Being forgotten is good

July 1, 2014July 2, 2014 Ronovan Reblogs Alone, angst, bad, forgotten, good, google, inner turmoil, liberation, light at the end of the tunnel, oblivion, Pain, persecution, Poem, Poetry

Very nice poetry. I suggest people read this one. I like the recurrence of the ‘is good’ phrase. Excellent. Seriously, pay a visit read. Also flow Nishi as she her blog now shows her personality and I love what I’m learning about her in her articles of late.
Much Respect
Ronovan

The Showcase

Being Forgotten is good,

The plotters and the pillagers will leave you alone.

Oblivion is good,

The hurt and the pain will fade and you will be free.

To be called out is good,

The hiding can stop and the truth will liberate you.

Isolation is good,

You can hear yourself think.

Persecution is good,

You find your spirit and strength from within.

The end is good,

For it leads to the start of something new.

Tunnel-of-light-at-the-end-300x200.jpg (300×200)

image courtesy:lifesublime.ca

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Truth in a Picture

June 30, 2014July 20, 2014 Ronovan Poetry Abuse, Creative Writing, Disguise, Emotional Abuse, Pain, Physical Abuse, Poetry, Society, Women, Writing

This has been linked to so I’ve reblogged it for today. It’s a bit of a truth of the women’s side of an issues. Please read, you don’t have to click like, but at least read and get a perspective.
Much Respect
Ronovan

ronovanwrites

Truth in a Picture

by: Ronovan

You call me beautiful with your glance.

I get that a lot. gettyimages © Original Photo by nikkivanoostende.com

You like my eyes with their vacant stare

I don’t see you.

You see sexy in them, don’t you?

I see through you.

You say I have the perfect little nose.

I breathe, just.

You want to kiss my full red lips.

They sigh, barely.

I despise being an image for men to want.

You want me.

My eyes are vacant from being broken.

You don’t see.

I feel dirty and used and pained by him.

You see sexy.

I barely breathe when he hurts me.

You love my nose.

My lips bleed without a scream.

You want them.

Image Credit: gettyimages © Original Photo by nikkivanoostende.com

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Truth in a Picture

June 28, 2014June 28, 2014 Ronovan Poetry Abuse, Creative Writing, Depression, Fantasy, Hurt, Image, Pain, Poetry, Reality, Truth, Writing

Truth in a Picture

by: Ronovan

You call me beautiful with your glance.

I get that a lot.

You like my eyes with their vacant stare

I don’t see you.

You see sexy in them, don’t you?

I see through you.

You say I have the perfect little nose.

I breathe, just.

You want to kiss my full red lips.

They sigh, barely.

I despise being an image for men to want.

You want me.

My eyes are vacant from being broken.

You don’t see.

I feel dirty and used and pained by him.

You see sexy.

I barely breathe when he hurts me.

You love my nose.

My lips bleed without a scream.

You want them.

Image Credit: gettyimages © Original Photo by nikkivanoostende.com

One More Year Old Feels Like Ten

June 21, 2014June 23, 2014 Ronovan Fibromyalgia/Chronic Pain, Poetry Age, Birthday, Enemy, God, Hope, Inspiration, Old, Pain, Poem, Poetry, Satan, Sin, Suffering, Trials

One More Year Old Feels Like Ten

by: Ronovan

One more year older

This last one felt like ten

I wonder why I go through it

Was it punishment for a sin

Yeah, I know, don’t worry

I’m just talking out loud

I know the good Lord don’t do that

He done took him up in a cloud

But still I don’t mind asking

Why, why did all of this happen

A year of my life has done gone

And a steady tap on the brain keeps tappin’

You would think I would get used to it

Waking without a solitary clue

But how do you grow accustom

To something that every day is new to you

Hmm . . . Yeah, I know it’s all good

I got my health and home and something

Haha, the health is the something

That I’m certain must be the crunching

One more year older

The next will feel like ten

I know it was the Enemy

That tries to drag me into the den

I must have been on the right track

Cause the Enemy don’t worry with those

That are already with him

He worries about those who are his foes

And to that I say Amen

Spikes and Smiles

June 18, 2014June 23, 2014 Ronovan Fibromyalgia/Chronic Pain, Poetry Creative Writing, Desperation, Hopeless, Hurting, Migraine, Pain, Poem, Poetry, Writing

Spikes and Smiles

by: Ronovan

Dull railroad spikes through the cracks

Driven constantly as if driven by insanity

Days go by in countless fogs of phantoms

Drifting in and out of vague humanity

Ever wanting to continue onward in smiles

Enters pressing of matter into the prickling race

Even the muscles of effort to upturn lips

Engraves lines of pain on tender skinned face

Take the Pills

June 17, 2014July 5, 2014 Ronovan Fibromyalgia/Chronic Pain, Writing 101-Blogging University Creative Writing, Life, Medication, Memory, Pain, Personal, Pills, Storytelling, True, Writing, Writing 101-Blogging University

Take the Pills

by: Ronovan

“Take the pills. They’re supposed to help you,” she said.

The pills looked familiar to me. The kitchen windows had that morning light blue glow. I like that time. “Why are there so many of them?”

“Because the doctor said you have to take all of them,” she said. “We have to go through this almost every day.”

I looked at her. “I just like to know is all.” I took the small medicine cup full of pills. Some of them were kind of pretty to look at and had cool shapes. A mouthful of water and I swallowed them all at once.

“I would choke on all of that,” she said. Continue reading →

My poetry Tears at Me

June 14, 2014 Ronovan Poetry Agony, Confusion, Creative Writing, Dark Humor, Hopeless, Insanity, Pain, Poetry, Writing

My poetry Tears at Me

by: Ronovan

I’m sorry my words don’t speak in romantic filled embraces.

My language is built from elementary understanding of feelings.

I attempt to translate my true thoughts into a message to convey.

Above all my words are meant for my own wounds’ self healings.

My page opens with clear intent for a jovial sharing.

By the second word typed the mindlessness takes control.

It’s not that things don’t make me laugh or I find comical.

But in my world the only thing full of ideas is the crazy bowl.

Left to my own creative and undirected devices I stray.

What comes out of my fingertips are words that I never would share.

I wonder sometimes what the powers that be would do with them.

But I push the letters in their neat little rows and print them as if I didn’t care.

Therapy of the mind and heart is what some people call poetry.

For me it’s the feeling of razor blades over delicate skin tearing at me.

I lay here exposed and bleeding as the words and thoughts force their way free.

But whatever people may say of this they know I must be what I am to be.

Sun no More

May 31, 2014May 31, 2014 Ronovan Poetry Amnesia, Creative Writing, Haiku, Life, Pain, Poetry, Writing

Amnesia Man — Through the Eyes of a Lost Mind

Waiting in a fall

Against the ever deep of pain

The sun dims in sight

Spread this stuff everywhere!

Spread this stuff everywhere!

Spread this stuff everywhere!

Spread this stuff everywhere!

Spread this stuff everywhere!

Spread this stuff everywhere!

Spread this stuff everywhere!

Spread this stuff everywhere!