She Hasn'T Killed Me Yet
She Hasn't Killed me yet
58.
There are dangers all around us
To affect our troubled soul.
There are hazards such to make a
Healthy person dig a hidey-hole.
However...
The thing that breeds destruction...
The thing I thought I'd not survive...
After thirty years of marriage...
I'm still very much alive.
The End
The Snow-Drop
59.
The multi flowered snow-drop has no equal
With a courage making bold of winter's end.
Where three white petals hang gloriously
Like wondrous milk drops off her leafy stem.
With other synoptic flowers lying dormant
Beneath the frozen crust to which they cling.
The snow-drop, alive with arrogance and hubris
Blooms precipitously before the coming spring.
But there is a cost to mocking spring's arrival
Which she ably bears with no serious objection.
As she eagerly perpetuates a minimal existence
Before winter's corpse charts a new direction.
The End
I See You There
60.
I see you high upon your perch
Hurtling bitterness in all directions...
Laughing and dancing a specious tune...
Making bold of life's infections.
I see you smoldering in the shadows
Ready to pounce when some are weak.
You'll extract your pound of rotted flesh
And the wry carnage that you seek.
I see you skulking like some phantom
Twisting the very nature of your soul.
But your rancor holds no treasure...
Crawl back down your stygian hole.
I see you lifeless in the grave...
Pitying the choices you have made.
Could I have been more empathetic?
Could I have made you less afraid?
I see you cowering before St. Peter
With a dreaded sorrow there to be.
Put aside your fear and trepidation...
Grasp my hand and walk with me.
The End
February
61.
Give no leniency to this tortured month
And the extreme hepetude it profanes
With an apathy that perpetuates each day
Making them seem one and all the same.
February begins and ends in a tomb of ice
Forever standing lethargic to our plight
Where blizzards blow a friendless snow paired
With an unforgiving cold to mark each night.
The shortest of the months... I know not why
But I am thankful for this small consideration
As there be only so much pain a vengeful deity
Can heap to give voice to our privations.
February is at best dilatory and circumspect
Breeding a hopelessness and bizarre affliction
With an ever downward spiral into darkness
Striking at the very essence of our conviction.
But temper your rancor and prostration for
The melancholy February delivers in its wake...
Knowing there's always the slimmest chance
The weather may slightly moderate and break.
As I look presumptuous towards that day
And the blessed peace of mind it may provide
When my children who I love more than life itself...
By the Grace of God... finally go outside.
The End
We Can Change
62.
I find courteous conversation a bit insipid
As we explore life's current happenstance.
We are afraid to stretch and take a chance
In discussing themes we've willfully omitted.
Is willfully too strong a word? I think not.
It's certainly not reluctantly. We are contrite
Creatures with a myriad of eclectic beliefs.
But we obscure these sacred views like a thief
Fearing certain ruin if outed by the light.
But we can change... allow others to perceive
But reject the drip of cloddished minions.
Give voice to your most cherished opinions...
Let a lens of freedom reflect all you believe.
You'll become unfettered and find better days.
But listen also... letting others have their say.
The End
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment