I stood on a hill and screamed for peace...
Lost in the noise were friends that teased...
A mask that hides what's wrong and right...
Too many stones thrown that blinded my sight...
Wolves that prowled with a sheeps face and a devils soul...
Crept slowly in the dark where the truth was never told...
My cape is wrinkled and torn and bloodied from the day...
A battle well fought where being right lost its way...
Then left with a heart with blood still there to drain...
No need to ask the question, I'd do it all over again...
I don't write stories, I don't write make believe... I write what's in Me.... Michael
My shallow waters have failed to hide
the deeper agony pulsating inside.
I could forgive your lies but not forget.
Do you have remorse, do you feel regret?
Feelings were buried in a shallow grave
as we failed to mend the love God gave.
You failed to speak and I failed to listen,
Fingers are pale where golden bands once glistened.
Broken hearts called to each other refusing to bend.
Not so long ago, I called you my best friend.
Now, I'm left to grieve my failed marriage.
The love we shared, your words disparaged.
I could forgive your lies but not forget.
Where is your remorse or display of regret?
I can no longer burden myself with this shame.
Standing tall, I have given my sorrow a name.
I struggled to save our once happy home,
but you chipped it away when you decided to roam.
So goodbye I shout to you and to failure!
Moving forward, your love is no longer my cure.
My life is becoming a new adventure,
and memories of your face are becoming a blur.
Yes, I could have forgiven your lies, tried to forget,
if your heart felt remorse or just a little regret.
* a work of fiction
For Nailed or Failed Contest (Black Eyed Susan)
One Toy Soldier
Little toy soldiers are all put away
Training is over for this time of day.
Where do these little boys go now to play?
Away from their home to die in the fray.
Little toy weapons are no longer there
But boxed in attics by mothers with care--
Where keepsakes still hold a lock of his hair--
While rockets and missles challenge his fare.
Little toy bad guys and little toy good
Haze in the distance when misunderstood.
Where fall the lilies on long crates of wood
And each gave their all--as good soldiers should...
Little toy soldiers are coming back home...
Mothers are weeping, laments all alone
Where flags lie folded--the gift of Shalom...
As the long box is lowered...'neath the loam
One little toy soldier is placed on the top
Remembering All--so that None be Forgot.
She is a loving mother,
her pain is like no other.
Kids taken all at once away.
A price too steep to have to pay.
Holds her head up high,
when all she wants to do is die.
She thinks her pain is masked,
but as you see, its no easy task.
She's strong and still fights,
even when they say she has no rights.
She dreams of seeing her kids,
trying hard to keep the pain hid.
She goes to court and really fights,
only to come home alone and cry at night.
Still, she continues this uphill battle.
Her confidence, they constantly rattle.
Goes to work and tries to smile,
as her heart is breaking all the while.
Wish I was a much better sister,
who called and let her know I missed her.
I had my own tumultuous issues,
it was she who really needed the tissues.
I just had a crappy, low life man.
By her side her family should stand.
Instead they all give her grief.
Do they not see her pain will never be brief?
No, they all say they are sorry, but they're full of lies.
Didn't they know it was her LIFE in demise?
A better sister, I'll try to be.
Her back she never turned to me.
I hope she knows she's loved and cared for.
Her smile I'd like to see more.
I know that's no easy task.
But that I will still ask.
As they push her to the brink,
She's stronger than she ever thinks.
A combined effort for Kristy.....
Saint Blackheart walks the Autumn streets and smiles with diamond eyes;
She's well-aware of what you think, but listens to your lies.
Confess your deepest fantasies or never look her way --
She's free with random kindness, though she won't have much to say.
Saint Blackheart seeks the shadows for the secrets they impart.
Her life's a patchwork puzzle made with jagged shards of art --
Impressionistic paintings on a canvas dipped in red;
She dances like a demon for the angels in her head.
Saint Blackheart loves the twilight and the elemental rain;
She'll stand and watch you suffer, yet she senses all your pain.
A soft, Franciscan echo making up a primal scream
Can hurtle from her crimson lips and dart from dream to dream.
Saint Blackheart lives in solitude among the ancient trees --
You'll find her there within the mist, but never on her knees.
Her hands will offer nothing which is not her own to give;
And though you wish to die in peace, she may just let you live.
Saint Blackheart will not weep with you or wipe away your tears,
Yet she may catch their crystal hue and treasure it for years.
She'll lay a little flower on a long-forgotten grave --
A tribute to the tortured soul she never tried to save.
I stare in the mirror, my tears fall in vain
Can’t see my reflection through the veil of this pain.
Who is this person I struggle to see?
I don’t want to judge her but it’s surely not me.
This stranger I cast looks so tired and weak,
I wish I could help her but I’m frightened to speak.
Cause it’s dark and lonely in this shell where I’m bound
Where once there was laughter, is now void of sound.
and the beauty I knew in just yesterday’s time,
seems gone in an an instant with life’s rythym and rhyme…..
Then GOD he spoke child…What do you mean?
You’re more beautiful than anything that I’ve ever seen!
The reflection you cast it don’t matter to me,
What matters is that you can see what I see.
That your spirit is filled with a breath that is true.
And a beauty so deep that this world can’t undo.
I know that your journey seems to heavy to bear.
But I’ve given you family that love and who care.
So hold on tight through the dips and the turns,
For the ones who believe are the precious who learns.
And wether your journey is to stay here or go,
Please know I love you so much more than you know.
I wish I could tell you the beauty that awaits…
But you will know only, when you see heavens gates.
Wandering past the boundaries of his small reservation,
Crescent Moon saw the land of his ancestors’ generation.
Tales handed down spoke of vast plains where buffalo used to roam,
but plains had become cities, animals had found a new home.
Most of the creatures had been captured, tagged and placed into zoos;
Anger coursed through Crescent Moon’s veins as tears from his eyes did ooze.
Tribal leaders had told him that the sky was once a bright blue,
but now smog was so thick that only faint rays of sun pierced through.
Seeing mountains in the distance, he pursued a vision quest
taking him through streets that were once the great forests of the West.
Snowy peaks he finally reached, but they were lined by ski resorts.
Fire burned in him, knowing beauty had been sacrificed for sports.
As he climbed over peaks to view a river flowing below,
he saw only tainted waters that caused his anger to grow.
Sadly, slowly, he made his way back to the reservation,
knowing there was no way to reverse what the white man had done.
Although others had adjusted to life in captivity,
he’d no longer participate in tribal festivity.
Instead he made his home in a cave behind a waterfall,
to envision his land as it once was, not a shopping mall.
*Entry for Francine’s “A Nature Tale” contest.
By Carolyn Devonshire, September 30, 2011
Introduction: Our real problem is, "Will we ever be able to learn who our true,
real self really is?" Being true to and with ourselves is that thing which is the
most important in the makeup of our whole mental mind as well as balance.
The suicide death of Robin Williams and a comment about living behind a
mask made by an Isle of Man beauty have served as the inspiration for writing
Our True, Real Self
It may change time to time and is in constant flight,
And of the fact, we should never, ever lose sight
That God is true and for us His huge help is here;
Believe in and always know He is close ad near.
Many times God, myself, I so often will ask:
" Why am I wearing and behind a mental mask?"
Trying to hide true self and me that You made,
Who often loved so simply to sit in the shade.
My life is over and done which was much fun;
I am a memory for my fans who won't forget me
And free at last in heaven, a far better place to be;
Where again someday, you can laugh along with me.
James Thomas Horn
173 Shadowood Court SE
Bolivia, NC 28422
Email address: email@example.com
www.poetrysoup.com Poem of the Day
for August 16, 2014
On a slope graced with green
White marble stands in proud salute
For beneath these engraved pillars of memory
Lie the resting places of heroes
A solitary green fir looks down
As if sheltering the lost and the taken
So many names, from all walks of life
A father, brother a girlfriend or wife
On a sunny day, they glow radiant like their lives
On a dull day, they stand out against the greys
For the living, life goes on
Tomorrow is another day
Pulling back my broken heart
Before you can finish tearing it apart
Now I am finally beginning to see
That you never meant to love me
Desire for me is not nearly enough
Why should leaving you be so tough
Your sweet ways and masculine charms
Won’t keep me happy in your arms
Love is needed, love is required
Without love, my heart grows tired
Of waiting for you to say to me
I love you as you love me
What will I do to slowly end
This love affair with my dear friend
Our weekends together will happen less
My phone calls will be less frequent, I guess
No longer will you hear from me
How deep my love for you can be
Fewer kisses and cuddles and late nights
You say you’re not ready, I guess that’s right
My goodbye will be so very slow
I will be gone before you even know
That we could have had it all, my dear
If falling for me wasn’t your biggest fear