poetry

Charmed Alarm

​Back before I became charming, 

I was a little charmed, true story.
I seriously thought because of my dreams as a child, by my teens & early 20’s, I was a witch, 

completely taken by the concept, they lived what appeared a good lifestyle, not ugly like horror pictures displayed, but that’s not true either, because its an inside job.

I mean everyone wanted a supernatural ability, a hero superpower, mine’s happened to be witches.

I was mesmerized looking at the movie Craft and Bewitched, Sabrina, even I Dream of Jeannie and Charmed on tv. 

It was revealed to me then, it was just another method to programming, more measures to weaken strong mind’s..again.

———————————————————-


I still have dreams that come true quite often .
That had to be the reason for these new phophetic dreams, already detailed or when I didn’t like someone how they up and died, 

it seemed, right?

But I always believed in the Most High God, so those around me questioned, the new ways my young mind was thinking. 

I prayed, and was raised in church as a child. 

So what was I doing with this brewing inside, 

me?

The oil and candles a different path, trying to snuff out, 

my spiritual energy? 

The tarot cards I threw away, because they wouldn’t burn, 

as I had began taking my show on the road, reading futures abs palms for donations in turn.

I was trying to get a handle on the scandal of my dreams, 

to shape up and find other ways to analyze these, 

visions in ways that were crystal clear too me. 

There wasn’t any other plausible cause, 

in all those new awakenings and swaying off course, and for what? some wiccan atmosphere in my way, on pause?. 

I became so deep inside myself.

I began seeing darkness cross my picture window outside, 

but no one else would, 

no airplane or helicopters in sight, or Art Van’s moving truck parking to the right.

Yet somehow something dark, began decreasing my light.

I began speaking to God, 

as often as possible.

Knowing fool well the gifts of visioned dreams I obtained, 

were of God’s following.  

I worried sorrowfully as new disturbances flowed, 

out of my element, 

as they came, hid and growed.

Was I living a double life, 

cheating on my Saviour, with nocturnal’s night, 

that enchanted my days?

Bringing forth a sinister force more compelling and spiteful my way? Something more powerful and larger than me in height?

Was I walking backwards away, from a path to my Father’s light?

Into darknesses riddle, 

or was I an idiot, caught up in the middle? 

Asking with nerve, to reverse the curse, inside my Creator’s, 

already war torn, universe. 

Unknowingly channeling for peace and riches, but at what cost, for my praise and soul alwatys remained, His. 

So what gain could be truthfully disbursed?

I had to sit back, reaccess, 

the error of my ways, with half knowledge to dropping this issue fast, before my prayer’s went unanswered by my Savior who forgives repetively last.

Simply brought on, due to what started as questions to dreams, surmounting into a distasteful disastrous path. 

Thanking God for forgiving a sinner like me.

Besides I enjoy our relationship, I speak with I AM daily.

As for trying to be a witch in my youth, too needing to regroup,

with no longer proof of that path.

As I laugh exposing an additional epic fail, with me and casting  spells,

Is, I’m awful at math. πŸ™‚

Poetry By Tamara Dorsey-Moore

Thinker on the Loose

Copyright (c) 2017 Reserved purposes intended.

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