Powerless No More

We sat beneath summer skies
relaxed
when you began to spin.
I was not open enough.
I only gave hints
otherwise
I hid it all away.
My past is ugly
my scars
braided across my wrist
soul hammered
beaten
cross to bear
but you promised.
‘Talk to me.
Tell me true.
I swear to you…..
I will not leave…..
I will not let you down
like others before me.
I opened up
telling you the horrors
the fears
the pain
how everyone always walk away.
You vowed you were not the same.
I was a fool.
I believed your pretty words.
I should have known…..
When it sounds too good to be true…..
it is too good to be true.
You duped me.
You pulled me in.
You are a fucking ass.
Yet under my skin
you remain
an ache that won’t subside.
Some days I still love you.
Other days I hate.
Satin tears
drowning my cheeks
you call me a fool
a puppy
a sulking bitch
how could I do this to you?
How could I do what?
Feel?
Open?
Believe the words you have spoken?
Shred my heart
stomp on my reserves
this baby girl
is no longer on her knees.
I am taking my power back.
January 19/19
Photo by Josh Rocklage on Unsplash
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**I submitted two poems to The New Yorker. This is one of the two. I obviously was rejected but I can say with pride I was rejected by The New Yorker.***
There is an evil rot within
leaching from the heart
any illusion
that there remains some good.
Time and time again
it has been proven
that society has become doomed
trading away
ethics
morals
basic humanity.
Twisting and subverting
with each falsehood told
embraced
with zeal
religious fevor
becoming the very demon
decried as the enemy.
We have failed.
We have lost our way.
One by one
we have been corrupted
by lies
by slight of hand
and the tears that are wept
fall between the cracks
in this desert land.
©Feb. 23/18
Photo by Jason Leung on Unsplash

Never Free

There are these thoughts

thoughts that float around

I have no control over them

I have no ability to chase them away

I am held captive

in my own head.

These voices are vicious

once talons have hooked my soul

they come for me

telling me

I have no worth

I have no power

I have no chance

I have nothing.

Striving to return to sanity

to blanket

to silence

the voices in my head

resigned acceptance

they will only retreat

returning always

chiseling away at fragile ego

I shall never be free.

 

 

Blighted

Blackness roils across the land

encompassing fields and crops

a blight unlike any before seen

man made and let loose.

Flesh falls from bones

flashes of shadows burst free

death comes to all who are near

without playing favorites

without discerning wealth.

Never would you think so cruel

that the riches already had

are not enough

that they would make you forfeit your lands.

No longer are monies counted

abundant…..

enough…..

a body count

ferocious rage

decimating all

is the new measure of power.

 

 

 

History Repeats

Pails of gold

filled with

silver of the sheep

counted with

fingers tinted green

with greed

with madness.

Voices raised

passion made

‘hear me and obey’

struggling out

from heavy hand

roaring with rage.

Emphatically

denounce the tyrants

fists raised

statements made

never to be blind again.

Photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash

 

 

Blackhearted

Mirror Mirror on the Wall
who is the fairest of them all?
Black is her heart
corrupt lies on her lips
she taunts
she tantalizes
she will bury you in the crypt.
Never bothering to learn a thing
she built an empire
on cheap promises
on broken desires
on the backs of those
she holds in contempt.
With ebon hair piled high
startling saphire eyes
carmine lips ready to kiss
this witch laughs at all.
Mirror Mirror on the Wall
who is the wickedest of them all?
Learned at the knees of a King
brutal
abusive
not love and fairness.
Icy tears freeze on her cheeks
as she looks over it all
fires burn
men have spurned
her kingdom for their own.
Battering rams
evil intent
just as she was taught
no matter how fair
no matter how wicked
women never come out on top.
©Jay-lyn Doerksen
June 19/18
Picture via:  Photo by Ali Marel on Unsplash

Devil’s Playground

Brick by brick
a wall is built
not to keep others out
but to wall in the elite.
They hold the reins
making laws that rape
deciding who can and cannot be
taking away choices
playing God
but in reality….
The Devil is in the details
take a look around
it seems to me
The Devil is winning
He has the playground.
Tempted with power
showered in glory
too late will those
who say they are right
realize they opened the door
that let Him stalk right in.
Do not cry
when we watch their world crumble
when the power they claim
wrenched with fear
from the hands of the people
is torn viciously away.
We shall see the desperation of men
and women too
clawing and scrabbling
to remain on top.
A time will come…..
The Devil will call in his dues
and the gates of Hell
will teem with so many new.
©Jay-lyn Doerksen
June 12/18