With Death comes Freedom…

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A short-short story…Freedom
He was a young man, bitter with his life and he did not suppress his tongue, life was arguments and questions. He needed no prompting; his waking hours seem devoted to causing weeping. He rarely laughed; he had a skill for creating pain, even in his passionate moments. His joy was to reign over his human possession, his wife. She would cease to have a will of her own, she was afraid and she obeyed.
To serve, to have no mind of her own, she too thought he owned her. Women were mistresses of his heart, yet there was no freedom for his own wife. She was not his equal, when he was with her his words brought new-bleeding to her heart. He was only satisfied when he drew blood, his appetite for hurting never ceased.
Their vows he had broken thousands of times. His mouth foul and dishonest, an adulterous heart beat within his broad barrel chest. The past, his youth, his suffering, maybe at the hands of another. Had this brought him to this day? He was not true or kind; he felt no shame in the bruises he left behind. Among those who knew him, he could do no harm; these people did not know him.
She had not asked for pearls or rubies, and she did not ask that her blood be shed. His moods released terror in his path, and his wife lay like twisted metal after it had met with deadly winds. She felt no worth, or equalities, only the wrath of his sickly attempts to have her go mad.
His affections never tender. His wife like a lamb at the altar of his desires. Spirits sought her, he kept them at a cold distance, and it was he and only he that owned her. The scars of battle went unseen, she was a caged animal. His victory did not make her weak; her bosoms may belong to him as he drank from the fountain of her youth. Her discipline held by grace, she vowed to never give in to the bond he commanded.
She tore loose from those bonds screaming, “Your fist no longer stings, my stomach no longer will live in knots, and my body will no longer be confined. Your torture inflames my spirit; I no longer cringe in shame. I will no longer suffer the pain; I will no longer live in shock or fear. My heart breaks, God did not design for it to be this way.”
She asks herself did my torturer have a soul; did he take an oath with the Devil? She did not weep, she did not cry, she did not show fear, “It is the last time,” she thought. She was not aware of the time that he poisoned her, but she knew now that she was going to die. He would never let her leave him, with her face covered with weeping water, one could barely hear her moans, and she could not escape the tragedy of her life. She will fall into a sleep from which she would not wake. Her final thought danced across her dying mind finally, she was free.

 

©2018.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

 

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Rise and Kill the Beast…

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Rise and Kill the Beast…

 

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 lips, 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 she 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 would someday rise and kill the Beast.

 

 

 

 

©2018.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

 

 

Books can be purchased at Amazon.com – Poetry, Fiction and Non-Fiction

Misery’s Problems…

 

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Misery’s Problems…

 
Misery has sent many souls 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 the acid sky, the

beast of the earth roams follow 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 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, 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.2018

 

A Second Chance…

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A Second Chance…

There are times when I am dreaming

that I believe outside my door is the

gateway to the city of doom; nevertheless

each night when I sleep I open the door

walking into another sphere of everlasting

pain, mentally and physically. No one

pushes me through the gate, I walk willingly,

and I feel confident that I can handle the

tragedy that I know will be waiting there for

me. Tucked deep inside the confidence

there is fear, within the fear there are secret

things, distrust and lies.

 
The darkness is the most evil; a blood red moon

framed by the stars hangs above me. Hearing

strange tongues frightful and shrill, filled with

anger, strikes fear into my heart. Sometimes I

weep as the outcries reach my ears, as I do not

have a stainless claim to my own life. I fear for

the souls, even the depths of hell may refuse

them and they will be lost forever in the

darkness.

 
I question is there hope with death, will we

have memories of the earth and of the lives

that remain when we are gone? The souls

that I hear are loud, their tears are blood red,

and each is crawling in vile mud. I lower my

eyes. will they have rebirth, if they lived in

blaspheming is this terrible wailing their fate.

 
A bitter flood rushed over me as each pass to

their final resting place. They seem conscious

of their nearing doom. It is in this darkness

that each was given a second chance to feel

the love of God upon their faces, they refused.

Afterwards the ground broke from beneath

their feet, and I seem to be sinking with them

to a senseless dreadful shore and I am afraid

that I will not wake from this nightmare.

 

©2018.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

 

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The City of Destiny…

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The City of Destiny…

I have the key to the city of destiny.

Through me, you will find the entrance

to everlasting tenderness, to those

who are lost. I myself have built this

imaginary city from beginning to end

with wisdom and love. It has seen

many dauntless days. The entity of life

said I am deathless; I do not die. I feel

distrust, I am a coward in this city of

destiny.
Will you be fearful if I tell you that this

place is one of doom and darkness, one

of the damned, filled with heartless

secrets? As the darkness closes in on the

city, wailing begins loud the weeping

of unending pain. The voices with

passion filled the night, our souls

dancing in the wind. In this

everlasting night.
A Voice filled the darkness, do you fear

the Lord, the God of many, and then

this voice spoke of hope and death.

There is memory of them on the earth,

those lives that remain behind, and

their outcry does not reach your ears

in this make-believe place. Is there

justice beyond these walls, move

quickly or you will be doomed. The

souls are unnumbered.
I thought the whole city as dead, is

this retreat before everlasting life.

I saw the victims all naked and loud.

Weak and painful, some with blood

upon their faces. I gazed forward

and beg for daybreak to end all this

and me, wake me before it is too late.

Before me is nothing, a fearful abyss.
Then demons rose, one after the other

descending into the chasm. The evil

seed of the demon did this throughout

the endless night. I lay there silent with

an unspoken thought, he will come, and

he will spur justice and fear for those

that are within his reach, those that call

his name.
Then the ground began to tremble. It was

a terrifying sound. The wind rose and a

blood red moon cast its light upon the earth

where we stood. I sank further into the

dreadful dream hammering me with

waves of fear.

 
Wake up!

 

 

©2018.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

A Place of Reality…

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A Place of Reality…

I have spoke of horrifying things, are these

weak words built from understanding. I am

neither a coward nor a saint, my thoughts

are clear, my plan open to change. There are

times when I live in the “Outer Place”, where

no one can get to me where no one knows me

where I will not be bothered by human drama.
There is no place that I can flee; I fear I was

born too early or maybe too late. At night I

dream of heaven, I traveled from star to star.

Do I have a wish in that dark realm, there

looking toward Earth I see the creation. Heaven

was not open to me, nor was Hell; the dream,

the darkness of night, it was a strange descent

into my place of reality.
It is there in reality that I search for truth, as I

dream, I follow a dark stream to the sea, and it

is there that I find a sacred place for me to

dwell. The place that I dwell is not for the faint

hearted, it is on this path that I find my true

worth, within time I find whom I may follow.

There are no more delays to this life; there will

be no more words. I must travel forward on

this hard and dreadful way.

 

©2018.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

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The End is Near…

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The End is Near…

The day is quickly fading, the damp air settles around me

as I look out over the pond. I can hear Earth’s creatures

toiling under the fallen branches and leaves. I must face

another bitter cold night, alone. The power of

disappointment overtakes me; the night will be long and

fearful. My mind strains vainly to remember a time gone,

a time that no longer exist.
I lie in a darkness that grows deeper and menacing, fearing

that I might dream of him that I may have pressed too far in

remembrance, fearing, that which is no longer living. I have

lived life and crossed the infernal sea of violence; I have

endured both his fate and mind. I have walled up a world

around me; here my rules overcome his victory. I must stop

this madness and put to rest that moment in time that lies

behind me.

In the darkness, I try to remember the truth of my salvation.

I have seen unspeakable things on this road called life. The

words I speak of now are weak, weaker than those spoken

without wisdom in the past. I rise, my steps in the darkness

sound magnanimous in this bare floored room, and my

cowardness is born. Am I infirmed with fear, I am scared of

the beast living in my mind, in the shadows that cover my

eyes. I dwell within hope of heaven and fear of hell.

O Lord, I stand in the light of your wisdom, I praise your

presence. I fear the hurt of hell. I was faithful, his judgments

were poor and he broke all promises. I aided him as long as

he was on this earth; it was I that lived in anguish not he. It

was death that threatened him, he never lived in dread, and

he broke all of your commands. I must always turn away as

my eyes fill with tears; I beg you hasten my life. No more

words, no more displays, I have lived that rigid and frightful

way too long. The end is near.

©2018.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

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