Mysterious Ways

Mysterious Ways



In awe we watched Him, as He reworked the art,

Both hands, unwavering, repressed from empathy,

Wiping the dirt off our chins, how life then restarts,

A small glimmer, no… more a pinhole, a eulogy—


More like a blemish, but one that was special, unique,

Like you and me it learned the place that it belonged.

There are times I’ve yearned to be a shadow motif,

That space where stars die, and wishes happen when you’re gone…


How quickly my tears ran, and bounced off the pavement,

It’s me they ran from; I’m the one who’s fallen apart

And my soul is tough to free from enslavement

How sorrow, like a wicked cell, confined my heart.


There were nights I spent, underneath many dying stars

Not understanding or appreciating myself

Scared to fail, scared to shine, scared to endure more scars,

so I stayed inside and kept my soul up on the shelf.


The ceilings had a subtle black hue, it was cold,

it did one thing though, it catered to my loneliness

It mixed well with the faint waft of cigarettes and mold,

It’s fine, at least I wasn’t tempted by opiates


They say the world’s ending; a nihilistic approach,

Far be it from me to appreciate this boast.

I’ve spent some time now staring at nothingness and ghosts

And I cannot tell you which one I despise the most.


I’ve found that being alone, is worse than being burned,

At least I can heal from words and from pain.

If no one knows I exist then I don’t… I’ve learned

How tenuous this comment, to not exist, is to wane…


But I am not alone, like a falling tree, I hear you,

Urging me, begging me to come out and be free

But I struggle in the space between the bed and you,

to the light switch, to welcome the inner sun, to see…


To appreciate what I have to offer, see,

I want to be someone’s meaning…to matter to them

To fill that void, to love something unequivocally,

to cloy their emptiness, to be their love ATM.


Maybe that’s it, to be that small glimmer, just to matter,

I have to matter to someone for something, love maybe,

The great rectifier, it comes in the smallest of patters,

And just maybe that’s what matters most for me lately.

Paul Neglia
Latest posts by Paul Neglia (see all)

Paul Neglia

Proud father of 3. Part time writer of poetry and short stories. I want to paint the world in but a few words.

8 thoughts on “Mysterious Ways

  • August 31, 2017 at 11:06 PM

    To know one matters to someone is a gift that glimmers in the heart. Keep on keeping on to reach out and be loved, for you are worth it. It matters very much that you are who you are, Paul. You are more than a glimmer, you are a shining star that lights the hearts of others. Your poem is beautiful and very heart warming. Great work.

    • September 3, 2017 at 9:21 AM

      Thank you so much Phyllis. I’m glad you enjoyed this. I am also thankful for your kind words they mean so much.

  • September 1, 2017 at 12:14 AM

    Questions of being, our very questionable existence. Such esoteric thoughts of self, where we fit, how we see ourselves, love and life. A thought-provoking piece Paul filled with great phrasing and imagery and dutifully rendered in fine verse. Great work as always my friend.

    • September 3, 2017 at 9:22 AM

      Thank you so much Tony. I am very appreciative of you comments.

  • September 2, 2017 at 4:26 AM

    Love, life and many other things become mystical depending on how we look at them. Your poetry gives much to thought. Love the last verse.

    • September 3, 2017 at 9:22 AM

      Thank you so much Rasma. I’m glad you enjoyed this

  • September 8, 2017 at 6:44 AM

    Paul, each stanza has a punch and unwavering depth of meaning. I too have been there, in self doubt, always waving heavy over my soul. As a boy, in my own room, of darkness and choking nausea feeling. The sounds outside my door wanting to reach in with their ugliness and draw me to the den of hate, anger and fear. I truly believe it’s those early years that a Muse entered me and opened me up later in my life to let loose those inner fears and struggles I had as a boy hidden in the confines of my room. We as poets have been given gifts such as the tender words you pen here to release our love and feel others pain and struggles and be comforters to them, for we’ve been there too. Your imagery sir is so visual I can feel it cover my aura. Beautifully penned with emotion, you moved me sir as only a true poet can. Peace and blessings I send to your soul this day. Brilliant work.

    • September 11, 2017 at 12:05 PM

      Love the great rectifier. It comes out in our words as poets, it may be dark, driven, it may be pure, and wholesome, but we are the distributors, and even if it may tax our ever-loving souls, we must be their comforters like you said. Thank you so much for your kind words my friend.


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