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Robert Sellers Poem
The wind did stir the thought in kind wanting - for if she knew my soul, just a spark
of it, I would be a rich man...
So long this ribbon of love that flows over the rocks of age and distant torment...
The gate keepers sit alone watching, waiting for the violators who dare not call
mundane theirs...
It is those shackles which bind misguided dreams that which make fertile ground for
the barkers at the door, for what else does one need to grey the vision and dull
delight?
You carry the scent of the well-traveled said the withered old man - I too know your
pain, that which comes from never knowing home - those of us who seek blindly
that which the world cannot give - home is not a place but a thought in time and
nothing more than a stop to rest your ambition...
Cry only for only those who cannot hear you, for it is selfish to do otherwise and
seek home in the gentle embraces of those that know you...
Be kind to those who would bite you, for in doing so it will bring light to a dark path...
AND
Always rejoice in life - it pisses them off and helps them to see the tragic flaw of
their diluted beliefs...
Copyright © Robert Sellers | Year Posted 2011
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Robert Sellers Poem
And written on top of my sonnet – a note…
Hey babe – working late see you soon…
All those lonely hours...
Writing to capture the thought for what?
A soulful rite...
My life left gashed and dripping as her aimless pen slashed my heart…
The tears cried over each line and verse...
I knew these words would let her see...
The spark carried in this ancient soul displayed just for her...
Even a fool knows that lonely passion serves no more purpose at all...
In the end your heart stands alone...
All those tear stained pages amount to no more than landfill.
Awkward feelings trying to fit into a verse...
My angel, my love, this wounded heart...
Love knows the bounds when it all falls apart.
Heaven please accept this tea stained note for it is lost amongst the living - my heart soon to follow...
Copyright © Robert Sellers | Year Posted 2011
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Robert Sellers Poem
Tick – another minute goes by…
Another calendar, another clock…
If I turn off all the noise, I can hear my heart beat…
That old empty sound…
The vast open array of life, seems to creep through my windows and guards my
door…
In visions of yesterday, they came knocking and left a note, we’ll call back, signed,
life…
Tock – It is nothing more than times passage…
It is but another lock that keeps me in this vision…
Separate in the knowledge of action, there is no place to call home…
Driven by the thirst to make the most of this cold place – I curl up in a quiet spot to
view the hands of torment…
Tick – another minute goes by…
Copyright © Robert Sellers | Year Posted 2011
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Details |
Robert Sellers Poem
All pale and staring at the stage…
Do you see that scar – I was there in 64…
Do you hear that sound is as good now as it was then…
Do you see the kids…
We were so young back then…
Sweet smells around the sage sends my mind back stage to a place so far away…
I wonder if the message is the same?
I wonder if the dope still has the same effect?
I wonder if that mirror is wrong?
All too few the times – all too predictable the rhymes…
Black turned grey and rock turned oldies…
Copyright © Robert Sellers | Year Posted 2011
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