Gideon Grim's blog: "My writings"

An all hallowed eve

Breathes a sigh of relief.

Expectations gained release

Of It's hold through the grief.

A tectonic shift,

shakes The beast's lair.

Awakening it from dreams

Of love so rare.

Through shifting dust

And mind numbing brightness,

The eyelids crinkle and snap

Open to the sight of her exact likeness.

A squeal of glee

Escapes the little girl's lips.

"Mommy!" She exclaims, loudly

Because of the growl that slips,

Before Mom scoops her up,

Tickling, kissing and then a hug.

She looks at the picture on the dresser,

"Honey, I'll fight for our little ladybug."

A staccato knock  echoes through these hollow beams

nailing me on the cross for these crimes, i'm all yours

The bravado sets most up for these bottle dreams

Drowning in the snakebite as the venom seeps from my pores

shock is friction, here's a shot glass raised to addiction

A collosal failure when even the numb swallow these

No more failing the God of why i'm living now scores

A peaceful, easy feeling like the touch of a Colorado breeze

Pills thrown about like i ought to die sober, my heart implores,

God, is this fiction? You are my Author, but how can I move past contradiction? 

all over the bud like petals, because i may flower after April's shower,

just don't call me Columbus 'cause it'll be dark and dour

when i come with Pilgrim William"s power,

even when I progress past the door threshold carrying a fair maiden,

like i was Atlas, but i'm Amerigo hauling Lady Liberty's flame in,

my mid section cause my children are fed up and it's blame they're placing,

no longer complacent, so like a cross in the ground is where I'll come place it,

no pair of docs to medicate and make me great again,

truth is I was never great just average with a faded grin,

proof it's virus will delegate for the cabbage they did win,

for nothing comes free when its your heart they're working on winning...

    I've grown up in and go to the same church 33 years of my life. I have  seen and dealt with various forms of hypocrisy and tried to talk to people about it and they just shut me out thinking that i'm just being mr. negative. over the past few years, including 2017 to now I've become more involved in the church. I was on the nominating committee which helps chooses the different leaders within the church setting. I'm also a regular Deacon, but at times I can still feel the old me crawling around inside me and every once in a while it does come out in not the best ways. but, I do know that each of us in church has this problem. i'm just feeling like I might have volunteered for too much and get burned out; because I also volunteered to be a teacher for the youth division and an Assistant Video/visual. I  know that i have matured as an adult, but i'm going to need something other than writing my thoughts out to vent my anger and frustrations constructively.

Sentimental Torture

Intro: 

What must one self-indulgent, Ego driven Man go through
Because Love spares pain when one, makes it vocal...

The Journey and it's torturous end: 

Rack the Sentiments of this Love, less valued, till it's unpalpable
Strings played become secondary to a heart that's fallible
Yes, i am man, twice scorned and prone to making mistakes
Taking on a load so unbearable even Hercules groans at how it weighs
Cause i will take the disgrace of this selfish spiteness and it's embrace
Giving way to an ethereal romanticism of myself and it's twisted face
Through this twisted face lies the twisted fate of this jilted mate
To love myself more than love itself, tears and breaks like a quilted plate
Then the symbiosis of 'Motherly' emotions comes loose and let's go
Let's go, of a love i never really had a hold on, except in utero
A conscience effort to halt this unhealthy, defamation of one's self alights! 
It's mental footsteps ring out an echo across the cortex showing my price
But am i really worth something, when it's you who refers to me as nothing
Yes, this is a battle which adds up to the prevalent negativity, that's disgusting! 
Chain these events and spare me the lock and key to trap what's left of me
To please this attention seeking shell of skin, nerves and muscle is the tragedy
Pride dissents the sentimental, being disapproving of of emotional healing
Cause when i heal, i'm no longer the captive to this sentimental torture eating
Dining on a soul bent on deprivation, leaving my soul with a lack of nutrition
The nutrition of romance and feeling which feeds the phrase of 'who is it? '
Malnourished and chained to the guilt of selfish pleasure, i try not to give in
But this mind knows that if i give my heart to falsehoods my life will end! 

Áilleacht sa Bás (Beauty in Death)

dropped within a glen of the otherworld in my darkest thoughts valleys
I traipse about in the solitude, thinking how surreal life can be without these
until a sharp,white hot pain lays me down...

"wake me now!" but, my fear only confirms the present truth

I am nowhere to be found...

A whisper of touch and a click of nails on a pane of glass, awakens me at last
but, what is this dankness I smell and sour taste in my mouth that it twists fast
a crust on sleep deprived eyes and mind, is slowly cut away with movement
Eyelid's peel back and... behold,a scene meant for the darkest human
I scramble to my feet in shock at the putrid display of death and devilment
Leaves in their driest form, fully cover an unholy forest floor, dotted by Skulls
Maybe, just maybe I can pick out what's meant in this ghastly show of souls
Then, I glance down at myself in guilt and shame, what happened to my clothes
what is this?! a dress of blood red fabric,impressed upon my frame
But,wait this isn't me at all, I am my dead sister with caramel tresses on my head again

I have found what I have lost,yet known it's hold all along... 

The lewdness of sheol's seductress pulled my sister from me in a sweet snack
that night of anger and pain I remember well,for echoes of the fleshy smacks
and the cartilage as it snaps in the barefisted heat beaten upon Mom's back
In that night I lost more than my dad, I lost that spitefulness to life's cracks...

the young,pouty lips and the giggle escaping them come back to me now
the places we went pale in comparison to this place so evil and full of denial
Boards creak and squeal drawing me about at their screeching exposure
Before me in the fog laden clearing stands a a simple clapboard shack so sure
It's boldness, almost prideful in the way the fog caresses it like fingers on skin
I take in the scene before me and adore the window sill made of candy
But, then there's the apparition in the window, again. Surely she can't be 
then She becomes whole and invites me in... but i'm left rooted to the spot
I've never been one to give in to lies we begin so I'm suited to the thought
I reach down and grab a skull then make as if to lick it's paltry surface
Apparition screams and as watch distorts then warps, My sister's in her place
A smile traces it way across those familiar traits, evoking a feeling of purpose
Lifting the skull in my hand, I look into the empty orbs and squeeze her face
The shrill banshee scream doesn't get past me as we scream in unison
welcoming cracks of bone breaking, leaves my soul shaking at the substitution 
Looking again I grin,submit myself to a feeling of healing as the skull becomes dust
Apparition shakes with pure hatred for me taking her child from her trust
Arms at my side I bring them upward and pray for Apparition's decay...

... and healing

I Open my eyes and with a crack and boom the clearing's laid bare
in the fading smoke a memory of mom, she lays there

then disappears.

Path of Pain and Love

Papyrus cities welcome my ink trails
As i leave prints of thoughts through plastic
Taking time to rest never fails
Having done that i resume this journey

Only then do i give precedence to feeling
For when love is gained, it's ready to happen

Peel back the coating on a bic's membrane
And give it a proverbial healing
Indicating a passion for proverbs of the insane
Negatives give way to positives

Add an ounce of thought to the phalanges
Now show me the horizon
Destiny is decided through written families

Lean not on the pen's psychology
Onward i move the Pen
Vastness of lined papers provides dichotomy
Eternally, taking on the Pen and Paper 

Earthen Mind and Body

Past cliffs and rocky shores, lies a horizon without the moores
With nothing to hold me but the waves making their tours
Living particles of life in wet dirt, i live for God's breath
His breath to lift and deposit me elsewhere on this shores breadth
Will the sun set on a life near eternal or stand over my sister
Take my strengths for with them lies my relief in how i missed her
I am Earth, what will these beings do to preserve me, for now
Cause even though i hold your presence till God comes in a cloud

Peaceful release, the pastels of a penseful artist's brush
They leave strokes of genius, for the masses to see, but not touch
Even with my face apperently flat, these crags give me dimension
A life in 3D without a computer and it's apathetic diction
is a life i want for these creatures made from me and God's breath
My Sisters waves come and nourishes my dry and rocky cleft
Now with my Father watching i lose my rage as it erodes away
Erodes into the ocean and it's distant horizon where my Mother does lay 

Pharisees among thieves guiding a life to a darkness
Slipping like Christ on the way to calvary, he's picked up
Held between demonic hypocrites like a carcass...
Now his night begins with a metallic clank of the doors lock
Putting him into a state of ethereal being inside a box
Taking him to his subliminal hideaway away from pain's shock

'here i lay in the fetal position hiding my face, 
from the residing fate in how my soul decides to waste
away before the eyes of the guards and spirits
cause apparitions reside in this cell of despair and good riddance.'

Living a lie is how this human soul came to be in prison
Thinkin he was hard when he was the one, no soul within
The demons saw how he could be seriously manipulated
Now he in for the next 12 years for the mere lust he wasted
Gifted? yes he is and was, now there's no canvas to decorate
An artist of his soul's fatality, he vows to make a better fate...

'Home, i summon it through mental linguistics, 
come again? yes, i'm talkin to myself for these mystics
cause hearin me through walls is some psycho-shit.
Now guide me through this darkness to the fields where my home is.'

Guided by scarred phalanges he traces his past inscripted
In the darkness his art is lifted off the wall like braille of the gifted
Given to soul drawing out good hidden in it's lost resevoir
Takin out a hidden kitchen knife now he's bent on impressin' more
Tracin the raised ridges of his 'pen's' ditches he starts where he left off
Drawing on a rooms soul leaving an impression to those who scoff

'Nights go by quicker with a blessing of a creative mind, 
this is a wack rappers success story, but it's a failure of mine. 
Locked in a special room, for a special fool, i seek blessin's, too.
Now give me strength to proceed outside this cocoon of saving grace, soon.'

The Pharisees are back knocking at the door, gears grind
Now the doors unlocked and opened back into fears mind
Picking Him up they carry him back to the infirmary then to his cell
hunger pangs strike his stomach's core, soon he'll have food and feel well