The Beast has no fears, no tears…

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The Beast has no fears, no tears…
The deep voice foul and inflamed cast its disgusting face toward the gentle and the brave. Some said do not listen to the lusting rage of the golden haired Beast who wants to be called King. He scorns the Justice of God; the Beast rages on day and night, it never recoils. Many minds quickly became splintered fissures, torn by the evil of this Beast; these people, their minds seized could see no guilt in the actions of the beast, nor those who encouraged his deceit.
Greed gives power to those who listen to the Beast with its insatiability to rule and those who praise its vices; they become fully surrendered to blindness. The darkness that the Beast spreads across the land called doom; it is a mockery of what the people once knew. Does no one oppose this creature from Hell? No, they soon become weary souls lost within the claws of its contamination. The Beast is spreading a life of splendor, all the while depriving many souls of truth.
This Beast is a serpent, those who follow in its path become deaf to its words, and he claims to be godlike. It dwells above human law, as people walk a dark, narrow and steep path to build his greatness, his followers will struggle in slime while the Beast spreads its rage. The air that once smelled sweet now nothing more than a stench of a murky swamp, most choking on the wrath that one must endure to please and promote the Beast who is untouchable in the highest of places looking down upon its own created filth.
The Beast has no tears or fears, damned are those who praise its glory, damned are those who wallow in its kingdom feeling the gnashing of its teeth. It is the wailing, deplorable and unceasing, that will be heard over what was once the land of greatness and plenty. Laughter can be heard within the walls of those who served him. The gentle Savior will come and the Beast will turn its head away. There will be fear and anguish, people will see the heat of his messages go cold, the beast will fall before the people, and it will have no words. It will walk into hell unhindered and descend upon the path trembling, his time over, his voice stilled by the gentle people.

 

AUTHOR’S NOTE: The Beast with golden hair wants to rule the world it is the people, all people that must open their eyes and see the filth that spews from his mouth, lies. It is not God who can save the people, it is their free will and they must save themselves.

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The Ticking Clock…

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The Ticking Clock…
A weathervane stilled under a glowing moon bares to the moon its raven wings, in predicted circles it swings. Fishing boats rise and fall behind the jetty wall, the old man mending his netting can hear the sea call.

Ghostly snowflakes cover the seaweed floating among the rocks, the fisherman’s mind rushes like the tick of a clock. Time for one more catch before winter freezes the shore; the nets have taken too long, an overwhelming chore.

He sits remembering his world, its ghosts that the ocean has taken, the young men that God had forsaken. In the beginning the ancient winds brought the fish to earth, they filled the sea to give birth.

Our ancestor’s footsteps imprinted upon the pier, late in the night their sorrowful cries we can hear. Hurry, hurry the time is growing near, soon your boats will freeze in their moorings, the winter winds are what you should fear.

Look upward at the weathervane and its circular world, around and around it whirls. The daybreak will quickly be gone and you will ask God…where did I go wrong. Ghostly snowflakes cover the seaweed floating among the rocks, the fisherman mind rushes like the tick of a clock.

 
©elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

 
AUTHOR’S NOTE: The message in this poem is live moment by moment, live today, yesterday is gone, tomorrow is unknown.

 
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When will the Earths Lights go out…

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When will the Earths Lights go out…
The earth turns in her floating world, and she is tired by the changing of time, seasons, inhabited by those who bring wraith to her. As humans we look for things will turn out in a magnificent way, we dwell on how things will unfold. Yet, as humans, we keep interfering with her growth, her peace, her beauty. She weeps, the tears fall, trickling, sprawling into the depths of hopelessness.
We, as humans stand still doing nothing to save her, if we have made the wrong choices it is the children who must pay, so why do we care? There is no gain for the earth of today, caring is left in the past, the yesterdays of our own childhood. We show no wisdom, and the great “Sayers” who say nothing, sit and let her be destroyed.
There is no victory, we will not leave her as we found her, slow dank waters will form swamps as the rivers dry up, in the woods the cedars’ will soon be like winter bones. EARTH, she will stand for many eternities, but then she will die and her light will go out.

 

©elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

AUTHOR’S NOTE: We cannot think about the “seasons” without bringing Mother Earth into the fold. She has served us well, beware she made not be here forever, be good to her.

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Seasons…

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Seasons…
Making yourself live without contact with others, you are doomed. Like the flowers of summer without human contact, the soul may cease to bloom.  Time and stillness may be an important need; to reject sharing life with others, may be the greatest form of greed. Purpose has its seasons, life follows a well-planned path; your journey has a reason.

Clearing the mind and restoring the spirit will smooth any rutted road; listen, there is a plan of how your life should unfold. You may be on the right path today; the journey may seem rough, the essence and energy of your spirit will find the true way.

Gratefulness, awareness and God’s grace is woven within the fabric of your being for a reason. Devote today to discovering your true self create your own season.

 

©elizabethannjohnsonmurphree
AUTHOR’S NOTE: The seasons vary significantly in characteristics, and can prompt changes in the world around them.   When will your time, your season, change you?

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The Passing of Time…

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The Passing of Time…

What can one say about growing old? The loss of shape, hiding beneath many layers of clothing, sparkle gone from one’s eyes. One is no longer beautiful in the eyes of others. The function of one’s body grows weaker, sitting in that doomed place with little human contact. The sunset-glow felt in the beginning of each day is gone. Dreams escape the demented mind, as does the ordinariness of each day.

There is certain knowledge within the fog of the mind of the aged; those long ago youthful days may flitter across the closed window of the mind. Nonetheless, the prison door never opens the walled-in prison unknown to most. It is the last stage of life, frozen within and quite, a phantom of themselves, a hollow ghost.

No longer, a figure of delight, no longer surrounded by the sweet smell of life. Like the snow-covered winter landscape, life is stilled; a shadow of one’s long ago self. Life from the womb begins a painful story, a stormy world like summer storms, winds and rain. Beauty spent and done, despite Hells rage now silenced by the passing of time. With the eyes looking pass what lies ahead, bondage no longer a threat as the mind realizes it will end in death.

 

©elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Aging
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Flying with Broken Wings

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Excerpt: Flying with Broken Wings

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A Journey into a Life of Bipolar, Cerebral Palsy, Depression and Schizophrenia Disorders

All Copyrights © 2017 Elizabeth Ann Johnson-Murphree

“The Demons”

[Mom] Flying with Broken Wings is the story of my daughter Charlotte, her journey from Heaven to Earth and the “unexpected” return back to Heaven when she was fifty-two-years old.

Charlotte was born on July 13, 1958, she would soon travel a path through life carrying the special circumstance of conditions that she did never denied, bipolar, cerebral palsy, and depression and schizophrenia disorders.

This is her story through my eyes, heart and mind. The many conversations agreements and disagreements with her, the outwardly life that I knew she lived, all that would be part of her life. In addition, the inter struggle that she would know. Her life, much like a rushing river, that entwined with my own and that of her family.

My memory is long and vivid…most of her demons arrived in her mid-twenties; in the beginning Charlotte was a happy child and young girl whose problems were mental and physical challenges in life, her school, yet without the demons of the mind.

When she became older, any typical day was as one in the fall of 1997; I was leaving for work and Charlotte was sitting in the middle of her bed talking in the voices of a man, woman and sometimes a little girl. She never gave these personas’ a name; however, I knew the tone of their voices, all too well.

This behavior was a red flag for me; before I went to work, I gather up all the sharp knives, everything sharp putting them in the trunk of my car. I knew what might happen when I got home.

I arrived that night standing by my car staring up at our living room windows. Yes, Charlotte lived with me for thirty-nine-years, I pretended not to see her look out the window; when suddenly the lights went out I knew that she would be in her dark bedroom. I knew when I walked in the door that, the Charlotte I knew when I went to work that day had gone away.

In her place was the persona of the man and woman with evil minds whose intent was to control her and harm me. The little girl seems to be there for Charlotte’s protection, she always talk kind and sweet, begging Charlotte to stay calm and not listen to the other voices.

The first words I would hear upon walking in the apartment was that of Charlotte’s own voice begging the man to go away, and then he would speak to her with a low menacing evil sound coming through Charlotte.

“Get up, you know what you should do”, his voice almost a low growl.

Suddenly she was standing in the kitchen, towering over me. I tried to show no emotion, I ask how her night went, my usual patter before I went into the bathroom. My own voice as calm and normal as I could make it sound. I showered, turned on the TV while she pace from kitchen to her bedroom, stopping occasionally to stare irately at me. I took my car keys and handbag into my bedroom; closed the door placing a security stick under the doorknob.

I went to bed secure that she could not get to me. I was not afraid to die; I did not want was for Charlotte to live out her life with such a heinous act hanging over her. It was then that I heard the man voice calling from the other side of my bedroom door, the man with no name.

“Better not go to sleep, I’ll cut your troth.”

The personas that developed over time were deep within Charlotte’s psyche; he and the woman could take over her thoughts and actions any time that they wanted too. I had tried to talk to him and the woman before, begging both to leave her alone; they would curse me and say they were going to kill Charlotte and me too.

The incident is only one of many that she and I would have to endure. I am in hopes that Charlotte’s story can help others who live under the same conditions to learn that living with these children is a forever changing pattern, one did not know where to go or what to do to help their child in those days, they were usually medicated to a zombie state.

That is not true of today, the twenty-first-century; there are many avenues of help for the children and their parents. I want parents to stay strong and let their children young or adult know that they are not alone!   Love them and hold onto them.

Rise and Kill the Beast…

~ elizabethannjohnsonmurphree ~ 6 Comments

Rise and Kill the Beast…A Micro Short-Short Story

She woke, rising from her bed; the next stop in front of the long mirror in her bedroom. My God, she thought; there in the mirror was an old woman thin lip, long gray hair, crevices lining her face. She watched the face turn pale, fear rose from the pit of her stomach closing off her breath.

Suddenly she grasps the sides of her face stretching her cheeks upward until the face was smooth. When had this happen, it was her face in the mirror! Was it during the dense darkness of the night that this happen? She open her mouth to say something, the words’ fell upon her ears, anxious, a sham, her heart beat faster and fear hung in her mouth like hot lava. What is next, hopelessness, death? This is the stage in life that people pray to their God for their sins, or whatever they have done wrong, the end could be near, was this fear.

Where did the time go, the long dark braids, the nimble fingers and graceful body? The body that played tennis, rode a bike, skied over rough waters, time was so short. She was a person that shields her spirit from the darkest, deepest pits of the Hell and learns to tolerate life. Someone, whose body gave birth, lived with the Devil’s own spawn until her escape. The one who refuse to cry or shrivel in fear as she waited for the feel of a fist.

Someone who waited for the long fingers to clutch around her neck, then in the light of day hide the truth and lies, live in mystery so no one would know. She trembled but let out no sign of fear. The body allows tears to fall after the evil thing had gone away. She tried to flatten herself upon the bed made of stones, her mind fled before she could breathe the stagnant air before the extravagant retreat.

These pains were hard to bare, the Devil’s spawn wanted groveling, her throat already like splintered wood, why had fate brought her to this doomed place, imprisoned her to live and be lost forever. To live in torment and dire despair, her spirit continuous crawling through the fires of hell, and wailed her doom to the pits darkness. Never knowing a peaceful life, a loving or genteel life denied. Her mind always filled with wisdom and untouched by the suffering. Sure, she was defeated, but she promised herself that someday she would rise and kill the Beast.

 

©elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Creating Fear

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Misery’s Problems…

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Misery’s Problems…

Misery has sent many souls to Hell. They condemn themselves; a mournful cry comes from their place of unrest. They cry for what they wanted in life and did not get, they could not be satisfied with what they had, misery prevailed. They have helped destroy the earth.

In the beginning there was cold, unceasing and relentless rain, there seem to be a mutation of the earth as the decades went forward with minds unchanged. Days were heavy with hail, turbid waters mixed with cold and snow, fiery had a tight hold on the waters that covered the earth, still many humans could not see the doom and darkness upon the earth.

Their souls are putrid, the soil of the earth is foul, above them the ravens swarm in and out of an acid sky, the beast of the earth roams fallow grounds. Each of those misery humans fell to the ground gathering handfuls of soil casting it into the hollows of the earth. They now know that gluttonous greed will bring rancid air and their belly’s growl like the beast of the night with hunger.

There are many who tried to save Earth, they toiled in the dead ground and prayed for blessings, they watch the writhing shadows of misery, it was too late. Everyone hungry, cold, uncomforted, everyone will die for the mistakes of few. The waters both salty and fresh began to dry, cracks became vast and deep. The land was soft and filled with bugs and worms. The air clogged their lungs they cried and they prayed, it was too late. Those who did not believe that one day we would destroy the Earth now became sinful spirits living in irrevocable doom.

There are those that believed that the earth was being destroyed, there are those who tried to find a resolve for these worldwide conditions. To those that did not believe the earth was dying, became accusers living in great pain. Warnings from the sinners were no more than strange words, there is no way that we can reach perfection on earth, and it is too late. It is not too late to resolve misery’s problems, we must cease our downward path and heal mother Earth.

©elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

AUTHOR’S NOTE: We are destroying the  earth.

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The Certainties of Life…

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The Certainties of Life…

 
Life is an uncertain race where most people do no more than run in place, there can be happiness, sadness, and around every corner a surprise; yet hope blooms. Life is what one must create within their allotted space, or sit on the sidelines and wait leaving their journey to fate.

Life is not all joy floating upon the winds of time; there are rights and wrongs; and unknown quandaries, setbacks, and living means moving forward. Life quickly passes, fair and cloudy days, laughter and tears, and then the warmth of the sun subsides ones fears.

Life may mean walking in the valleys of despair until fate starts an upward climb, living with happiness, or grief; always trust the heart and mind. Life lived in harmony with others, loving, caring and expectations met; seeds of livelihood sown, repentance locked away for God to judge; we strive and labor until we pass on.

©elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Regarding Life…

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The Gilded Gate…

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Dreaming – The Gilded Gate…

Thunder bellows from the sky, descending to valley floor, it roused me from a deep sleep; the one lying beside me does not move, they do not wake. It quickly becomes darker; the profound sounds hold angrily above the valley they bounce off the forest, trees sways in the wind. Without warning, the winds spiral upward into the thunder and lightning. The valley was like a ringed abyss. The wind continued like torment and blaspheming.

A sadness began to settle in, is this the outer certainty of hell? I questioned my faith, would my lover and I die within this doomed place, God please hear my pleading. I cried. Did I fall asleep, did I fall into a restless dream, and then an obedient voice was heard. Within this dream. I witnessed countless people, their hopelessness as they walked slowly through a gate.

The dream continued on, leaving me bewildered in my darkest deepest sleep. Then rose a widening light, it filled half of the darkness, “Who Master are those that walk through the gilded gate”. My master smiles at me, it was then that the gate opens to me wide green lawns stretched as far as the eyes could see. Then marvelous spirits approached. I moved quickly trying to walk into the moving light.

I woke and the darkness fell around me, the wind had left the valley, I would live for another day.

©elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

AUTHOR’S NOTE: A Dream

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Excerpt: Poetry from Rhythm Rhyme Thoughts

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Dance

My life was not to be, it stopped, astonished, I hold to the memory as you would a child upon your lap, I grow old without growing. I most frequently return the grave. The grave will not give up my child. I am an old woman with nothing left but memories.

I have no home to go back too, no one wants me to visit, aunts, uncles all dead. No longer does anyone whisper of them. I wish the people of my youth were gathered in one place. Nevertheless, it was not to be, not for me, no mother, no father, their all in the graveyard.

The child in me is ready to go home, to change, and to stand by the road crying out “I am home”. I stand on the stump of my childhood. Life is still lost. The branches of my tree are barren, only air fills that space. The world that was my world.

I am all burned out, a flash in a century, now ash. No one notices me here on the stump by the road, the sap runs out of the trees; I too will soon do the slow dance toward my permanent home.

Copyright 2018