Scribbler Of Verses Poet I do not know?

A Broken Blade of Grass

the broken blade of grass
trampled by random fate
lies shattered on the cold
ground

the oblivious slayer of hearts
saunters away nonchalantly 
to a destination never to be found

where can I stumble to in this crazy beautiful vivid insane ugly real place that once was mine

when all that's left behind 
is the cacophony of merciless
sound and while for silence I achingly pine

but in the end...

it all adds up to nought while that bitter taste persIsts and lingers

while we allow the magical moments to slip through our blistered fingers

until we awake one day from our innured dream that we cling onto while we sleep

finally conceding that beyond mere words, we were hardly ever, that deep

on the contrary, rather shallow we have been as we continue to shovel emptiness into that space so hollow

while lulling ourselves with the promise of the past, and ignoring the freshness of the morrow

a tomorrow filled with peace

a tomorrow once captive, but now on the brink of release

a tomorrow not consumed by the wasted time of the bygone past

but a tomorrow brimming with a gentleness meant to forever last...

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Donna Jones March 1, 2013 at 6:27 PM I really liked this...I hoped I got your message correct...we waste too much time worrying about what we wanted yesterday instead of seeing the beauty of today? Anyway it was nice Scribbler Of Verses March 2, 2013 at 4:08 AM Thank you, again, Donna! Your 'feeling' the scribble is very touching, and thank you for taking the time to read my mostly unreadable scribbles, AND for taking the extra time to leave your warm and kind and encouraging comments! My warmest wishes to you and stay well...