submitted by L. B. Fernandez, Houston, TX
This work represents the time when I was raped at 16 by a dirty grown man who pretended to be a friend and benefactor.
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One Comment to “Swallowing the Rotten Apple”
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Steven A. J. Drake says:
Dear L. B. Fernandez,
I’ve been writing lyrical poetry all day.
I had too much to drink last night.
And I said some troubling things to
my girlfriend without any way to make
amends! As time would have it for
any inspiration to come from mind
to hand. You might enjoy reading this?
I hope at least to do some good
when the bad memories rush in like
a flood. All I can do is write lyrical
poetry out the past of present time
thinking. Or creative visual artwork
For the suffering of it -blending messages-
across the desert sands S. Drake
MAYBE GOD IS FOR THE LISTENING
TO ONE MORE PRAYER
by Steven A. J. Drake
March 19, 2009
As strange as it seems.
When the emotions rise up
At times uncontrollably. -No miracles
Here- But these rivalries, nemeses
Come calling hidden behind fallen
Temptation’s sleep. That spy in the
Nights -intrusive atmosphere- in search
Of some relief’s repose out of here.
Where shadows are worn
For any name sake of law
And order prevailing to the honest truth.
However, in guise of perdition’s
Youth of childhood experience
Thrown out of windows of hope, left
To my own ability that slips off
The edge of timeless end-zones.
I drank in too much
Of the so called ambience.
Bestowed out of memory, while listening
To another one of my stolen songs
By the site of no grand piano.
Just the words being sung that echo
Through my mind once again, can’t pretend.
How long ago the suspicions of sins?
Burnt by these shackles of images I perceive
Forever without any family or friends.
Trying to rise above these impervious affairs.
No starlight in eyes closed down by this
Terrible fear. Blasting down hallways for
No bloody cheer. Maybe God Is for the
listening to one more prayer?
Copyright 2009 Steven A. J. Drake
P. S. I saw that most of us don’t have any
comments listed. So I just started writing
to others on this sight. S. Drake