She walks in darkness of the night

With clear thoughts and cloudy skies;

The worst of society, its blight

Diverges from her soul and her eyes; 

Yet so beautiful she is in moonlight

Which the beautiful day promptly denies.

A little more makeup used, and if less,

Ten times more ugly and zero grace

A knotty tempest in her black tress,

Which drapes across her face;

Where pure thoughts yearn to express,

How so repulsive is their resting place.

And on that woman and on her brow,

So rough, so fragile and ineloquent,

The smiles that repulse and that glow,

Show me days of madness spent,

A mind in wreck as all below

A tormented heart yearning to be innnocent!

(Rewritten poem of  She Walks in Beauty by Lord Byron. Comment what you think this rewritten version is about!)

A poem to impress

Writing to express-

For a birthday,

A celebration of life.

For you.

The constant love,

Pure, unadulterated.

The unending kindness,

Simply unconditional.

This is to serve,

As a symbol of gratitude.

Which is not said.

Often enough,

Well articulated enough.

We love you to the stars and back.

Take me,

Relieve me of my cross

Or perhaps,

Relieve my cross from me.

Lower me to Earth,

Take me from my altar,

Take my throne from under me,

Take my crown from my head,

My wealth

Take my breath

Take my all.

Make me nothing,

For I am nothing

Without (her) love I am nothing.

With my clothes-filled trash bag,

Flung over my shoulders sag.

With the wind that nips

At my already bit cheeks.

My future's bleak

No hope

All stress,

"No ma'am I don't want a Bible."

I know Jesus

and have forgotten the rest.

I know He's love.

I know He's mercy.

So why has He left me?

Why has me cursed me?

Mr. Hannibal Malums laid in his private hospital room. Everything was impeccably sterilized and had not been touched by anyone besides the occasional nurse since he had arrived in the hospital almost 6 days ago. The sun was descending past the horizon, however there was not a flurry of beauty. The sun melted into a pool of grays and browns. Mr. Malums was being held in the best cardiac hospital, after a heart attack sent him into a panicked frenzy while working on Wall Street. Being a multi-millionaire stockbroker he had everything that he could want or need. But his children wanted nothing to do with Mr. Malums. His money had already been evenly divided in his will. And his wife? She died under mysterious circumstances almost eighteen months prior to Mr. Malums’ heart attack. And Mr. Hannibal himself? He was as aware as he could be, cherishing the days that were his mandatory vacation.

Days continued to pass as they blurred with each other so much that Mr. Malums could not distinguish them. 12 days after his heart attack, Mr. Malums’ condition was deteriorating rapidly. The doctor thought it best to call Father Gabriel, the chaplain to the hospital, because Mr. Malums’ family claimed he was Roman Catholic.

Father Gabriel arrived with all the supplies necessary for the Sacrament of Last Rites: holy chrism, the Eucharist, a prayer book and a rosary. Father Gabriel always left a rosary with the recipients of Last Rites as a comforting item. Mr. Hannibal Malums was not aware when Father Gabriel entered the room or when he sat bedside, but Malums was aware when Father began the rite.

“In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost.” The words struck Mr. Malums like a lightening bolt.

“Can you give us one second as I listen to Hannibal’s confession, please Doctor?” The doctor slipped out quietly as Mr. Malums began.

He weakly croaked out, “Forgive me Father, for I have sinned, it has been years since my last Penance.”

“What are your sins?” Father inquired.

Mr. Malums thought deeply and only one memory came to mind.

It was July 7th 2007. His children were not home, but his wife was. She had not been particularly vexing to Mr. Malums that day. He had come home and began gardening with a small rake. Without remorse or hate or any passion at all, Mr. Malums took the rake and went to find his wife. He found her washing dishes. She had her hair tied in a short ponytail; the sunset was reflecting a beautiful array of colors through the window and onto her gentle face. Water in a stainless steel pot was boiling on the stove in preparation for dinner. Mr. Malums became fully engaged to his despicable thoughts and poured the scalding hot water onto his wife. She screamed like a banshee as she was burned from her scalp to her feet. He then hit her on the side of her head with the pot. She stumbled backwards and fell to the floor. Mr. Malums slashed at her face with the rake and left deep gashes. At the first sight of blood, Mr. Malums did not ever want to stop. He continued slashing and cutting deep into her until she was no longer screaming, until she had passed out from blood loss. He dragged her unconscious body into the bathtub and left her there, knowing if she regained consciousness she would not be able to move. He cleaned the blood and water from the floor while it was still fresh. He went into the cupboard to retrieve two spices of significance, and then he heard her moaning in pain. He returned to the bathroom and dumped the salt and lemon juice all over her body. She screamed as if she was the one possessed. He then took the bathroom’s supply of bleach and poured it on her, slowly and deliberately. Mr. Malums took a deep emotional pleasure in watching her die. He scooped her body into a trash bag and brought her outside and disposed of her into his garden bed. He noted not to plant there the next growing season. His children knew better than to ask where their mother was when they returned home, for fear that they would be next.

“No Father, I can’t think of any sins right now, my mind is too muddled.” croaked Mr. Malums.

“Very well. I will now anoint you with oil then give you the viaticum.”

When Father Gabriel anointed Mr. Malum with the sacred chrism, Mr. Hannibal Malums’ heart completely stopped. He was severely hemorrhaged on his forehead in the shape of cross and had a circular burn mark on his tongue when Father departed from Hannibal Malum. 

To the man

Seeing the plane crash

What went through your mind?

Your son, daughter, your aunt

Can you remember?

Or were your thoughts too fast?

To the man

Watching the Towers fall,

Who did you think about,

Your mother, wife, brother?

Or no one at all?

To the man,

Running towards the disaster

What did you hear?

Cries, sirens, fire,

Or the crumbling of plaster

To the man

Rescuing his peers

Why did you risk your life

To save others

When in your head,

You had unimaginable fear

To the Angel,

Sitting on the cloud,

Who painted you white

With a mix of proud?

To the fairy,

Flying far in the sky,

Who made you so pretty,

And unable to lie?

To the angels,

Up in Heaven above,

When will you all

Teach us unending love?

To the Ghost

Thrashing in the sun,

What made you so opposed

To the symbols of the Son?

To the Bottled Message

Floating in the sea

Lets see what it’s holding,

“I heard these words

From a translate of a foreign mandate”

’Who you are,

What you are,

Is not stone,

It is fluid-

You flow

You change

You cannot be held

Down to earth-

You should only visit

Your fear are nothing-

Compared to ambitions,

The sky is your limit.’

The rest was smuged"

From the rubble came the best.

To the spirit 

Living in these lines,

What message do you want

Conveyed through these rhymes?

To the spirit

Of this poem,

Please welcome me 

In your spacious abode.

To the spirit

Guiding my hand to write,

Show me your face

And your poetic light.

To the muse

Dictating this to me,

Show the light of love

To all those who call and respect thee.