The Tide That Binds


The tide that binds hasn’t always had its place. How souls must be lost in a mesh of forsaken words or unable to turn a page? The backlash of another where it didn’t have its place told tales of a thousand words in oblivious attempts to hinder the suffering of their own souls. A thousand words too many came from a forsaken place or unable to turn a page.

Words warrant to another didn’t have its place. Countless times in the ruins of chaos, the mighty tongue of another sliced at the hearts of others unable to turn a page while it battled to find its place.

Chaos at its best becomes words of many; ten folds too many so to speak. Turning a page with the mass of many becomes the ultimate destruction that turns tides into withered storms. The backlash of a storm at its best becomes a category 5; a chaotic rumpus turns nights into days. How do words that carry no merit among tides wither away to a forsaken place?

The backlash of ten folds continues on while the tide binds in a chaotic mesh. Back and forth the words of haste continue barreling down at another. Over and over words began to stumble over one another. Fumble back and forth; stamping on everything in its path.

Rampage carries on, cursing back and forth to any forsaken ear that would quiet ones mind. Mass destruction at its best will cycle any which way it can go. Chaos at its best will continue slamming a book shut and unable to turn a page.

A fierce haste in the eyes of another is damaging at its best. Pacing back and forth, slamming doors till ears burst!! Foul a mood with their vigilante ways, slam a book shut; slam a door any which way it will go. The fury blood of another condemns hatred of another.

How long must rage carry on till the voice of another is truly heard? The sorrows of a poor soul withers away with haste may condemn their own soul. Falling silent behind every door slammed; slamming a book shut or tears a page. Souls that are damned in a fiery rage cannot soothe their own souls. One can slam a thousand doors or burn a book to prevent it from turning a page and still not be heard from the racing mind within.

The mind of a chaotic rumpus is a silent destruction and unable to voice its troubled soul or turn a page. A mind that races with time unable to neither slow itself down, nor can it quiet itself till the soul truly understands itself.

The rage; those cycles may be repetitive at its best, turning a page may have falling still at its best. The rage within while slamming doors cannot be heard. One can slam ten thousand doors and still not be heard. Walk a plank or pace back and forth only to ravage the tide at its best. Throw a thousand loose pages from a book into the tide that binds and still fall silent, unable to be heard.

The chaotic ruins within can only reflect from the view of one’s own eyes. The heart falls silent from emotions stirring up inside.

Copyright © 2014 by Marsha Beede

When it rains


When It Rains 

When it rains it sometimes pours…

If it were raindrops falling on my head I’d find my friend, my companion, my greatest strength near.

If the rain were steady and thunder cast lightning I’d hear her voice whisper subtle in my ear saying “this too shall pass.”  

Days of thunder can appear with such madness. Whereas she can be found near with such comfort of warm gentle hands; a hug to keep the storms formation away from turbulence and ruins.

Perhaps God’s will silenced the withering storm as it unsurpassed the pastures left behind unscathed. The storm that could have flooded the earth now surrenders to the sound of harmony under a willow tree from afar.

It is there she sat under this old willow tree looking up into the sky as the clouds lifted. The glimmer of sun shines through the scatter clouds as the storm settled embarked onto another journey.

It is there under this willow tree she rested, waiting, anticipating my arrival from afar left undone, dry in the musk left behind.

I walk this distance from afar and sat next to her with my head leaned into her shoulder. I closed my eyes as she placed her hand gently on mine and said “the storm has passed yet another day.”
M.B. 

“The Bigot Way”


Tina an 11 year old city girl was greeted at the door by a man name Mister Bigot. Her father had left her mom and siblings a year ago and hadn’t been seen since. Mister Bigot told tales of a thousand words when he walked through their front door and her mom sure knew how to make life interesting.

Mister Bigot appeared at door; Tina’s mom greeted and invited him in. Tina’s mom poured him some coffee while he sat on their couch. Mister Bigot asks her mother to sit with him while he asked her some questions. Mister Bigot then asked her mom “are you a Bigot?” Tina’s mom replied “why sir, I don’t know what you mean.” He then turned to her again and said “you cannot join our church unless you are a Bigot. So I ask again, are you a Bigot?” Tina’s mom looked at him and said “no sir, I am not a Bigot, but I can learn to be a Bigot.” Mister Bigot stood up and gave Tina’s mom several magazines to leave around her home to read. He said to Tina’s mom “I will come for another visit in a few weeks.” She thanked him for his time and closed the door behind him.

Not too long after the visit Tina’s started noticing the magazines lying around the house. She turned to her mom and asked “mom, what are these?” her mom replied “it’s for the church I want to go to, so I must study these magazines.” Tina’s responds and says “ooh, ok” and walked away.

One day Tina decides to look at one of the magazines and finds a word she’d hadn’t heard before. While reading the magazine cover Tina said to herself “Pagan, what does that mean?” Tina began looking at the magazine and became confused as she continued turning the pages saying “why are Christmas, Easter, Halloween, and my Birthday called pagan holidays?” But Tina kept her thoughts to herself till one day Mister Bigot came knocking on the door again. Tina’s mom greeted him at the door but only this time he brought two friends with him. All three men came in and sat on their couch as her mom poured them coffee.

The men began to ask Tina’s mom a series of questions. Mister Bigot started by asking Tina’s mom “are you a Bigot?” Tina’s mom responded saying “yes sir, I am a Bigot.” He turned to talk among the other two men he brought with him. One of the men whom spoke wore one of those fancy hats that curved around the top of his head. He went on to say to Tina’s mom “you must never deny a Bigot for I am the pastor, a man and you are a woman, beneath me. You must always obey our rules.” Tina’s mom responded by saying “yes sir.” The third man spoke to Tina’s mom and asked “Bigots only gather among other Bigots, you must never defy this order.” Tina’s mom once again said “yes sir.”

Mister Bigot spoke to Tina’s mom and said “you are single, are you not?” Tina’s mom replied “yes sir I am single.” Mister Bigot spoke and said to Tina’s mom “you must never date outside being a Bigot in our church.” Tina’s mom responded by saying “I understand sir.” Mister Bigot asked Tina’s mom “are your children all of one race?” she spoke and said “yes sir, my children are all of one race.” The second man with the hat said to Tina’s mom “you must never defy this order and bare children outside your race if you want to be a Bigot in our church.” Tina’s mom responded “yes sir, I don’t plan to have any more children.”

The third man spoke and said “what is that you have on your face?” Tina’s mom responded by saying “I am so sorry sir; I meant to take off my makeup. I will do this when you leave.” Mister Bigot spoke again and said “woman, you are a homemaker, a future wife to another. You must always dress like a lady and never defy a man’s order for you are beneath him. Makeup is not allowed, do you understand?” Tina’s mom as embarrassed as she was said “yes sir, I understand.”

Tina’s mom sat on a chair next to these men with a half-smile trying to remain pleasant. Mister Bigot spoke once again and asked Tina’s mom “do you celebrate Pagan holidays?” Tina’s mom spoke and said “we use to sir but I am trying to change my ways.” The second man with the hat spoke up and said “you cannot be a Bigot if you celebrate the devil’s pagan holidays. Are you not a Bigot?” Tina’s mom sighed and went on to say “my children will not understand but I understand this is the Bigot way. For if I am to be accepted as a Bigot I will wash your feet, slave over you and give back to the church because you are Gods work.” Tina’s mom went on to say “I want to go to the Promise Land; therefore I know I must become a Bigot or I will be left behind.”

The third man spoke and said “you will need to learn the Bigot way because only Bigots will make it to the Promise Land. You will pay 1st, 2nd, 3rd ties to the church. We have a collection basket at each service. You will be required to socialize only with other Bigots and spend our Holidays among other Bigots. Someday you will be required to go to church twice in a day and give collection and thank the Lord for his blessings. Once in the church of Bigotry you cannot leave otherwise you will not make it to the Promise Land and you will burn in hell instead for defying the order of things.” Mister Bigot went on to say “your children will need to learn the Bigot way and obey the Elders as they too; your children are beneath him. If your children leave the church, they too will not make it to the Promise Land. Do you understand the Bigot way?” Tina’s mom went on to say “yes sir, but my children, I have no power over their choices they make as they get older. But I will do my best to teach them the Bigot way.”

The three men then spoke among themselves before saying “ok miss, we believe you know the Bigot way, the righteous path to our Lord. We will take you to the place of safety, our Promise Land when our leader says it’s time.” Tina’s mom smiled and said “Ooh praise the Lord, I didn’t want to miss the next train.” The three men stood to their feet and said “pardon me, what do you mean by miss the next train?” Tina’s mom went on to say “I’d been watching your leader preach every Saturday morning on the t.v and I had heard he was a true prophet, the one that would lead us to the Promise Land. He had said his prophecies didn’t come true back in the seventies but he was certain his prophecy would be more precise when time came for us to leave to the place of safety. I figured I ain’t got a dime to my name to add to 1st, 2nd, 3rd ties unless I find myself a Bigot man in the church. The collection box, I thought I’d ask the church to pray to the almighty Lord with me to help feed my children and keep a roof over our heads. So if this makes me a Bigot, then lead the way because I’m tried. I got 5 kids to feed and my arm is getting sore from donating so much blood to put food on the table. I figure those future ties I’ll pay into someday could do some of the Lord’s work by helping a meek and broke mother raise her children. After all, we all Bigots right?”

Copyrights By Marsha Beede (2017)

All Rights Reserved

Sisters Love


Through my rocky rigid ways…
My once shard love
As my guiding angel of soul
She has shown love through the barriers
She has seen my formidable place
And shattered that wall with grace

The grace of a sister’s love
Has never lost this insane place
In the mind of a chaotic rumpus
In an unfortunate place of becoming
Her love was always recognized…

》》》Just as her soul followed me everywhere. It was her love I felt while I sensed her presence. My soul would embark throughout life’s journey like the rushing currents of a rivers mighty flow.

Life sent me treading water through the currents of mighty rivers. At times life’s mighty rivers unraveled through dangerous storms.

I swam through the currents of rushing water. The glitter sunlight would blind me as I swam upstream far too many times. Days of dismay sent me through flash floods I couldn’t have possibly foreseen.

While I struggled to find my way,
there she stood like a guardian angel.
She would signaled me her way with a sense insight while I swam through the currents of dangerous rushing waters.

With each breath I took, I found strength from within. I glanced far above as she shined from a distance. I continued to travel the distance through the rivers mighty currents. Like an angel, she guided me with much insight…

Upon approach of the rivers banks I felt this sense of calming. I could feel this strength as I laid rest upon the shores. The warmth of her love was carried within my soul.

I often looked within my surroundings, but she was nowhere to be found. Rest assures, I knew her presence was near. I knew she’d be moments away when I needed her…

I carried her voice within while subtle as it could be; it was her insight that guided me through transparency. As I began to build a new foundation through life. Tearing the fabric of old sheltered ways. I embraced and embarked on a new journey.

The gratitude from within transpired into tranquility… It was the love of a sister’s gentle ways that gave me reasons to change…

Copyright © 2012 by Marsha Beede

All Rights Reserved

Follow at http://marshabeedematrix.com

The Tide That Binds


The tide that binds hasn’t always had its place. How many souls must be lost in a mesh of forsaken words or unable to turn a page? The backlash of others where it didn’t have its place told tales of a thousand words in oblivious attempts to hinder the suffering of their own souls. A thousand words too many came from a forsaken place or unable to turn a page.

Words warrant to another didn’t have its place. Countless times in the ruins of chaos, the mighty tongue of another sliced at the hearts of others unable to turn a page while souls of others battled to find its place.

Chaos at its best becomes words of many. Ten folds too many words so to speak. Turning a page with the mass of many becomes the ultimate destruction that turns tides into withered storms. The backlash of a storm at its best becomes a category 5 and a chaotic rumpus turns nights into days. How do words that carry no merit among  tides wither away to a forsaken place?

A backlash of ten folds continues to carry on at its best while the tide finds comfort in a chaotic mesh at its best. Back and forth the words of haste continue barreling down at another. Over and over words began to stumble over one another. Fumble back and forth; stamping on everything in its path.

Rampage carries on, cursing back and forth to any forsaken ear that would quiet ones mind. Mass destruction at its best will cycle any which way it can go. Chaos at its best will continue slamming a book shut and unable to turn a page.

A fierce haste in the eyes of another is damaging at its best. Pacing back and forth, slamming doors till ears burst!! Foul a mood with their vigilante ways. Slam a book shut or slam a door any which way it will go. The fury blood of another condemns hatred of others. How long must rage carry on till the voice of another is truly heard?

Poor souls who wither away with haste condemn their own souls. Falling silent behind every door slammed; slamming a book shut or tears a page. Souls that are damned in a fiery rage cannot soothe their own souls. One can slam a thousand doors or burn a book to prevent it from turning a page and still not be heard from within.

The mind of a chaotic rumpus is a silent destruction and unable to voice its troubled soul or turn a page. A mind that races with time unable to neither slow itself down, nor can it quiet itself till the soul truly understands itself.

The rage; those cycles may be repetitive at its best. Turning a page may have falling still at its best. The rage within one while slamming doors cannot be heard. One can slam ten thousand doors and still not be heard. Walk a plank or pace back and forth only to ravage the tide at its best. Throw a thousand loose pages from a book into the tide that binds and still fall silent, unable to be heard.

The chaotic ruins within can only reflect from the view of one’s own eyes. The heart falls silent from emotions stirring up inside.

To slam one door at its best won’t quiet a withering soul….

Copyright © 2014 by Marsha Beede

All Rights Reserved.

Follow at http://marshabeedematrix.com

When it rains



When it rains it sometimes pours…

If it were raindrops falling on my head I’d find my friend, my companion, my greatest strength near.

If the rain were steady and thunder cast lightning I’d hear her voice whisper subtle in my ear saying “this too shall pass.”  

Days of thunder can appear with such madness. Whereas she can be found near with such comfort of warm gentle hands, a hug to keep the storms formation from clouds of despair.

Perhaps God’s will silenced the withering storm as it unsurpassed the pastures left behind unscathed. The storm that could have flooded the earth surrenders to the sound of harmony under a willow tree from afar.

It is there she sat under this old willow tree looking up into the sky as the clouds lifted. The glimmer of sun shines through the scattered clouds as the storm settled embarked onto another journey.

It is there under this willow tree she rested, waiting, anticipating my arrival from afar left undone, dry in the musk left behind.

 

I walked this distance from afar and sat next to her with my head leaned into her shoulder. I closed my eyes as she placed her hand gently on mine and said “the storm has passed yet another day.”

MB

 

Marsha Beede

Who Let In The Rain By GShep


Love it!!

Gshep Galleries

It’s always raining in movies when people are sad. I myself have felt the rain when I am sad.

But, it’s so much more. There have been many times I have felt the rain of joy, love, endings, and grief. The seasons of our tears.

In the spring we feel it’s wet antisipation. We smile knowing something new and fresh is about to begin. As a child is born, tears are like a spring time rain.

The rain’s soft warmth in the summer. It’s the tears of comfort we find in a friend.

The rain of fall as things come to an end. The feeling of the sad song coming to an end.

The cold dark rain of winter. The tears of the end of a love.

We are afraid to step out in the rain. We hide from it just like we do our tears.

There is strength in…

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