Poems about Isaac

I wish my hands didn't shake
Every time you say my name,
But i am only
Human

I'm Isaac
I'm 6'6
I'm what you call well built
I can lift and throw well, 300+ pounds
I have dark hair and bright blue eyes
I'm bad at poetry... : P

I've never been the best at expressing my emotions but I
Simply and honestly love you like a brother.
And not because I've known you forever, but because you're
Amazing, incredible and all around irreplaceable.
C*an you promise that you'll watch over me? Like my father...

Rip my best friend. love you forever

Isaac lunged for the scissors.
He was a horrible person,
And he could never win.

At life.
Because he plays all day on his calculator,
Never leaving until later.

Oh, Isaac the scissor stealer,
He is probably a drug dealer.

You should probably avoid him,
Because he is dumb.

While Abraham was binding Isaac
To Mount Moriah he was interrupted by
A knock at the door.
"Who could this be? " he thought.
"We don't even own a door, " he cried.
So he continued binding Isaac to the
Altar. Again, a knock that could make
The deaf hear. Abraham had to stop
And look for the door.
He yelled, "Leave me alone, I'm doing
God's work! " and returned to continue
The akedah. And again a knock interrupted
Him, and again, and again---Abraham
Did not know what to do, whether to laugh
Or to cry.
And then he thought: "This will be
The history of my children. When we will
Be doing our work or God's work there will
Always come a knock at the door to interrupt
Us... whether we own a door or not. " And
It came to pass that the history of the Jews
Is a history of interruptions.

You were just the guy I would love to have a cigarette with outside.

I looked up to you in a way, listening to your lyrics and trying to tie myself in which I never knew I could.

To sit on a park bench and listen to you ramble on about nothing was good enough for me.

I wouldn't bombard you with questions or ask for personal opinions.
Shit,

We could just talk about the cold weather for all I cared.

Its hearin' your voice in person, and meeting the man behind the voice is all I wanted.

I'd even buy you a pack of stogues if you wanted.

Heh,

But I know that will never happen.

Isaac Dust, born of the dust and returning to dust
Handing over the Bill of Terrorism to the judge
Letting frozen phrases slide around my tongue

Into moonlight babies beds
Into sawdust halls of law

Into realms of embroidered cobra's heads
Who call my name through dense blue forests
On our imaginary continent

And Jacob sware by the fear of his father Isaac.
[Genesis 31: 53*]


Sharp trauma must have lingered on for good

In Isaac's silent dazed humanity

Halted by heaven; trembling laid on wood

Too young to question father's sanity.

Was it a light thing? To be thus withstood

By Jehovah's awful benignity...

Faltering further up life's mountain, would

He carry the damage with dignity?

This just might explain the forty-year wait,

Meditating on the ram, on his fate.

The paralyzing laughter of his name

Even after life unveiled in his tents.

A certain hesitation does make sense

In the son laid out on unkindled flame.