyes
    sleep calling out to sleep
    let your breath voice silence in sorrowing sighs
    spoke the keeper to the sheep
    have you kept the truth afloat in the crimson streams
    that coarse through flesh and body?
    none could answer, not a note of speech, it seems
    bone of bone and flesh of flesh
    artistry rather shoddy

    speak without figures
    speak plainly they said

    you see darkly in mirrors
    you remain asleep and dead
    be born of breath and sea
    drink of my death and eat of me

    the truth will set you free

  • finnisam 11w

    He slept and yet his heart was awake,
    dreams assailed the fortress of his thoughts,
    in his heart he felt a languishing, a burning ache
    that made his soul seek for things unsought.
    His eyes looked for the object of his hurt,
    his ears tried to hear the thrumming of his pain,
    his hands dug and dug but held only dirt,
    he called out for aid, but none heard, none came.
    Running through the darkness he saw no light
    and no sounds dared echo through that abyss.
    His sight dwindled until he saw only night
    and felt nothing but the sorrow that was his.

  • finnisam 11w


    “O painter! Why do you trace with delicate skill
    upon a canvas destined to fade?
    O gardener! Why do you linger near the kill
    of a Roman soldier’s blade?
    Where have you taken the author? Where the artist?
    Where have you laid my Brother? Where the harvest?
    Do these crushed grapes yield a vintage as yet untasted?
    Upon what dust have you imprinted your many faces?”
    Thus spoke a woman of Magdala who could not voice her grief
    unto a lowly gardener who created tree and leaf.

    As tears flowed like living water down a living face
    upon the sand the gardener words began to trace,
    the weeping woman of Magdala cried out in surprise,

    The gardener merely stayed silent,
    but there was laughter in his eyes.
    He then beheld her smiling visage
    and his heart melted with love,
    that she had remained, but they had left
    to await the descending dove.

    The Magdalene was swift to move
    to make a loving embrace,
    but the gardener backed away
    and said with timeless grace,
    “Miriam! Touch me not, for I have not ascended,
    behold, fair woman of Magdala, your woes are ended!
    Weep not that you cannot hold me,
    weep not for me at all,
    for your eyes are blessed in that they see
    the reversal of the Fall.”

  • finnisam 11w

    The drugged and sleepless mind of man
    ever-reaches mightily
    across from one end of the earth
    to the ebbings of the sea,
    beyond the source of living waters,
    transcending ergo sum
    heralding death and needless slaughters,
    yet on the rivers run.

    The torn and tortured skin of earth
    once wrought mighty works
    among the children of the stars
    moulded from the formless dirt,
    plants arose like monoliths
    and trees once did abound
    upon a time of seeming bliss
    now no more to be found.

    The built and restless automatons
    proclaim a mighty sound
    and not a one sprouts any sons
    nor daughters from the ground,
    inhaling smoke, breathing out threats
    against a natural church,
    they do not pay nor forgive debts
    and onwards do they march.

    The flesh of flesh and bone of bone
    is but rusted metal now,
    the living no longer have a home
    from whence to use the plough
    upon the soil they trod and trod
    since time e’er had a name —
    In the dying garden is heard a God,
    yet no human to feel ashamed.

  • finnisam 12w

    The Son of Adam speaks:
    A single word was enough to say
    all that ever was,
    daylight sleepless became the day
    and I rose from the dust.

    My tongue was silent and could not speak,
    my hands they could not write,
    humble and lowly and broken and meek
    I made a kingly sight.
    A bruised reed I did not break,
    nor quench the smoking flax,
    my life they now did seek to take,
    but to the tree is laid the axe.

    Flame engulfed the huddled dead
    and made them all arise,
    they spoke in words that went unsaid
    and truth was in their eyes.
    First the Rock had things to say
    and from him poured living water,
    from him of dust and formed of clay
    who watched the Lamb be slaughtered
    came speech that I had put on his lips,
    the cup I drank to the dregs
    that he might strengthen his brethren
    in between sips.

  • finnisam 12w

    He spoke in sounds I did not know
    and wrote with a pen forgotten
    upon moistened clay and fallen snow
    of his nation only-begotten.
    I saw the letters but could not read
    the jagged edges of his signs,
    he clasped in his hand a single reed,
    yet words he could not find.
    He wept that I comprehended not,
    but was he not comprehending
    that I could not untie his gordian knot,
    nor make sense of his ending?
    I clutched a stone upon the Earth
    and smiled a smile he could not see,
    foretelling a wordless, feeling mirth
    that might make his prisoned thoughts free.
    There are no words for what we said
    for words there could not be —

    Both one day would lie entombed and dead
    and now their words are left to me.

  • finnisam 12w

    The Earth trembles at the new sight
    that was fast taken away
    from the harbinger of furnaced night,
    now breaks the fledgling day.
    Dawn arises as the blind returns to sightless
    a light illumining the guilty and the guiltless

  • finnisam 12w

    One knew of dreams that went undreamt
    and stifled them in sleep —
    One broke the bonds that willpower spent
    upon the care of sheep.
    One shattered the horns that sounded damnation
    and woke the dead from dreamless sleep,
    shouting across the skies, “Salvation! Salvation
    for all those the commandments would keep!”