poem

Your Prayer Is Bound By Love

/ Nancy Ann Creed / 1 Comment
woman in white sweater and blue denim jeans sitting on bed
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Your Prayer Is Bound By Love

When darkness falls upon a soul you know,
And misconduct is the seed that they sow,
When actions pierce the better self you see,
And they depart from how they ought to be,
A higher call demands your swift response,
Beyond the simple bitterness of offense.

Specifically, when they project their strife,
Inflicting turmoil on another life,
When pain and discontent are thrust outside,
And unkindness is the path where they ride—
And when their negativity is aimed at you,
The target of the anger they accrue—
The time for action is not a fight,
But deep engagement in the spirit’s light.
The clear command is given from above:
You should pray. Your prayer is bound by love.

This is a prayer with purpose dual-faced,
For strength to face the hurt that is embraced.
Pray earnestly to guard your inner soul,
For wisdom, grace, and to achieve your goal:
To stand against injustice, firm and true,
Lest roots of bitterness take hold of you.
And simultaneously, with fervent heart,
Pray unceasingly to heal their broken part.

Petition for their spirit’s restoration,
For sight, repentance, and illumination.
Pray for their clarity, that the dark fog
That clouds their judgment might begin to jog.
May truth reveal the nature of their deed,
The bitter pain that plants the hurtful seed.

Your prayer’s an act of purity and might,
A divine request for what is good and right.
Pray that the toxic urge to hold offense,
All hatred, vengeance, and poor recompense,
Be fully purged from where your feelings lie.
Pray that true peace, the peace that reaches high,
That surpasses knowledge, may reside within,
A shield against the chaos and the sin.
And pray for grace to grant them full release,
To find compassion for their lack of peace,
Recognizing that the hurt they impart
Is but a symptom of their wounded heart.

You know the truth; denial finds no space,
A certainty of wrong you have to face.
They operate outside their healthy sphere,
Not as the self they ought to hold so dear.
You know they act as wounded, lost, and frail,
Beyond a doubt, they stumble and they fail.
Given this truth, this knowledge you possess,
Your duty is to fully intercess.
You need to pray.

This sacred work requires commitment strong,
Independent of who says that you are wrong.
You need to pray, though you are ostracized,
Misunderstood, or wholly unadvised.
You need to pray, though they who cause the woe
Discourage faith and bid your efforts slow.
Resolve within, in the core of your deep soul,
That you will never yield to their control.
Let your prayer be a sanctuary, ever near,
A tireless beacon, banishing all fear,
For your own soul, and for the troubled one
Whose inner struggle means the harm is done.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

The Shattered Image

/ Nancy Ann Creed / 2 Comments
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The Shattered Image

The depth of my disappointment is immense,
I truly thought you were a person of integrity,
Whose every action would align, with no pretense,
With the strong character you seemed to be.
“I thought you were better” is too mild to say;
I saw in you a loyalty I sought to find,
A moral standard now just dust and clay,
A shattered image of a perfect mind.

The thing you did, or failed to do, you see,
Was not a simple letdown; “it crushed me” whole.
It was a devastating blow to my reality,
A chasm swallowing my trusting soul.
I had invested trust and boundless hope,
An extraordinary quantity of “faith in you,”
To find it misplaced, I now must grope,
A personal failure, though the fault is true.

Our bond, which I so dearly held and prized,
Was based on a belief in shared pure light.
“I thought we were actually friends,” I realized,
Now every memory feels contaminated, blight.
Each moment shared, each secret I confessed,
Feels poisoned by the knowledge I now hold,
That “that’s a lie, and it’s always been a lie,” unblessed.
A friendship’s illusion, turning cold.

My estimation of you reached the stars,
“Maybe I thought more highly of you than you think of yourself.”
I held you past your self-imposed high bars,
More than you were capable of from your shelf.
I believed you held a goodness and a strength,
A beautiful essence that does not exist.
“Maybe I thought more of you than you truly are,” at length,
The gap between the ideal and the actual persists.

My admiration wasn’t born from my own plight,
For I appreciated what I thought you were.
I never claimed perfection, or to be the light:
“I don’t think I am special; I thought you were.”
I know my faults; I am not so grand:
“I don’t think I am great; I thought you were.”
My self-regard is low, I understand:
“I don’t think highly of myself, but I thought highly of you.”

The burden of this pain, in a dark way,
Rests on my shoulders for this foolish crime.
“I guess I was wrong to put that much faith in you,” I say.
The name of “friend” was sacred, but I wasted time:
“I guess I was wrong to call you a friend.”
My error was this desperate, naive dream,
That you would prove me right until the end:
“I guess I was wrong; I wanted you to be better.”

And so I cycle through this self-inflicted doubt,
Were my expectations too far out of reach?
“I guess I was wrong, maybe it’s just me,” I shout.
But the ultimate truth that the facts now preach:
“I guess I was wrong; I put too much faith in you.”
I took your potential for your very core:
“I guess I was wrong, believing in you,” it’s true.
I can’t believe in you anymore.

The desolate conclusion is the clear refrain:
“I guess I was wrong.” A simple, crushing sound.
For in your actions, truth gives way to pain:
“I guess I meant nothing to you” that I have found.
The end of my faith is the end of what we were.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

Sponges and the Soul

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment
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Sponges and the Soul

Some people are like sponges.
They soak up whatever is around them,
And then pour it out on others.

When they are with good people,
They absorb your goodness,
And then pour it out on others.

When they are around toxic people,
They become like them,
And then pour it out on others.

Don’t be a sponge.
Know who you are.
Beware of sponges and always be the good person
So the sponges can soak up your goodness.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

The Weary Crown of Morning

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment

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The jarring, insistent shriek,
An alarm clock’s metallic cry,
Assaults the fragile morning’s peace,
A painful echo in the sky
Of my dark skull. I groan, a sound
Instantly swallowed by the deep,
Heavy silence all around,
I try to meld back into sleep.

A cruel hand pulls, a rhythmic beat,
From sleep’s warm, velvet, soft embrace,
It snatches me, with sudden heat,
And leaves my heart against my face.
My eyes fly open, dark and blank,
Staring up at the ceiling’s shade,
My body, safe within the bank
Of blankets, a fortress I have made.

But now the cold kiss starts to creep,
A sharp, unwelcome morning chill,
That pricks the skin I cannot keep
Beneath the covers, lying still.
With weariness, I fight the day,
The first act: pull the fabric high,
To hide, to make the light away,
And plunge into a private sky.

No. It can’t possibly be now,
Time is a thief that steals the night,
I want to vanish, somehow,
From all the expectations of the light.
Just lie here, a statue, breathing low,
Letting my mind drift, free and wide,
Back to the quiet dreams I know,
A ghost the sheets completely hide.

This is my refuge, warm and deep,
A sanctuary I’ll not leave,
While outside, light and noises sleep.
I am a vessel that will receive
A torrent of chaotic thought,
The doubt, the list, the sudden spark,
In this brief silence, dearly bought,
Before the world steps from the dark.

But then, the quiet starts to fade,
A deep, weary settling down:
Alas, the rising must be made.
Each day, a loop, a weary crown.
I run a race that has no end,
Against the clock, against demands,
A weight that bends, and still must bend.
I shove the covers with both hands.

The only prize, the only true
Reprieve, is time, unscheduled, pure:
To take a day, a week or two,
With only my children, to be sure.
No emails, bosses, or cruel stress,
Just me and my kids, simple, slow,
Wrapped in the light of quietness.
That is the only finish line I know.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

The Tapestry of Poison

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment
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The Tapestry of Poison


The tapestry of life has threads of gloom,
Where toxic darkness drains the spirit’s bloom.
Some things in life are toxic, subtly sly,
Environments that stifle, habits that deny
Our health, or institutions built on lies—
The silent poisons that before us rise.

As harmful are the ties that bring us pain,
Some people in life who are toxic, they remain
Emotional vampires, constant critics cold,
Passive aggressors, stories to be told
Of manipulation, thriving on the storm,
Suffocating potential, leaving us worn.

Beyond the things and people we may face,
Some activities are toxic in this space.
The compulsions offering distraction’s grace,
But long-term regret we cannot erase:
The relentless pursuit, the endless scroll,
The cycles that entrap and take their toll.

So why do we still use these things we know?
Is it comfort, fear, or letting inertia grow?
And why do we still talk to these people too?
Is it guilt, obligation, hope that’s often through?
Why on the altar of connection’s name,
Do we sacrifice our peace to feed their flame?

If the outcome’s negative, why do we stay?
Why do we still do these activities every day?
The self-sabotage, the deeply set-in need,
Why do we torment ourselves by doing the same things repeatedly indeed?
A closed, agonizing loop of self-inflicted harm,
Where inertia holds us in its harmful arm.

But the moment of reckoning demands its due,
A crystallizing truth, unflinching, strong, and new:
Enough! I am done! a line across the sand,
The absolute refusal, a sovereign command.
To the source of the poison, the message is clear,
Take your toxicity and your self-righteous attitude and leave me here.

Leave me be, so I can move on and find my peace,
Grant me the space for wounds to heal and cease.
Leave me be and stop pretending you ever cared,
The charade of concern, its hollow core laid bare.
Leave me be and let me live my life as it should be,
Unburdened by your shadow, finally free.

My future is my own, not for your design,
Leave me be and stop pretending that you ever cared is the final sign.
Severing the chains of a love that was a lie,
Walking into freedom beneath a clear, blue sky.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

The Wall Within

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment

The Wall Within


A hundred hands may wave hello,
My circle stretches far and wide,
A glittering, expanding galaxy of faces.
I wear the badge of social glow,
A persona polished by years of practice,
With nowhere left for me to hide.

From all the laughter, chatter, speed—
The ceaseless, humming frequency
Of a busy, pleasant, surface life.
I move through it with practiced ease,
A master of the graceful pivot,
The knowing nod, the quick, witty reply.

I plant a seed of friendship in every brief encounter,
But plant no need, no urgent desire,
To share the fragile, intricate root of inner strife.
That soil remains untouched, protected
Beneath a carefully cultivated veneer.

I’m fluent in the easy grace,
The casual etiquette of the crowd,
The light exchange, the friendly art
Of keeping things buoyant and untroubled.
I hold my ground, keep pace for pace
With the energy swirling around me.

But with a discipline honed by instinct,
I guard the chambers of my heart.
They see the joy, a bright, unburdened thing;
They know the name, the accessible presence,
The quick advice, the ever-ready helping hand.

But do they know the private flame?
The solitary, almost sacred fire
That burns when the crowd disperses?
Do they comprehend the quiet wish I understand,
A silent vow whispered in the empty rooms?

This is a hidden wish for something more,
A hunger that the fleeting nature
Of nodding, quick hellos can never satisfy.
It is a desperate yearning to stand before an open door,
Not just ajar, but wide, welcoming the cold draft of honesty.

And let the chosen currents flow—
The true, deep rivers of thought and feeling.
It means taking the terrifying risk of being seen,
Truly and wholly, stripped of the social armor,
Embracing the profound fear of vulnerability.

It is the urgent, essential work
Of trying to bridge the gap that lies
Between the friend I am—the comfortable, reliable construct—
And the authentic soul I truly wish to be.

I long for souls with whom to build a sanctuary,
A trust that does not need the exhausting
Scaffolding of pretense. I search for the sacred space
To be fulfilled, not just busy, by sharing what I hold intense—
The deep convictions, the quiet sorrows, the complicated ecstasies.

These lie beneath the surface chatter.
I have the crowd, the sprawling, beautiful, demanding crowd,
Now I must dare the single, hardest act:
To drop the stone that shields the well.

To lower the defenses, to shatter
The carefully crafted stories I tell,
And let the few who truly care,
Those with the steady gaze and the listening heart,
See past the bright, easy narratives and witness the truth held within.
I want to trade the effortless multitude for the arduous, sustaining few.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

Holiday Bliss

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment
family decorating a christmas tree
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The year turns slow, a measured, quiet grace,
The final, faded green surrenders place.
The frost begins to cling, a crystal sheen,
Upon the windowpane, a painted scene.
And through the air, a certain sweet note rings,
The hushed anticipation that it brings.
The scent of pine, a memory held dear,
The flicker of the flame that conquers fear.
The simple joy of calling out a name,
A bond rekindled in the hearth’s warm frame.
For in this season, when the world grows dim,
We gather close—the sturdy branch upon the limb.

The laughter spills from kitchens warm and bright,
A symphony of comfort, pure delight.
Reflecting back the twinkling festive light,
That chases shadows from the longest night.
The worn traditions, comforting and deep,
The silent vows the generations keep.
The treasured tales the passing years will house,
Whispered from grandmother to the spouse.
A mother’s gentle touch, a father’s quiet gaze,
The simple, stunning peace of family days.
We hold these moments, fleeting, fine, and fast,
A glowing anchor, built to truly last.
A tapestry of love in every thread,
The unsaid promises that are instead
Of grand pronouncements, simple, steady truth,
Revisiting the spirit of our youth.

Yet, in this clamor of good cheer and sound,
A deeper, silent shadow can be found.
For some hearts ache beneath the tinsel’s sheen,
Where loneliness resides, unheard, unseen.
Invisible the struggles, sharp, and keen,
The quiet battle fought behind a screen.
A heavy blanket where the light should bloom,
The suffocating weight of silent gloom.
A quiet echo in an empty room,
A whispered prayer within a sealed-off tomb.
The world rushes by with cheer and bright display,
Ignoring those who simply cannot play.

O Holy night, when love first filled the sky,
When hope descended from the heavens high,
We lift a fervent, humble, heartfelt cry:
For every soul that walks in winter’s shade,
Whose burdened spirit feels unseen, afraid—
For those who carry burdens heavy, long,
Who cannot join the general, joyful song—
May they know comfort, strength, and gentle rest,
And find the solace of a single, soft breast.

We open wide the door, the hearth, the chair,
A gesture pure, a message we can share.
To banish loneliness with genuine care,
To offer sanctuary from the chill air.
If your own light is faltering, low, and weak,
It is our kinship that we humbly seek.
You are not strange; you are not far; you belong,
Come share our shelter, join our welcoming song.
Let silence break, let every fear release,
And find within these walls a lasting peace.
May every spirit, broken, bruised, or sad,
Be touched by peace, and know they are made glad
Not just by feasting, bright and well-supplied,
But by love’s true grace that flows on every tide—
A safe, warm haven in this hallowed place,
Reflecting God’s own open, kind embrace.

Acceptance is the Key

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment
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The weight of a thousand eyes presses down,
A silent, ceaseless judgment that I drown
Within. I worry too much, an endless loop
Of anxious thoughts, a psychological stoop

About how others see me—the fleeting glance,
The subtle shift, the judgment they advance.
Each interaction is a stage, a test,
Where my own self-worth is put to the best
Or worst assessment by an external gauge.
I turn each minor slip into a mental cage.

I worry too much, an unrelenting fear,
About whether they like me, holding me dear,
Or casting me aside with cold indifference.
The need for approval is a fierce presence,
A hunger I can never seem to appease,
Searching for acceptance on every breeze.

I worry too much, the constant, weary drain,
About what others think, the imagined stain
They see upon my character or my name.
This scrutiny I project is a cruel game,
Where I am both the player and the prize,
Obsessed with the mirrors in other people’s eyes.

Why does it matter so much to me, this need
To fit the mold, to plant the perfect seed
Of a flawless persona in their minds?
Why do I seek the validation that binds
Me to their opinion, tethering my peace
To whether or not their judgments cease?

The mask I wear is finely wrought and bright.
I say, with forced conviction and feigned might,
It doesn’t bother me. My voice is steady, low.
I put, with practiced ease, a flawless show,
On a brave face, a fortress built of stone,
Pretending I stand confidently alone.

But the truth is, the internal tremor starts,
It does bother me, deep within the hidden parts.
The words I speak are often just a lie,
A desperate attempt to watch the worry die.
The fear of rejection is a constant, nagging ache,
A vulnerability I cannot fully forsake.

I want to move on from these consuming thoughts,
To sever the chains of ‘what-if’ and ‘what-nots’.
I want to rid myself of the debilitating idea,
That everyone has to like me, crystal clear,
A fantasy that keeps me small and tight.
I long to stand securely in my own light.

No matter what I say or do, the true release
Lies not in their affection, but in my own peace.
Acceptance is the key, the final, crucial stand.
Acceptance of who I am, etched by my own hand,
And the profound, unshakable belief that I am worthy,
Not because they say it, but because I know the worth of me.
I will claim my own value and finally be free.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

100%

/ Nancy Ann Creed / 4 Comments

100%

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I thought you were my certain shield,
The one true, steadfast, loyal friend.
A naive conviction, now revealed,
That you would stand until the end,
No matter the storm, the challenge faced,
Your full resolve, completely placed.

I sought a fierce, unwavering vow,
A pure defense, holding nothing back,
A perfect pledge, as you know how,
To guard my ground along the track.
A hundred percent, my only plea,
Undeniable fealty.

But that fierce certainty is gone,
A shattered faith, a painful lie.
I wake to realize at dawn,
I lack the worth that merits why—
I’m not enough, I see it clear,
To warrant that support so dear.

The wound of ‘sorry’ is a slight,
A shallow balm that cannot mend
The hollow ache of broken light;
It will not bring the hurt to end.
For others hold a higher seat,
They taste the loyalty I greet.

And so, the starkest truth remains,
A bitter draught I must consume:
To face the isolating rains,
To walk alone within the gloom.
I must accept, in every plight,
I stand completely by my light.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

I am Broken

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment
shallow focus photo of woman s reflection on broken mirror
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I am broken.

The words, sharp and unwarranted,
slice through the fragile shell I built.
Tiny, invisible blades, their power immense,
carving my heart into scattered, irreparable pieces.

My carefully constructed dreams,
ambitious plans, vital goals—
all crumble before this onslaught,
a lifetime of building reduced to dust.
My essence, fractured, lies on the cold floor.

Why do these ephemeral sounds,
mere vibrations in the air, hurt so?
Why grant them such devastating power,
to tear the fabric of our being,
to leave us utterly immobilized?

With a deep, shuddering breath, I rise.
Muscles protest, heavy with despair.
I kneel, picking mangled, bleeding pieces
from the unforgiving floor,
cradling the remnants, a silent cry.

I try, with feverish intensity, to mend—
reaching for glue, tape, harsh staples.
But none of them hold.
The cracks are too deep, the breaks too fundamental.
A heart shattered by words
cannot be fixed by physical objects

Again, the haunting question returns:
Why do I give words this power?
Why allow such deep, lingering pain?

Yet, the act of kneeling has shifted something.
I stand up, not whole, but resilient.
I place my broken, but still beating, heart
back into my chest,
and with a final act of defiance, I dust myself off.

The reality remains:
Words possess the power to tear us down,
to reduce us to rubble,
weapons that wound the soul.

But words are not solely destruction.
They possess the capacity to restore.
A single, well-placed phrase—
of kindness, encouragement, or understanding—
can be the foundation upon which we rebuild.

Love, in its purest expression,
is the ultimate healing force,
articulated through sincere, positive words,
what ultimately saves us all.

Words can tear you down.
Words can also lift you up.

Choose your words with the highest intention.
Strive always to lift a spirit,
to reinforce worth, to acknowledge a presence.

Never fail to be kind.
Kindness is the shield against the world’s harsh words,
the balm for its inflicted injuries.

Remember this immutable truth:
Words are a powerful, double-edged sword.
They can drag someone into the deepest pit of despair,
or elevate them to heights of strength and hope.

Use this profound tool with meticulous care.
Wield your words to heal, to encourage, and to restore.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd