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The Soul That God Forgot

Who am I? I wonder oft
And hope that I may see,
Who it is that's me,
And ask my maker up aloft
Who, indeed, I be.

Whyfor I'm here I ask aloud
And yearn for his reply,
And search for reasons why,
From he beyond the cloud
Who, indeed be I.

What use am I? I cannot know
If I am never told
What place that I should hold,
The direction I should go,
Until, indeed, I'm old.

When do I die? I ask again
When will my day be through?
If, now, I only knew,
I query this in vain
I do, indeed, I do.

No answer do I, yet, receive,
He replying not,
No reason for my lot,
For am I, when I take my leave
The soul that God forgot?

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Last few words: 
For Hayden. www.neopoet.com/edward-nigma
Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content

Comments

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Critique is a compliment
Kind regards, Alan
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author comment

Dear Alan, thanks for giving us the link to Edward's profile. So he's very young and has had brain surgery. I commented on his prose poem yesterday, I believe. I thought that maybe he is a foreigner, but now that I know he's 15 years old, I admire his writing a lot. Tx, Gracy

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"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

Thank you

Hlm life without literature is a life without logic.

A fine poem.
I thought I would share this poem,. used in the film "wings of desire" directed by Wim Wenders, It too has the same feeling, and think you will enjoy.

Song of Childhood
(Lied Vom Kindsein )

When the child was a child
it walked with its arms swinging,
wanted the brook to be a river,
the river to be a torrent,
and this puddle to be the sea.
When the child was a child,
it didn’t know that it was a child,
to it, everything had a soul,
and all souls were one.
When the child was a child,
it had no opinion about anything,
had no habits,
it often sat cross-legged,
took off running,
had a cowlick in its hair,
and made no faces when photographed.
When the child was a child,
It was the time for these questions:
Why am I me, and why not you?
Why am I here, and why not there?
When did time begin, and where does space end?
Is life under the sun not just a dream?
Is what I see and hear and smell
not just the reflection of a world before the world?
Is there really such a thing as evil, and people
who really are the Bad Guys?
How can it be that the I, who I am,
didn’t exist before I came to be,
and that, someday, the I who I am,
will no longer be who I am?
– Peter Handke.

Eumolpus
I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
ee cummings

Thank you so much for the time and effort you have expended on this comment. I had not heard of this film (or the piece) until you kindly brought my attention to it.
I read and enjoyed the poem and went to youtube to have it recited to me, first in English and then in German. I can see why you admire it so much.

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Critique is a compliment
Kind regards, Alan
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author comment

I do recommend the film highly. A very poor Hollywood version of wings of desire was made. Avoid that, see the original with Peter Falk.
Also Jodorowsky’s “endless poetry”.
Memorable films. Great poetry

Eumolpus
I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
ee cummings

Hi again, Alan. Interesting poem, all that questioning. I think God gave us free will and we'll go about our business according to his unseen guidance. One day we'll meet our Creator face to face and everything will fall into place.
I like your having brought up this theme in your poem. I don't think God forgot your soul or anybody else's, for that matter. So I can't give an opionion on the title, but the pacing and all else is fine. Enjoyed.
Best, Gracy

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"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

Thanks for looking into my new poem. I wrote it for Edward Nigma (arch-enemy of Batman ~ AKA 'The Riddler') He is a new member here and I hope we can all make him welcome.
I am sure that he will be pleased with your own recent comment on his work. My wish is that the extensive surgery he has undergone in his young life will make him well. His courage must be outstanding.

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Critique is a compliment
Kind regards, Alan
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author comment

Knowing something about this young man myself by reading his home page, which is always worth doing when new members arrive, you just make me cry.

What a kind heart you have and this poem to whom ever has the very unfortunate life where they fight for it on a daily basis without a reason of why it is them, just makes me feel lucky, and in every pain and every difficulty I have endured in my own life I could never complain.

A very very special poem.

Thank you...Teddy

if poetry makes you cry ~ or laugh or curse the poet and burn the page, then it is working. The words must be meaningful.
Alas, they are only words.

.......................................
Critique is a compliment
Kind regards, Alan
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author comment

It's not so much the words, more the reason why you wrote them, I have spent 28 years working with children myself, I've seen many things wonderful also tragic, so that's why this touched my heart.

Thank you...Teddy

Double post sorry.

Thank you...Teddy

Hi, Alan,
There was a time I questioned the 'why' and the reason I am here. I don't think about it too much any more. It may be something very simple, yet extraordinary like getting to witness the courage of a young man, or reading a heartfelt poem. As your poem proves, at least to me, our souls are all connected and none of us forgotten. So lovely!
Thank you!
L

to listen to you L. You are so wise. I think that you are correct that we all connect, this is why we care so much about the wellbeing of others ~ others we have never met. Your words are very kind, thank you for reading.

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Critique is a compliment
Kind regards, Alan
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author comment

Alan, but a fine poem it is. I don't know the background story
but that didn't affect the read. Much enjoyed.

Sue

I am pleased that you enjoyed. a,b,b,a,b. c,d,d,c,d. and so on.

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Critique is a compliment
Kind regards, Alan
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author comment

the theme of this poem about search for one's identity is pretty well expressed...it's something most contemplate or even wonder but He leaves it for us to find out and act...

this reminded me of a poem i had spontaneously written like many did following 9/11 and I think it's title was "Had Angels gone to sleep"...and had posted it on poetry.com..

be well..

raj (sublime_ocean)

Thanks for looking in. Why don't you re-post your poem and let us have a look at it.

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Critique is a compliment
Kind regards, Alan
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author comment

It was posted some twenty years back. Will check on Poetry.com if they still have it in their archives.

Be well..

raj (sublime_ocean)

Here's to trusting that the words of poets are really the words spoken to [and by, and for] a generation.

The seekers of place, of purpose, of what the real reasons are... surely will find your piece heartfelt.

Let’s hope our sanity survives in the ocean of mass hysteria that floods our world of humanity

Hlm life without literature is a life without logic.

Thank you for visiting and commenting. Yes! here's to trusting...

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Critique is a compliment
Kind regards, Alan
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author comment

I am pleased you called by.

.......................................
Critique is a compliment
Kind regards, Alan
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author comment
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