Home » Poems » Best » Micheal G. Weston » Best Micheal G. Weston Poems

Best Poems Written by Micheal G. Weston

Below are the all-time best Micheal G. Weston poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Micheal G. Weston Poem

The Dogwood Tree

In the dark of the meadow,
    Under a tall dogwood tree,
    Swinging to and fro,
    Is where you'll find me.

    Silent - not a sound will I make.
    Still - not a breath will I take.
    Asleep - never to awake.

    In the shadow of fate I'm forever hidden,
    Where the light of day is strictly forbidden.

    So if you care to find me,
    This is where I'll be,
    Swinging to and fro,
    Hanging from the dogwood tree...

Details | Micheal G. Weston Poem

Fear

Fear will never have much pity.
It has no will to cease.
It devours the weak and witty.
It knows not the word of "peace." 
      
It lives in the darkest shadows
Where the light will never shine.
The wickedness it for-shows.
All joy it doth confine.

Fear is a beast that cannot be tamed;
An emotion that cannot be restrained.
It won't rest until we fall
Or 'til a warrior's within us all.

Details | Micheal G. Weston Poem

The Phoenix

Your scarlet, sacred wings doth spread.
Plumes of fire and of gold.
Your past burnt ashes you do not dread.
Your majestic rise is long foretold.
   
Not bound by your destined fate,
Your glorious ascend we do await.
 
With courage and boldness in your eyes,
From flames of doom you do arise.

Details | Micheal G. Weston Poem

Dare To Differ

(Prologue)
    We open our scene with a conversation between two characters.
    A dialogue between a father and his son. They live in a world where being
    different is a crime, and people who are unique are isolated. 

    "Now son, heed my words!
    I speak the honest truth.
    This is advice that you should carry
    All throughout your youth."
      
    "Don't dare to be different,
     Don't dare to stand out!
     Bad things come to those
     Who wonder about."

    "You see that girl that is crying in strife.
     Son... she is crying because she is about to lose her life."

    "She wears her hair different
    She talks about change.
    My boy, don't dare to be different
    Being different is strange."

    "My boy... this is why
    The girl must die!"

Details | Micheal G. Weston Poem

To Whom It May Concern

To whom it may concern,
For time will surely tell,
I write to my loved ones
To say that I am well.

I scarcely can recall
A time more I content,
Than here amongst my friends
With time more wisely spent.

The rooming here is quaint,
In truth, a little cramped.
Likewise, harsh April rains
Make all my walls feel damped.

The silence, although grave,
Does make for better sleep.
Yet, every passing day
More neighbors moan and weep.

I hope to see you soon,
Perhaps within the year.
For winters cold and stiff
Are awfully lonely here.

Until we meet again,
I wish you all the best.
For my death after all
Is quite the restless test.

Details | Micheal G. Weston Poem

The Beast In Me

My inner core as dark as coal;
    The licentious being within my soul;
    The lost, the hurt, the blind, the sicked;
    All that is in me is utterly wicked.

    I wear a mask, I'm not who you see.
    You simply cannot tame the beast in me.

    With rigid claws and a malicious grin
    It devours the slightest hope within.

    Don't be a fool, I cannot change
    These grimly things you may think strange.

    This outward person that you perceive
    Was only created to deceive.

    Even as things not meant to be,
    You simply cannot tame the beast in me...

Details | Micheal G. Weston Poem

The Death of a Rose

A gardener planted several seeds
    Amongst a pile of grass and weeds
    In hopes that they would never grow.
    Still time ticked on and continued so.

    Rain drops fell from skies of gray
    Eventually letting light give way
    And against the odds a flower grew
    As a sacred stem began to shew.

    Soon a bulb began to form
    As time went on like a raging storm.
    The bulb revealed a satin rose.
    How it survived nobody knows.

    The rose danced in the gentle breeze
    As pollen was brought by bumble-bees.
    Still the gardener did not know
    That the satin rose continued to grow.

    The rose stood up with elegant pose
    Destined with greatness with which God chose.
    A precious life amongst the weeds
    Innocence born from sacred seeds.

    One sunny day the gardener came out
    To see if or if not the roses had sprout.
    Like a surprised child she happened to see
    A fragile rose as lively as a tree.

    Quickly she lit a fiery flame
    And what she did next was a terrible shame.
    With a sudden flick and a hurried flash
    The rose turned into lifeless ash.

    Oh, oh, to the death of a rose.
    Why she killed it, God only knows.

    Oh, oh, to the death of a rose.
    Why she killed it, God only knows.

    Oh, oh, to the death of a rose.
    Why she killed it, God only knows.

Details | Micheal G. Weston Poem

Requiem For a Folly Mind

A sane man once was I,
A sane man once was I.
But 'tis a shell
Now bound for hell
When sooner shall I die.

An echo still rings on,
An echo still rings on.
Yet, soon you’ll find
This unhinged mind
Is simply too far gone.

What pity have you now,
What pity have you now?
This godless soul
Will not be whole
Till they fulfill their vow.

Our demons stand behind,
Our demons stand behind.
I see them prowl
And screech their howl:
Lo! “Slaughter all mankind.”

I laugh as blood is shed,
I laugh as blood is shed.
For you, NOT I,
Have tears to cry
When Mary’s lost her head.

The world shan’t end by flame,
The world shan’t end by flame.
Nay, 'tis a lie
Proclaimed on High
For Eve and Adam’s shame.

We all end just as I,
We all end just as I.
No more to find,
No more to find
Till all that’s left is folly mind…

Details | Micheal G. Weston Poem

Already Dead

Since our first breath
And our first desperate cry
We are doomed, cursed,
And destined to die.

No man can run
From this desolate fate
For only God knows
Our pending death date.

This flesh that you see
Will soon be nothing but bone,
Buried in dirt,
Isolated and alone.

Every tick of a clock
Is an ominous sound.
To my eternal grave
I am forever bound.

Maybe I should be happy
To be living now instead.
Or perhaps I am now already dead;
Perhaps now I am already dead...

Details | Micheal G. Weston Poem

The Mirror

I looked into his eyes.
I only felt despise.
 
Anger overwhelmed me.
Detest grew bitter cold.
Hate multiplied tenfold.
 
Then I realized I was looking in the mirror...