Do you believe in the things that you've always known,
Can you understand the things you've been shown.
Is it the visions you see that make you believe,
Or is the feelings you get when you've been deceived.
The pain you feel a never ending ache ,
Tearing your heart and soul from you every day.
Time ticks slowly pounding away at you,
Throbbing heart breaking and there's you can do,
Must I settle for these lost and broken dreams,
Because it has all the signs that what it seems.
How much should a man endure to find his way,
It cant possibly be like this hard for me every day.
There is nothing so frustrating as being so confused,
Especially when you've discovered that you've been used.
I will get through this lonely phase I have no doubts,
But I'm sure there will come a day I'll figure it all out.
Cautiously I walk the path that's been laid before me,
In faith I will continue for I know he will let me see.
Life will be thrown at you in so many different ways,
I will be prepared for these things for the rest of my days.
Broken dreams will be the learning tree for me to grow ,
Living my life with Joy Happiness is what I'll always Know.
Time had sewn,
And we had wrought,
Against a force
And we had dreamt,
And we had dreamed,
Of a world
And we had run,
And we had ran,
As if we could arrive
At such a land,
And the world was one
Grey with gloom,
The old slave
Bent over the loom,
As a tear shed from
We were yet to
Beat him with a mace,
And a tear shed
From my face,
And a tear shed
From your face,
Only in death,
Only in sorrow,
Thy come a sparrow
From the old wood;
A torn sparrow
From the old wood,
Among the grass
It was contained;
Among the green grass
It was contained,
Its beak broken;
Its wings only silt,
The young sparrow
Presented us guilt,
And through the wind
It blew away,
And through the wind
It flew to fly,
Arise from death,
Into the the fair day;
And a phoenix
Had flown away.
Only in death,
Only in sorrow.
Peering through plate glass at a puzzling view,
In the midst of hot coffee’s morning ritual brew.
Staring out with amazement and wonderfully struck,
By our Cherry Tree’s overnight sensation run amuck!
By nature’s own standard, cruel joke she has played,
Million blossoms wide open one February day.
This juvenile sapling knows not what it feels,
Sprouting vivid Pink colors, the show it now steals.
From those all around laying dormant in state,
Expecting nature’s cue to blossom their own petals awake.
And by then poor young cherry will have muted her splash,
Replaced by green leaves summer storms will soon thrash.
But alas all this splendor making warm visual sense,
In the short time required for fresh java to dispense.
Tomorrow I’ll once again observe through plate glass,
The wonders waiting just beyond cold winter’s Rye Grass.
Submitted to Giorgio A. V. Contest themed: Impress me with a small poem II!
1) user name: wedge
2) choice of motif: nature
When Love comes to town
so the saying goes
flee will the foes
except the sad clown
Love is always in town
and out of town
in fact has left the building
Love is in all places
and nowhere at all
if you don't look
or lack the social graces
The sad clown is
a metaphor for you
for you are so blind
in your apparent happiness
Yet Love conquers all
gathers up the lost
when I am weak
Love does the most
(and so I must post)
With pawns to sacrifice and a king protect,
silent and wooden, they shan't object.
Ever forward and never back,
North east and north west, pressing the attack.
Denizens of the church, crossing the field,
For the King and for god, the diagonal they wield.
Castles that move, the corner they keep,
Knights riding steeds, with loyalty they leap.
Two opposing armies across the great divide,
Eight spaces by eight, the battle will decide.
A queen well regarded by all kings, they tell,
Conquering her enemies, in all directions they fell.
A king must pace himself with each square he'll try,
Avoiding all conflict or his kingdom will die.
Lo, a haven, the corner would seem,
But a trick and a trap, his enemies would deem.
With rooks and bishops and knights in play,
Behind his army, the king must stay.
For he is important to country and state,
Survive it he must or he will end up in Checkmate.
You are the light of a day,
I am the darkest of grays.
You are the significant Sun,
I am the forgotten Moon.
You are the sweet make-believe dreams,
I am the tragic nightmares.
You are a glorious angel,
I am a dreary demon.
You are the bright rainbow,
I am the dull rain.
You are the boat that floats,
I am the anchor that sinks.
You are the peaceful Valley,
I am the destructive war.
You are the tame beauty,
I am the wild beast.
You are the precious living,
I am the shallow dead.
You are the glistening stars,
I am the darkening night.
You are the wonderful strength,
I am the terrible weakness.
You are the beautiful heavens,
I am the unpleasant hells.
A Lesson From the Buddha
The Buddha had been getting round
And listening to the crowd.
He’d often sat there silently
And heard them moan so loud
About their own sad burdens
And all the hurt they’d had.
So he thought up a little plan
That didn’t seem half bad.
He called the crowd together
Said “listen here you guys
I’ve been thinking for a great long while
And I have thought it wise
To grow a special tree for you
And here it lies before you
Now listen well to what I say
I’ll tell you what to do”
He said “this tree before you
It’s to hang your troubles on
Each one of you must go to it
And your troubles will be gone
As you hang them on it’s many branches
Then what you’ll need to do
Is take yourself some others burdens
And make them part of you”
The people thought that this was cool
It seemed a grand old way
To rid themselves of all their burdens
It was a happy day!
As each smiling so broadly
Placed there burdens on the tree
Then they thought for just a while
And they began to see.
As each the truth did hit them
More restless did they get
At least they knew their burdens
So each with no regrets
Did race back to that trouble tree
To grab what they had hung there
The Buddha smiled good humoredly
He had made them all aware.
29 July 2013 @ 1805hrs.
Two and sixty days ago —
Two months, or so I'm told —
I wandered, wistful, without cause,
Through a memory of old.
A hall of walls I wandered, tall,
As tall as tales I could weave,
But none as tall as this regale,
A story that you won't believe.
I walked near endless hours,
My only friends the cobblestones,
Ringing in my steps the sin
That only time atones,
When upon that pallid plaster
I did spy a shocking sight:
Upon that place's rocky face,
The wall had turned to light.
"Curious," I cooed and questioned,
Calm as I could never be,
"Perhaps it might be that this light
Is rightly mine, I see?"
And as I pondered that hall I wandered,
A chilling change I never chose arose:
That light so rife with delight and fright
Began to open, and I froze,
For that particular portcullis I pondered
Put me in a vice.
I nary noticed that walls in focus
Had changed into a hall of lights.
Transfixed, the light engulfed me so,
As slow as my bewildered head
Could comprehend the candid land
I planned my final stand in dead.
I whizzed through spaces, unknown places,
In stasis from the faceless force
When finally I fell, the frenzied light
Still tight from an unseemly source.
All at once, those two months
Became a fraction of a wink;
The frost was lost as I was tossed
Among the lights of what I think.
And where else would I find myself
But in this courtyard we call love?
My journey never left my head,
Nor bed's unconscious dreamland hub.
Two and sixty days ago,
I heard these words so true,
And in the dark they were my light:
You told me "I love you."
Sleep's the Great Healer—
Sleep's the Revealer
Of hidden meanings,
When sorrow aches us,
Sleep overtakes us—
Stealing away grief,
Like a welcome thief.
Night is the coverlet
For a longing lover— yet
It's Sleep who delves
Deep into our selves,
Finding dusty dreams... on shadowy shelves.
When life's a jailor,
Sleep's the unveiler
Of an inner key...
To set us free.
Sleep's our best friend
At a hard day's end—
Weaver of fantasy... with reality,
Make-believer of what could be...
Sleep's the Great Healer... of you and me.
– Harley White
< 1987 >
My flesh and bone, can't seem to hone
in on the substance I once had
Right and wrong, difference known
I never can choose anymore good over bad
I once was an optimistic hope filled inspiration
Now consumed by an empty shallow occupation
Fame, sex, drugs, feels good to the touch
but never, inevitably, amounts to much
Loving pleasure, hating to face pain
The suppression just makes me insane
Selfishness, recklessness and pride prevail
My half hearted attempts at decency always fail
Not because normalcy is unattainable
But because I choose instead to have my belly full
Once I chose depth and sincerity over surface greed
When darkness calls I now heed
While these things seem to satisfy now
I can't help to see my outlook on life is increasingly foul
A self inflicted wound, I must admit
I know this life is not a good fit
Once again I'm reminded that time after time
and all the same signs
I just can't seem to repress
This growing emptiness
... For Theirs Was A Loyal Love That Would Nay Suffer Guilt
Nor Wander, Nary Wrangle, Nor Waste, Nor Wrong, Nor Wilt
Whether Slow In Coming, Or of A Moment Passing Swift
Not Even An Enemy’s Blade Plunged In His Side To Its Hilt ! …
could Halt His Soft Footfalls Towards Forever …
Even In Whispered Woe & Weeping That Winds Would Nay Lift
Or Thru A Last Dance, Last Duty, Lost Dreams, Or Long-Ago-Drift
Even In All The Combined Separation Or An All Alone-Shift
Even Thru Gut-Struck-Grief Or The Unknown – Aye, Even If …
Out of Cold Shadows’ Desperation … Over A Highland Crag-Cliff
… slips The Soft Footfalls Towards Forever
Out of Cold Shadows On A Highland Moor
Will You Come Walking To Me As Hard Rains Pour?
Beneath A Tree of Life I Stood and Swore
To Bring You My Body & Every Beauty, It Bore
To Reach You Before Even Death’s Read Banns Door …
and Right Before, Our Soft Footfalls Towards Forever …
… Out of Cold Shadows, On A Highland Moor
Will You Wake For Me, When The Full Moon Soars?
Beneath A Tree of Life, I Stood and I Swore
To Bring You Back, Body ‘N Breath & The Beauty It Bore
Whether To Walk On Water Or Just Footprints On A Shore
in Soft, Footfalls Towards Forever To Explore …
yea, In Soft Footfalls Towards Forever … Still Furthermore …
(Isaiah 50: 4, 5 / Song of Solomon / John 11: 23 – 27 /
Genesis 3: 4, 13 – 15, 24 / Revelation 21: 3, 4)
Story Poem Written & ©: 1/ 3-6 /2013
by: MoonBee Canady
By any name, an object's prime
directive never fails to hold,
for adjectives are pale of hue
if what is hot is labeled cold.
The metaphor is too to blame
if perched precariously in words,
for life still bears its qualities
if ever deemed a dream absurd.
A hurricane who has been named
a devil's deed will not delay
his woeful winds nor see as sins
the lives he drowned or blew away.
And know that morbid memories
are bound by nature to outlast
the man who holds in him their weight
though thinks them burdens of the past.
To desperate men, the regal rose
is but a blossom bred from shame
to hide, not show their hearts; although,
still sweet, that rose by any name.