Towards the Light

I choose to walk
towards the light,
so that shadowy figure
and my dark side unite.
They bite at my heels
in the hope I will feel
some cold feet,
lose my will and backslide
in retreat.
-HymnAgen

Overcoming

Overcoming

I was trained to swallow my pain 

instead of my pride. 

To hide any hurt I have ever felt inside.

Be nonchalant whenever I have

been denied the things I want,

and have this air of "I don't even care" 

around me.

The pen has helped me deal 

with what I feel and been a valve

to vent the pressures I've concealed

within and soothe my wounds like salve...

But I found a better medicine

the day I chose to let her in

and close the gash that bled within

for nearly 30 years.

I feel better than I've ever been. 

A post traumatic veteran 

relearning it's ok for me to share.

-HymnAgen

The Lost Ones

The Lost Ones

There is a place

between Heaven and Hell

where some human hearts dwell,

where neither anger nor joy is felt.

There is no passion.

There is no neglect or interaction.

You don’t know where you stand

because you’re always on shifting sand.

You’re neither sure footed nor collapsing

under the weight of your own thoughts.

You’re just trapped.

Seemingly caught

in a net of your own making.

You just want to feel –

to know the hopes

your parents sold you are real

and attainable, and not just fables

and fairy tales.

You don’t know hatred or love.

You just know numbness

as if you’d been drugged

with a powerful anesthesia.

You are the walking dead

lost inside your own empty heart and head

wondering why you ever said,

“I do.”

-HymnAgen

Little Pieces

Little Pieces

A million
little pieces... 
Scattered
as if shattered
by the hammer
of her bluntness.
"I don't want this
anymore."
The purity
of her surety
an echo
that endures...
bouncing
in the hollows
between my lungs.
-HymnAgen

Two, Afraid

Two, Afraid

I am

a dichotomy -

a prose writer
who struggles

with honesty.

I push
and I pull
betwixt light
and dark –

tug of war
between spilling
and hiding
my heart.

My affliction
is omission.

I withhold.

Cannot relinquish
all the contents
of my

conflicted

soul.

So I mete them
like rations.

Austere
with my passions.

Frugal
with expression

as with ink.

Too concerned
with what
prospective readers
think.

‘Though
in the blink
of an eye,

thoughts
I do not supply
might have saved
a tortured soul
from the brink
of a precipice…

calling them back
from the edge
by feeling

they are not alone,

but my selfishness
won’t let them
into my dome –

allowing them
to teeter

because I’m too afraid
to allow any one
reader

to see

everything

that

I am…

a dichotomy –

a prose writer
who struggles

with honesty.

I withhold.

- HymnAgen

Loss

SEASONS

 (A Black Poetry Cafe Challenge)

Redemption

Share on Tumblr

No Brakes

Share on Tumblr

Rebuilding Black

Share on Tumblr

Best Wishes

Share on Tumblr

Path to Resolution

lr

Do Us Part

Share on Tumblr

CorrLinks

Share on Tumblr

I Am The Beholder

Share on Tumblr

Bitter Fruit

Share on Tumblr

Supernova

Share on Tumblr

Misunderstood

Misunderstood

We are not necessarily shy.

Not necessarily timid.

Not collectively antisocial,

although our engagement

does have its limits.

Our small talk inept,

yet in topics of heft

we effervesce

with insightful opinions.

Those like-minded souls

be our minions.

The side line is our dominion.

Where large numbers congregate

we feel the pull and coagulate.

Gravitating despite being strangers.

We are not necessarily shy.

We are introverts.

-HymnAgen

Share on Tumblr

Weight Loss

Share on Tumblr

Well Placed Kisses

Share on Tumblr