Poetry These were written early in my new sobriety. I had many dark experiences to process from my past world of addiction. Poetry helped me release the darkness in my soul. I recommend writing as therapy to all.
A tall tale of white lies
Circling buzzards fill the skies.
A smoke screen before my face
Silly, Silly human race
Tantalizing bits of chaos and schemes
In my massive book of lost dreams
I search the pages all the night
To find my truth alive and bright
Restore my sight oh sacred ones
I am oppressed beneath my thumb
Fear and pain lets not forget
My tainted life poached in regret
I have worked so hard to forge these anchors
Of safe harbor and greasy cankers
Slippery slides I am bungled up
Another day another sup
Free me now from sticky glue
Then I’ll reject my savory stew
“THE MENU OF SOULS”
Be chaste lest your name be embossed on that hearty list
These menacing mud made men full of belial and lust
Fan the nations for available feed
Succumb just once to their perilous passion
In the fashion of an erroneous kiss and the hunt for your soul will begin
They come as the answer to a dream
Mending your heart as they salivate and scheme
Come to hearts home my sensual lover
I will show you earths fruit as I pull you asunder
Your sweet simple soul so unmarred and gold
Dances before them as a succulent steak they wish to devour so dance sweet soul and what of my soul’s true mate?
“LOSING A SOUL” ╪
Written by Dorothy Ruth Stirrum
As I went through my grandmother’s attic, I found a strange old journal labeled, “The Journal of Forgetting”. Its pages were yellow and empty. It drew me in with curious arousal. In my silent pain, I spun the web of forgetting.
I began to write upon the age old paper as it magically absorbed my life’s emotionally debilitating burdens. The children I have born with my soul and have lost somehow. My grief and mourning seep into the lines of the uncanny ink as I write. I recall the lovers found in bliss by my minds eyes’ sensual allure, of whom I have thrown away and displaced for causes of betrayal and the abrupt stroke of a strong swift slap. Memory soaks into the magic, accepting pages.
As my essence of pain fades, I studiously continue to inscribe my lost childhood dreams. A tear drops on the thick, yellowed paper of old it smolders and disappears. I recant the love I so innocently presented to those I perceived as lovingly, responsible. I remember that I was only a waif to them as they strongly crushed my world with selfish blows of abuse. The page is full. I watch as the ancient journal, without my hand, turns itself to the next page. It is as if crystal lights are dancing on the book as it draws light from faded sun. Is there more? Must I forget all my painful memories to be at peace? I guard my pen.
Curiously and cautiously, I turned to the back of the book. In small print of blood, the words appeared “Stealing a Soul: Volume 27″. I gasped! Subtly and seductively, this magic book of relief would supernaturally steal my God breathed life. Painful memories, though some may be, they made me a grand member of humanity. The tragedies made me who I am today by the choices I made in spite of yesterday. I realized that if dealt with by expression and acceptance, these burdens forge in me the very character that makes men faithful, understanding and wise.
I left the book behind for those who may choose not to experience life and truth in its full color spectrum. Or perhaps this book of illusion will lure another in to awaken to life! For by accepting what I wrote in that journal, I had accepted myself.
Well perhaps these old poems of mine were partly prophecy showing examples of the KJV supernatural bible changes. Soul Hunting is now scriptural.
RIDICULOUS SCRIPTURE (NEW Mandela Effected at best)