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Mark A. Rockeymoore

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Nothing Is Promised
by Mark A. Rockeymoore
Rated "G" by the Author.
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Recent poems by Mark A. Rockeymoore
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           >> View all 111

I'm up and down thes days, aren't I? Well, nothing is promised. I asked a question about perfection a little while ago and received varied responses from the Authorsden family, which I thank you all for. The beat again drove me in this composition, but, the beat came from within, created specifically for this write. Nothing is promised, although, for the spiritually inclined, much is portended. There's a difference. This write is from a worldly perspective, one that I think some'a'y'all might appreciate. Thanks in advance for the listen and read!

We live, as if we have
As if we are promised tomorrow.
But indeed,
nothing is promised.
Absolutely, nothing.

Living life is like being born
all alone,
You stand on shifting sand,
Nothing’s written in stone.

Nothing is promised,
absolutely, nothing.

Nothing is promised,
nothing is sure.
Nobody’s perfect,
nobody’s pure.

Say what?

I said, life’s the type of flow I like.
Nothing ever lives up to the hype.

Open your heart,
Open your soul.

You better get ready
Cause pain’s the goal.

Juxtaposed atop creation
exists a torture chamber called
A spot within which it gets
very, very hot.
Emotional turmoil’s the norm,
passionate commitment’s the
perfect storm we’re all searching for.
Oppositional entities they seem to be:
passion’s lifecycle a pheromonic tonic!
Commitment’s inculcation,
a mental creation!
Coexisting concomitantly,
smitten, we be,
by each other,

Nothing is promised,
nothing is sure.
Nobody’s perfect,
nobody’s pure.

Perhaps a perfect love
only comes from above.

Maybe you and me
weren’t meant to be.

All this drama we live and love
is nothing compared to God above.

The realization of the transient nature
of human relations is a mandatory
benchmark of Incarnation.
The strife we put each other through
is why you came back for me
and why I came back for you.
Two thousand and twenty seven
lifetimes ago,
I broke your heart because you
couldn’t let me flow.
In the meantime and in between time
we avoided each other’s karma,
as if dharma wasn’t applicable.
Right living, right thinking,
and the correct and proper actions
are the redaction of sin.
Where our love ends,
and our transcention of the world

Living life is like being born
all alone,
You stand on shifting sand
nothing’s written in stone.

Nothing is promised,
nothing is sure.
Nobody’s perfect,
nobody’s pure.

Living life is like being born
all alone,
You stand on shifting sand
nothing’s written in stone.

Nothing is promised,
nothing is sure.
Nobody’s perfect,
nobody’s pure.

Nothing is promised,
absolutely, nothing.

.::audiopoetic direct DL::.

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Reviewed by Bennett
For I have lived this and have been through the turmoil to know that nothing is promised. You have hit it once again on the head for life comes and goe like relationships and money.
Reviewed by Missy Cross
what a read. thank you!
Reviewed by E T Waldron
Amen! You're rocking with your roll now Mark;-)!

Reviewed by Chrissy McVay
I saw on the Discovery Channel that in about 5 billion years our sun will die, then I thought '5 billion years really isn't so far away, is it?' We truly are just standing on 'shifting sand'...
Reviewed by A PAX
Soul mates, huh
cosmic herion.......good write, very deep!!! pax anita
Reviewed by Tinka Boukes
Spot on Mark!!

Love Tinka
Reviewed by Karen Lynn Vidra, The Texas Tornado
So true, Mark. Very well expressed; very well done!

(((HUGS))) and much love, your friend in Burleson, Karen Lynn. :)
Reviewed by Sherry Heim
True words and profound thoughts, Mark. Nothing is promised and nothing is written in stone, Aint that the truth!! It is fortunate that there is flex in this lifetime and that we are not committed to a rigid game plan...or are we??? The answer comes from the light above.
Take care,
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