The Voices

 

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Photo Credit: stjohnsguttenberg.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The voices are back!
I mean they never really left
They never do

They want me to die
So they can live
Kill the poet
Let him bleed his last ink
Call it poetic justice

I suppose I deserve it
My music is too out of tune
My dance is too out of rhythm
Walking on gravity
And frustrating inertia
I am loving the unlovable
Teaching the unteachable
Being the unbeable
I guess I must be stopped
I am making dreaming wantable

The voices…
They say I cannot be this person
But I am nothing
And something
And everything
All at once
I am possible
Because I was made so
My Father wrote me into existence
On the parchment of eternity
He wrote me this way

That scares them
The voices
They cannot understand
How I can pray for them
When they pierce my side with a spear

They do not believe
But I do not blame them
They need to be here
So I can be here too
They need to doubt
So I can believe
They need to fight me
So I can be a conqueror

These voices are not going anywhere
But no matter
They make me better

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Published by: Akyempo

i met the Priest...i realised that though society seems to respect the baker and despise the shepherd, the baker is not happy despite his stability and the shepherd is free to pursue the pyramids, because he is a dreamer; and one day he will meet Fatima. I am the boy; the shepherd.

4 Comments

4 thoughts on “The Voices”

  1. “They cannot understand
    How I can pray for them”
    Thank you for this, Akyempo. Sometimes it’s easy to accept our idea of who God is and of what He can do and what He’s most interested in than simply sticking to Who He is. His own version of Himself. I absolutely love that line about praying for the voices, the very things fighting against you. It’s a rare trait, that one. Seeing something that is capable of wounding you, destroying you and still kneeling beside it, pouring honest prayers out of you. Thank you.

    Like

    1. You so get it! Exactly!! Ultimately, we are strong because of how much love we bleed. How is our strength measured? In love per moment! Because in each moment we are called to love. In the moments of plenty, we are to love. In the moments of lack, we are to love. So if I fall, ans I don’t rise, it would be interpreted as weakness. And that’s the symptom not the problem. The problem is the love is not enough, so out of selfishness, you remain defeated. In the garden of Gethsemane, Jesus was weak, and it reflected in his desire to have the cup pass Him by. But His strength was proven when He went ahead and sacrifised Himself for us – love. The voices that say it’s not possible, that you are not beautiful, that you are not enough, are playing their role. Yours is to let love lead and in that way, conquer!

      Liked by 1 person

  2. “Kill the poet
    Let him bleed his last ink
    Call it poetic justice”

    I so love these lines. The way the metaphor extends and fits perfectly is simply beautiful.
    And the message the poem preaches is one of grave importance to society. Thank you for this poem.

    Like

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