Details |
Robert Niswander Poem
How closely do we wrap our faith and conviction in life,
is it the things that determines who is our wife.
What morals do we instill and what scruples do we throw aside,
what is the true meaning of life and where does it reside?
What book, of Text is the complete divine word of all truth,
and are we to understand it before we walk away from our youth?
What priest's words will convict some but show pride on the few,
and why are those words the only one they think are true.
Is Salvation given to the slave of ignorance and greed,
for is not our own hunger for life and justice, our only seed?
I am truly vexed at the world that I was born into this time and place,
for I see only greed and selfishness, on every living face.
Where is Jesus? Buddha or the prophets that came before,
is this a world these want prophets of no more?
Where did we go so wrong, that we are left completely alone,
cast in an ocean of discontent, dyeing on a forgotten thrown?
Stewards of life and the Earth we are held to this sight,
maybe our real salvation lasts in our very might.
There is the rub, for why should we look for God to do,
when the true work resides in me and you.
The rapture does not reside in the heaven's above,
it is to know that we should live with each other, in respect and love.
The truest God is perfect like we all can come to be,
for if you really understood life, you will see that God is simply you and me.
Copyright © Robert Niswander | Year Posted 2009
|
Details |
Robert Niswander Poem
Battle lines are drawn with no word uttered to act,
just a couple of simple emotions pain and loss fuel this fact.
Bloodshed on the people we thought we could trust,
but now we know this is not true, as we lay our kin in the earth’s crust.
Vengeance is the fuel that fans the emotions of loss into hate,
for now it is not them but us that will decide their fate.
Call to arms the ones that have laid your brother to rest,
and in our embrace of steel find out who is the best.
When blood stains the ground and the hate sets fire to this land,
lets see past the smoke to who will finally stand.
In heated conflict our dance of steel and flesh will warship Aries the god of war,
and we will tear one another apart until we are no more.
Through the years our generation will hate the others without cause or reason,
For as the crimson moon passes it start another killing season.
Hate will boil and bodies will come under the knife,
and we shall take liberties on each other’s lands and wife.
All this pain will usher in a mindt Earth is a living hell,
and we will become prisoners within our own hated cell.
So before you step over line and fuel what you know is to pass,
lets buried our love ones together in the same mass.
After that, talk to me and so this could never happen while we our alive,
for if we don’t, in the future it could be us that will not survive.
Copyright © Robert Niswander | Year Posted 2009
|
Details |
Robert Niswander Poem
I opened my eyes to my family I love so dear,
and as they rush to my side I try hard to tell them there is nothing to fear.
There tears fall on the sheets by my side,
and it is me that struggles to let my emotions subside.
In an instant I see someone pass behind the flock that is straight ahead,
my god to my disbelief I could have sworn he was dead.
With a chuckle he passes between the human mass of love,
and points to the ceiling above.
The figure I have known for 35 years from night to day,
and in our vow of love he came back here today.
He speaks no words as he holds my hand and lifts me out of bed,
and past our family, that thinks I am dead.
The room fills up with nurses and doctors galore,
but as the volts enter my body, I know I am no more.
I kiss my daughter and hug my son to say goodbye,
and ask my husband, is it my time to die?
He smiles and we walk into a stairwell of light,
and I hold his hand, trying not to show my fright.
As we pass through the air into a realm I have never known,
My husband kisses me on my lips and whispers, now we are home.
Copyright © Robert Niswander | Year Posted 2009
|
Details |
Robert Niswander Poem
Strike one and blood spattered through the air,
strike two left, brains in her hair.
Strike three and it was that was all
for now her lifeless body slid down the wall.
The child watched as they carried her away,
and all he could do is pray.
His mentor, the man he looked up to, has done this,
swinging without cause even after a passionate kiss.
The boy had seen this so many times before,
and his mother stayed so the boy thought she wanted more.
More of the blood that bled from her body, from time to time,
and his father doing this so frequently how could it be a crime.
It ended with his mother always locking him in the room,
while she was pushing glass with a broom.
Was this the child’s thought when they drove his mother away,
or was his father just a hunter killing his prey?
Ten years have gone by from that faithful night,
and the boy remembers that fight.
Then it happened as he held his own little tyke,
a vision of hate and anger then he made the first strike.
Copyright © Robert Niswander | Year Posted 2009
|