Jerry Golden Poet I do not know?

At Peace With Songs

Miracles happen
They just rarely occur
Purely
Hold me in cure
Writers 
We poets 
Villages become survival
Secrets unknown
Softly spoken
Forgotten
And once more told
Aging loftily as a man
I’m old
Elderly calls the cold
My diary of pain
To behold
When life becomes bard 
Simple treasures reflect hard
I feel submersed 
Beneath difficult task
Back against the wind
I’d request help
But I have no one to ask
Trying to make life
As lovely as I can
And for once outlast 
The prophecy of man

You must find peace 
Within your song
The emptiness 
The Weighted wrong
You must find peace 
Within your song
All the nothing 
We’ve become

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Daver Austin October 17, 2008 at 5:03 AM Your stuff reads FAST!....New York City speed. I like it, but it kind of blows my mind. Are you a musician? I am. Musicians are so changeable, so introspective, so secretive. When it comes out, it comes out quick and sometimes ugly, Bukowski style. Great write, Jerry. Love, daver

Michael Jordan October 4, 2008 at 4:25 AM Jerry this poem is very moving in many different aspects - It is sad yet beautiful - Strong yet vulnerable - And gives a very serene feeling you did a wonderful job on this - God Bless

Sharon Winter October 2, 2008 at 12:54 PM This is deeply beautiful and touches my heart. There is an inner peace that shines through, what ever suffering and pain you own. Wishing you well, in every way. Love, Shar