For the lark she sings in her morning song,
That brightens up my day.
The pitter patter of tiny drops,
Clouds fill the sky with grey.
The dampened ground, that familiar smell,
Now quenched refreshed anew.
Brings forth forgotten memories,
Of a time that I once new.
Like grains of sand they ebb and flow,
Those minutes of the day.
In lines of endless moments,
That brought forth that child at play.
For is this just like déjà vu
For some time I’ve been alone.
Now standing here now humble,
To all these things I’ve known.
With gentle face a youthful pose,
As we danced the night away,
A tender touch a knowing gaze,
No need for words to say.
For what is love but a feeling?
As hearts melt into one.
With the blessings of good fortune,
Now Care free and full of fun.
For they say that hopes eternal,
And all things come to he who waits.
Or is that for other people,
For nothing seems that straight.
Given in reflected thought,
To those oh so special years.
Brought back in just a heart beat,
I wipe away the tears.
© N windle
Copyright © nicholas windle | Year Posted 2014
While you sleep I tell you all of the things I keep inside throughout day.
Now that you can hear but not listen I find them much easier to say.
My hopes, my dreams, my fears, and everything in between
Your subconscious hears so keen, or so it seems.
My tongue is soft; I speak so sweetly
Knowing your reaction will never greet me.
Tonight will be different in what I want you to know.
It has everything to do with what I can’t help but show.
I hold no claim to any religion but you’ve given me a place for my faith.
Somewhere it will never stale or lose its lavish taste.
You’ve shown me something I can see, touch, and feel,
And so before it I choose to kneel.
I know I don’t say it but I miss you every day.
Sitting, thinking of the perfect words to be my choice,
Yet when you call I can’t find any of the right words to say.
I’m just happy to finally hear your voice.
Even just a moment is enough to sooth my heavy heart;
Fearing the ends of conversations knowing we’ll have to part.
I’ll never be too far from you, always within arm’s reach,
And in your days of darkness I’ll be the light that you will seek.
I’ll never let you leave too far from me, I’ll stay close behind you in this world;
Secretly protecting what is mine, you will always be my girl.
I only want the best for you so the best of me I will employ.
Faithfully yours, I will always be your boy.
I close my eyes and kiss your soft sweet lips
And see the very best of you in loving bliss.
I see past the physical which makes you attractive
And focus on the things I can’t see in which I’m attracted.
Your thoughts I’d love to hear them all.
Of the things you speak disinterest never makes its call.
My day will come, I know someday I’ll be the only one.
And you I will pursue viciously,
Because I’ve given you the greatest gift I can give, to love unconditionally.
Yes our day will come, I know someday we’ll be as one.
And you I will pursue viciously,
Because I’ve given you the greatest gift I can give… to love unconditionally.
Copyright © Kristopher Higgs | Year Posted 2012
Bob had been a lonely man ever since
His wife of fifty years had passed.
“Lord, let me join her.” he would pray.
“Let this day be my last.”
Each day, he went to the cemetery,
Just a short walk down the street.
After their talk, he would water her flowers
And hear passers-by whisper, “How sweet.”
One gray and misty morning,
He had hoped for sunnier skies
To plant fall bloomers at her graveside;
But, there, to his surprise…
Stood an old dog beside her stone;
Thin and dirty, but he struck a handsome pose.
He whined as Bob approached, as if to say,
“I could use a friend, you know.”
He sat calmly as Bob planted flowers,
Carefully sniffing each one Bob put in place.
Then, after the last one was planted,
He sniffed it; then turned and licked Bob’s face.
Bob smiled. “I had a dog when I was young…
Pal…he was a mighty good one too.
So, if you don’t mind old fella,
That’s what I’ll call you.”
Pal may have been an old dog,
But he was smart and handsome in his way;
So they made a deal, Bob would give him a meal
And a bath, if he decided to stay.
Pal loved his bath, then rolled in the grass.
He slept on a blanket in the den.
In the night, he dragged it next to Bob’s bed.
He intended to be Bob’s best friend.
Pal was such a good dog, housebroken too;
Never made a mess or got in trouble.
He knew about newspapers, slippers and Frisbees;
And when Bob called, he ‘d come on the double.
Yes, Pal gave Bob’s life new purpose.
A special bond of friendship was cast.
And never again did Bob pray,
“Lord, let this day be my last.”
For twelve years, the very best of friends,
Together night and day;
And so it was, until one night,
Both quietly passed away.
The next morning, an old woman,
Tears welling in her sad and lonely eyes,
Brought flowers to her husband’s grave;
But there, to her surprise….
Stood an old dog beside the stone,
Thin an dirty, but he struck a handsome pose.
He whined as she approached, as if to say,
“I could use a friend, you know.”
He sat calmly as she took old flowers
And put fresh ones in their place.
He carefully sniffed the fresh ones,
Then turned and licked her face.
She smiled. “I had a dog when I was young...
a good one too. His name was Pal.”
Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014
On this October's mild stirrings
I watched ached nights flicker, to glow
Around his hair like angel wings
Recalling joyrides... so mellow.
That in hushed tones,I called Gramps' name
Enshrined within my youth's warm space...
My hands folded with love aflame,
While prayers spilled through chill's embrace.
Though failing heart quivered in ticks,
Faith...way back then when I was ten
Gripped, he was nearing sixty six
As prayers trailed,wafting amen.
Until spring came, Gramps' flare restored
With new life blessed from harbor's ward.
Way Back Then When I Was Ten
Kelly Deschler's Contest
Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2016
I looked at you when we were young!
I saw a future of love and hope.
I looked at you ten years later,
our love and trust could always cope.
I looked at you as twenty years past,
thinking then our love could not last...
I walked away and then came back
to the love we once had...
Now eight years later time flies by,
we live, we love in times good and bad.
I sit and look at you and imagine ten years from now...
Hoping, believing that time will keep our vow...
To have and to hold until death us do part,
your hands, tenderness and love keeps my heart.
Together we walk hand in hand,
forever bound to walk this land.
To walk in love and faith and trust,
to have, to hold, our love a must...
You were my love when first we met,
and will forever that is no bet...
I love you my special friend and wife,
I always will, for the rest of my life...
I love you...
Copyright © Pernell Rodocker | Year Posted 2014
The Color Missing
Red, black, and blue are the colors of our work pens. Red is the color of the blood we spill on other people’s mistakes. Blue is the color of the songs we sing on tax forms or pay stubs- every page has a secret melody. Black is the color of the streets we fear most. Black is the color of our signature of approval. Black is the color of our death.
‘But what about the Green pens?’ I ask. They say ‘the ink is too hard to see.’
Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt | Year Posted 2013
(In Memory of Eva Vescovi Dixon 1910-2010)
by Tina (Vescovi) Lasley
She was a Sister, Mother, Aunt and Friend
Someone on whom you could always depend
She was Counselor, Advisor, and Mentor to all
There to pick us up if we should fall
She was persistent, tenacious and so strong willed
Not one to be stopped or one to be stilled
She was ahead of her time in so many ways
Working on war planes in her early days
Owning a restaurant and a Florist too
When it was an uncommon thing for Women to do
Arranging flowers each and every day
Making sprays and bouquets to earn her way
Raising two Sons all on her own
Without self help books and how to be shown
Working long hours, six days a week
No time for vacations or much rest to seek
She made time for us all, to sit and chat
Telling stories from the past about this and that
She remembered all the names in the photo book
When we would ask as we took a look
Her homemade ravioli’s were the best around
Her sweet potato pie could always be found
Family recipes passed one to another
Learned from the great Italian Mother
She kept regular hair appointments, clear to the end
Her “Beauty Operator”, more Family than Friend
She was loved by her neighbors and all that she knew
Long standing friendships through the years that grew
Each year, her garden she’d tend
Sharing her bounty with Family and Friend
There wasn’t a plant she couldn’t revive
Even when you thought it would never survive
She tried to retire at age 75
But missed being around people and feeling alive
Back to work she went for 17 more years
Working part time at a Florist that happened to be near
She retired a 2nd time at age 92
Finding ways to keep busy with things to do
She befriended two robins that followed her around
Moving from window to window, until she could be found
Grandmother, Great Grandmother, to such a big brood
Her hugs and kisses sure to lift your mood
She will always be remembered at the door waving goodbye
Trying hard to smile with a tear in her eye
She saw so much in her 100 years
Even outlived all of her peers
But the good Lord said, “Eva, it’s time to go”
Heaven is waiting on you to show.
Copyright © Tina Lasley | Year Posted 2010
Who's that staring through my window walls, with eyes as old as time
the clock has not yet moved and the wind outside has died
no breath for me to find nor the strength to check the time
unless the minute hand is lying theirs a chance i may have died
I wish this all a dream but the eyes i see dont lie, they have told me with their watching that all men do really cry
yet in vain is all my wishing but perhaps this is delusion of a sedimentary man with his mind ripe for losing
Come at me then red devil, I shout within my mind yet the tension I had hoped for was delayed and rather dry
no ravishingly velvet flame encircled this such room, nor were the furniture and ottoman thrown like an old shoe
marvelous the time in which a demon throwns your home and his only one intent is to stare right through your soul
to that i bid goodnight to you, to do as you wish, regardless of the manner I am nothing more then fish. to be shot out of a barrel for a fellow such as this
If you do deem it fit that I wake another morning all i ask is that the clocks all please return to working order
Copyright © chriss todd | Year Posted 2013
I rise to face yet still more life again
And know my day will be about my age
Through sight that makes all things appear opaque
I hear about each third word spoken clear.
I walk with cane a slow but sure tempo
And get to where I aim without much fuss
Yet still it seems I burden those who care
To take the time to bare my years nonpluss.
Each time I rise to face my life once more
Trumps thoughts of laying still without regard
For pains one takes to move upon this earth
Or see and hear with clarity implored.
I thank my Lord for each new day He gives
And givers who see beyond one’s struggle
With patience and always kind words spoken
Dignity and respect to me maintained.
Copyright © Michael Wegman | Year Posted 2014
I see the whispers of a new day upon the dew laden ground
I must awaken my soul to the new start that I have found
Way beyond the valley floor I seek a new day
I travel lightly as I wander and begin to pray
Sketched among the larkspur and daffodils I find solace
I wander to an ageless maple tree and find quiet justice
Yonder above a time worn cliff I see magic brewing
An eagle and its young are beginning breakfast chewing
Wandering along I see Gods' magic paintbrush everywhere
Tokens of a new beautiful day is upon me to share
I kindle my restless heart with a truth in knowing
That I have found my savior at what He is showing
Copyright © Roger Hadden | Year Posted 2014
Skirt and sweater and
A barrette in her shoulder length
Hair. She was the college girl of fifteen years ago.
She hadn't kept up with the times the way others had and she had a low-pitched, well-bred
Voice that many people said was subtly insulting.
And confidence and homeliness
Not often seen—met
Copyright © Paul Geiger | Year Posted 2014
You will want to come back one day
Like the crashing of a waterfall
Hard yet soft at the same time
With variations in light
Swirling, reflecting off the water
You will want to come back one day
Like a butterfly on a journey
Flying high, steadfast
Silhouetted by sunlight at dusk
You will want to come back one day
Like a trees search for light
Extending it's branches directionally
Frantic to find the missing sun
You came back one day
Patina beautiful, aged gracefully
Like the floors in our home
Beautifully antiqued like our lives
Copyright © Jules M. | Year Posted 2014
I do not know?
Ever since I have stepped into modernization, I have been pinched with values of the ancestors,
I cannot believe that the inside does not reflect the outside anymore,
When one says he or she has changed and become open minded,
Is it only to make one feel temporarily pleased or is just to enjoy hurting a person,
Why has age become a factor or an excuse to start a new problem?
Every time a heart skips a beat, the warm sensation takes place, a friendly chat takes place,
Numbers begin to swirl around. The intellectual chat, attraction of like minds,
Or even the rebellious differences stand in a corner against numbers.
Time flies and so does one progress with various experiences.
Does it matter if you are too old or young to be with someone?
Who gets to judge about numbers?
Nothing occurs very young but takes place during adulthood with mature thinking.
How should one deal when age becomes a problem to a new relationship?
More or less, does anyone have the right to judge if one is not married at a certain age.
With observation, reading various articles, numbers have created a nuisance in the mind of shallow thinkers in many societies.
When all the feelings are right, then why do numbers go wrong?
Doesn’t sensibility, love, responsibility or even security count or is it overshadowed with age.
Still one may try to let go and filter some thoughts, but how does one filter attraction and passion.
Years have passed by and still the jackpot of excuses concerning numbers have polluted various communities. A spark of hope is still there when faith and true love will attain blessings from the higher self and well-wishers always.
Copyright © Bhavna khemlani | Year Posted 2012
We met in Summer, though it felt like Spring.
It was a time for newly-born passions;
Never fearing what the future could bring,
But probably not ready for love’s seasons.
From passion we created a new life
To bind us then more closer together.
When we finally became man and wife,
Maybe Summer would then last forever.
In our Autumn years, our sons have both grown.
It seems like the seasons all leave to fast.
I’m grateful for the years of love I’ve known,
And feel for you like I felt in Springs past.
There’s nothing to fear about growing old,
Except living alone in Winter’s cold.
Copyright © Mark J. Halliday | Year Posted 2014
Who am I?
W-eaned from tender
age,in noble family of ten.
H-urt by the demise of
the tube that brought
me into this theater of
struggles and pains.
O-rdered about by the
whimps of this
world,facing the hurdles
of life daily from
cradle,never giving up
A-fine young man of 28
I am,who has the
experience and wisdom
of the aged.
M-astering the arts of
life-learning from lessons
of life's victims and
didactic poems 'cos man
of fame I intend to be for
I bear the name Bob.
I-lost my poetic gift at a
stage but recovered it in
poetrysoup for invisible
entities say a
lesser being I shall be,but
another encourages me
to move on,for great is
one who comes out of
the shackles of life
undeterred for this is who
Name: Ifeanyi Bob
Copyright © Ifeanyi Bob Ekechukwu | Year Posted 2013
i could sit here. day in and day out
thinking of the most proper way
to let the ink in the pen spill out
but as of late im feeling prehistoric
so much weight on my shoulders
and i dont know where to go
resuscitate my soul
look back up and head to the goal
so much evil around. i feel like the devils workin double shifts just to bring me down.
on the road to redemption
you can take a seat up in the front section
just so you can feel the emotions
in this electric notion
i've done a lot of things that hide the halo
let it all collaborate when i medicate
now look at me, mind workin like plato
formulate a new path to take so i can
maneuver through all the mistakes
we all know we cant change what we've already made
but we can change the next thing we create
startin to sound like a serenity prayer
5 steps till im thirty
and the twenty four before i was never a player
found out when the lights came back on im strictly a lover
its the strongest drink for your soul, when its thirsty
so careful how much you intake or be left hungover
even worse be the one she ran over
i dont mean to come off like im too deep
but the obstacles made there way through just to scrape through
and leave me suffocating
just for me to re-invent a new way to breathe, re-decorating
is your life so complicated
you rather wet up your pillows and revoke from the life you live
just think of your kids mourning
theyll never see that pretty face in the morning any more
cheer your self up
you got a lot to live for
your a gem and im that friend
trynna appraise the value
that you dont see inside of you
just another day for him
searchin wonderin what his purpose is
running in circles
till he found a way through all the turbulence
Copyright © pat roswell | Year Posted 2013
Love cannot bloom,
love cannot go on,
love cannot persue it dreams,
love cannot be what it is meant to be,
love cannot be where it is supposed to be,
if love doesn't have two hearts.
Love needs two hearts to be true,
Like water to a dried rose
makes it bloom in spring weather
with such glory and beauty.
Love cannot be true if one heart
doesn't love the other.
Care, trust, honesty and loyalty
in love it has no boundaries,
it has no color, it has no age,
like a fine wine or an aged whiskey
it grows better with time.
But love cannot fullfill without the other half.
If a woman loves man,
let her love him,
if you love me,
than love me, but if my heart is gone
and cannot be found in such relation with you
then I must halt, till my heart comes around.
If it never does show with the first light of morning,
then it wasn't meant to be with thee.
Come now, do not shed a tear for me,
a simple heathin, who cries havoc
when something doesn't go his way.
Do not cry, do not shed your one of a kind tears
for a souless man, for a heartless man like I,
but do not blame me,
if my heart cannot be found.
Love needs two hearts,
not one or the other can survive
without each other.
Love is patient, love is kind,
but with ever lover comes another.
And we will all fall in great and deep love,
be intoxicated with each other,
and our sweet kisses that God himself would shed a tear
for such beauty that still exisits.
Love needs two hearts,
you cannot have one, without the other.
Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013
The Old Porch swing
I saw an old cabin in the woods
while hiking there one day
Brush everywhere, with vines o'er grown
It stands alone, near a pile of stone
And on the porch, there was a swing
it hangs from beams with old rusted chains
a nice south breeze flows gently through the porch
and rocks the old swing back and forth
two seats are all worn and covered with dust
The boards are all warped and grey
the chains they creak of stories past
many secrets to keep and never let go
Lovers first kiss and the holding of hands
dreams of the future and successes to come
A baby's first cry, being rocked to sleep
A book being read and deep thoughts to keep
Watching kids at play and rabbits run
a life full of joy, so full of fun
the end of school, the kids move away
the parents just smile and choose to stay
A time of sorrow, a partner gone
depressed and lonely and swinging alone
the cool evening breezes, they try to atone
but nothing can change that chill to the bone
The swing rocks on, alone on the porch
It moves with the wind, the chains creaking still
And hopes for the future, more people to hold
more secrets to learn and never be told
Copyright © john matthews | Year Posted 2014
Is It God We Trust? Or Leave In the Dust?
As our courts remove God from this great nation.
We are left with a confused and lost generation!
As God is taken away from our public schools.
A huge tide of immorality is what “rules.”
The Bible is often mocked and discarded.
It was on it’s principles this country was started!
Just about anything of God seems to get scorned.
So many “rush” to worship many ungodly forms.
As God’s name is often tossed and thrown out.
We tend to forget what HE is all about!
Too often, his plans for living are tossed and abused.
No wonder, there’s many who are lost and confused!
As people forget God and worship the fallen creature.
They look to themselves and “glorify” their features.
Many ignore God, and get involved in deep addictions.
And with this, come disease,
heartache and afflictions!
As God looks and sees this nation “bleeding.”
It’s his righteousness, that we need to be seeking!
If we would humble ourselves, he would hear our prayer!
He loves all of us! And he really does care!
Won’t you come to HIM, And invite him in?
Won’t you allow him to be your master and friend?
He brings strength and nourishment to the soul!
It’s only in him that we can be made whole!
By Jim Pemberton
Copyright © Jim Pemberton | Year Posted 2013
The end of days draws in so fast.
Nothing we know will ever last.
For some, time feels like real ice;
Be it lousy, or be it so nice.
Time flies against their will.
Nothing stops it, no one will.
We can change how we live.
We can learn how to give.
We can live like frowning isles.
We can live with shiny smiles.
We can be as mean as misers.
We can be as kind as givers.
The choice we make time will tell,
How we honor or how we sell!
The choice we make remains ill.
It dies away without a will.
The choice is just one tiny step,
There will be more you have to prep.
Between the cup and the lip.
There is but many a sip.
Copyright © Omar Jabak | Year Posted 2014
I do not know?
At peace, I lay
and hear you say
that all will be okay.
But it’s a lie,
‘twixt you and I,
for I am soon to die.
Yes, I am soon to die.
At peace, I lay
This final day
You know I cannot stay.
It’s time to fly
into the sky,
my love, our last goodbye.
This is our last goodbye.
At peace, I lay
I’ll look away
while fervently you pray.
You’ll heave a sigh,
I’ll wipe your eye,
then hold you ‘til I die.
I’ll hold you ‘til I die.
Please hold me ‘til I die.
Copyright © The Grahamburglar | Year Posted 2015
THE BUTTON-BACK NURTURERS
…. debt-ridden emotions and emotion-ridden debts –
Oscar Wilde on the Irish
Mothers and matriarchs, you toy the gutted room
Where sensibility is decaffeinated lace
Tireless in your role of martyr and your zoom
Lens to condemnation before an act takes place,
Your constant servitude serving only gloom
Creating recognition of what we all must face,
Death itself, never exhausted, a loom
On which your tapestry is woven, mace
Broken with your unbroken shadow. Love’s vroom
Never gets off the ground or into the race
And is absent save for endless debt, a womb
Of ever-diminishing returns, and the plain case
That you can’t own others, is yours alone to ponder,
In your violated abyss with its pain and rage and wonder.
Copyright © Rosemarie Rowley | Year Posted 2015
Sitting alone here,
all by myself,
looking at a reflection that I do not recall.
I see a face looking back at me,
but not my twin,
no I see a pale face,
I see jealously, pain, sorrow, and a frown
I see all the negative.
I see fear,
I see nothing.
I am sitting alone,
in my room
white walls surround me.
I hear the trains blow their horns off in the distance,
and the cars and trucks roaring down the lonesome highways.
I can even the crying and wailing of sirens
blazing down the avenues,
"Where is the fire, folks!?"
The wind blows through my window,
moving the blinds back and forth,
and I sit there alone,
smiling and singing a little.
Sitting there alone,
peaceful and tired
wanting to rest my head,
but scared too face the nightmares.
Too hear the voices of the dead
call out my name.
And I sit there alone
thinking of what once was,
beauty and harmony nomore
in my trial of certainty.
Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013
The time and age we live in
calls for love that is true
sweet baby I have loved before
I have been alone and lonely
in the time I have spent with you
you have gave me more love
than anyone I have ever known
you have made me fall in love
all my love and all my kisses
are for you and only you
sweet baby you are the one
I want to love and only you
Copyright © william fox | Year Posted 2015
She was an old lady, widowed for years long.
Mrs. Sims was her name, lived a block away.
She was alone, her three children were gone.
Never a caring word did she hear them say.
I was busy, a young man trying for the top.
Board meetings, audits, trips—much to do.
Those were priorities, taking time nonstop.
Mrs. Sims didn’t matter in that world I knew.
At my wife’s urging, we went to the viewing.
One look at her face remodeled my mind.
She echoed Mother, which was my undoing.
In an instant, tears of regret my eyes affined.
I thought of how in her sundowning hours
Mother was surrounded by dear caring ones.
But Mrs. Sims received no love, no flowers.
Not from her daughter, nor from her sons.
In her passing that widow lady taught me
Mothers matter more than earthly acclaim.
Now I seek the old lonely wherever they be
Lest for being uncaring I’m worthy of blame.
It’s easy to set aside the old and the used,
Supposing they have nothing left to give.
But that mindset must sternly be refused:
They can teach us the Christ-like way to live.
Copyright © Paul Schneiter | Year Posted 2015
A full moon night
to my delight
what is so wrong
with doing what's right
nothing is right
after so long
no use in complaining
time to move on
The Dream Water one day
might take me away
farther from the comfort
I float on my back
then shut my eyes
my body now sinking
into ocean arms open wide
Now swallow your son
back to his nature
when he is no longer
needed to stay here
the next generation
are dooming themselves
they need my experience
to guide them through hell
Why should I bother
on my own, I strive through
I turn my back on the thought
of bothering to save you
alone in this world
my, is it spacious
I'm finally smiling,
never so gracious.
Copyright © Bj Fard | Year Posted 2013
She has become
Like a thin Chinese tea cup
Placed upon a large rock
She has become… fragile
Afraid to go anywhere
Least she break
She sits outside
When the weather is clear
Reading the same book
She has read for many years
Painfully turning the pages
With crooked fingers
I see her smile
As the lines on her face
Seem to multiply ten fold
While she tries to remember
Why she is smiling
When the cooler weather
Dances around her
She wears a long soft scarf
Wrapped many times
Around her neck
To keep the cold away
She will ask me
"When will my friends
Be coming by?"
And I sit next to her
Hold her hand
And say to her
Soon Grandma… soon
Copyright © CJ Krieger | Year Posted 2013
When He breaks you
It is to re-make you.
If given the choice
To give destiny your voice
You would undoubtedly have picked this state
Such is the irony of fate
He breaks you now
So you later see the how -
How the pieces of your journey come to be
A slow but eventual solving of this mystery
He makes you work work work – then fail
So that you realize your means are of no avail
Without His will -
But feel His mercy fill -
Even through the aches still
He punctures your bubble of hope
To teach you the meaning of struggling to cope
To avoid you saying ‘this was all from me’
Which you might say if it always did come so easy
He lets you fall
So that when you stand
It’s straight and tall
Your past sorrows
Not letting you drown
Without your ego
Weighing you down
Even while the road appears smooth
He lets you trip and trip again
So that you might stumble upon hidden treasures
From the dirt, which you may otherwise not gain
He knows Best
The perfect Teacher
Who puts the perfect test
He breaks you
To re-make you…
Copyright © Aya Salah | Year Posted 2013
On the curb of the alley she sat
Admiring the old Steinway
Noticing the worn finish and eyes focused on the ivory keys
For years she played in the symphony
Bringing an ethereal quality to each masterpiece
She walked over to the antique Steinway and began to stroke the keys
Crescendos and decrescendos and two part harmony
The passersby were enraptured by her humble qualities
A carpetbagger now with barely enough to eat
Many citizens stumbled upon her private concert as she closed her eyes to play
Rehearsing the most sophisticated sonatas
As though this was a Carnegie Hall day
At the end of her first performance
As the imaginary curtains began to draw
The audience of passersby began to clap their hands
As her heart rate began to fall
Her heart had grown discouraged over the years
As she was replaced by someone younger
She fell into poverty and deep depression and learned the song of hunger
Her day was complete
Her life came full circle
As she played her last concert piece
A band of angels came to collect her soul as her spirit was released
There is a moral to this story of the old woman and her piano…
Live each day of this life as you are strumming the ivories
Of a magnificent concert piano
Copyright © Gwendolen Rix | Year Posted 2014
Life relapse and develops new memories and experiences sighted through brown eyes
Miles of driving, walking. Thousands of laughters, a few bad habits, a gorgeous dream for an addict
Later in life finally files success, the prism adjusts, the same sun ray reflects
After a few years of a psychological interpretation which people know god as capable of, ends up all a misunderstanding
Maybe someday you'll read my books of insanity
And the signature I left under this writing with my very last breath inside of me
Because Im now free pieces of ashes in the ocean living my Californian dream, cleaning myself in the tides salt of oceanic health, being the creme that fizzes the sand at your feet
In reality, I never made it with you;
When you think honey, long nights of cuddling, sun rays on a beach I've never seen, take some pictures for me
And my Californian dream will follow you until you figure out the key, honey.
The world without one woman's smile would mean, id never created the Californian dream;
Id of never lived it, even by the death of me
I'd of never known sweet honey and beer is one hell of a mixture
And sometimes when you think only the walls are watching
You need to talk lower, maybe even whisper.
The world without one woman, one less journey, and a million less thoughts is one less dream.
If I live the world without one woman, ill never meet the climax of my Californian dream.
Copyright © krista emory | Year Posted 2013