Things We Think
He said, “Every man is busy earning money.”
She said, “Is there anything more important than love?”
He said, “Is there anything more important than sex?”
She said, “I think we all just fear death.”
He said, “It’s like the Cats in the Cradle we just need more time.”
She said, “I think we really need more space.”
He moved out to a place with more space.
She soon did not have enough money.
She had to leave behind the house and love.
Once they vowed nothing would do them part not even death.
She never learned the aborted child’s sex.
Biologically he still had more time.
He was ambitious, indoctrinated into the ascent of money.
She worked her fingers to the bone, until her death.
He afforded local expensive sex.
She began to view local nature as expansive space.
He did not connect space and time.
She knew what connected it all was love.
In time he found a new love.
In love, she found time.
He equated good passion with good sex.
She found the emerald walls of nature the best space.
He loved the crisp or dirty, rumpled, green of money.
Homeless— she was reprimanded in the rain “You’ll catch your death!”
it's been said,
The root of all evil is money.
Money can’t buy you love.
Nothing is certain but taxes and death.
I don’t know the question, but the answer is sex.
I need my space.
All we have is time.
I’ve learned to give love and learned that is love.
I’ve learned one’s time is worth more than one’s money.
I’ve learned a small space in nature explains all infinite space.
I’ve learned that gender should not be judged by one’s sex.
I’ve learned that empathy slows time.
I’ve learned from the leaves of grass there is no death.
He is more than his money and she is more than her sex.
In death we find love.
In space there exist time.
Copyright © Toni Orban | Year Posted 2016
It begins with the joy of giving birth
Continues even after the moment of death
Life, like the scope of all man's music
Opening and closing passages of love
Messages sung and carried on the wind
Written in the deepest part of the heart
That palpable place we call the heart
Emotion long before the first cry at birth
Scent of beginnings carried on the wind
Unable to imagine the notion of death
For her baby, mother's unconditional love
The crooning sound of her sweet music
The years pass, so changes the music
But not the forever melody in her heart
Children grow and so does her love
A bit different than the day of birth
But constant and hopeful until death
As perennial as blows the winter wind
A young man's story is written on the wind
With pen in hand he writes his own music
With hardly a thought of the canvas of death
But tucked away in the corners of his heart
The certainty known from the moment of birth
That in her life he would always find love
Still his mother's eyes are filled with love
Vision dim with age , acknowledging time in the wind
The spring will bring again the miracle of birth
The lambs in the fields will make their music
The joy of rebirth will fill the simplest heart
Beauty will reign even in winter's death
Facing now the certainty of her coming death
He looks at his child with a new depth of love
Knowing with certainty that breaks his heart
Letting his tears be dried by the gentle wind
Believing he will still know the joy of her music
Hoping that in death will come a new birth
Garner strength in your heart to face death
Remembering from birth a life full of the joy of love
And as the wind of time blows, hear the music
Copyright © Barbara Gorelick | Year Posted 2010
Woman say that a good man is hard to find and to be qiuet honest with you i find
that to be quietly untrue.To me i feel a woman that's searching for a real good
man shouldn't search at all cause if it's meant to be you'll allow love to come to
you.You see just when you think that a good man is to find,that man that you
looking for can be right before your eye's.Tell me could you spot a real good man
if one was in your presence if one was staring you in your eye's.Tell me My
Nubian Sista,when was the last time you had a decent good man in your in
life.You know someone who will love you for you and not care what's between
your thighs.You know the type of man that rather make love to your heart and
understand you as a woman,you know the type of man that rather comfort your
soul inside.Tell me My Nubian Sista,When was the last time you had a man just
treat you like a lady,i mean having someone real that just appreciate you for
you.Tell me when was the last time you just had a man just comfort you, love you,
respect you and just encourage you in everthing that you do.Tell me would ypu
like to be loved unconditionally,a man that just will fulfill your deepest desire's
and your every wants and needs.Well aloow a real man such as myself to take a
journey through your heart to show you how a rea man supposed to keep his
Copyright © decorey jackson | Year Posted 2007
I have cat that wakes me.
At night when she wants a pet
She determines when it's time.
Why does she choose the time?
I'd like that time to be chosen by me.
When I have to pet.
A cat that determines when it's time to pet.
I think she thinks she owns me.
I think she owns everyone's time.
She does own me cause I pet her on her time.
Copyright © Jennifer Marie Oliver | Year Posted 2013
THE RUINS OF LIFE
I sat silently listening to silence
Reflecting on how good life could have been but it isn’t
Reminiscing on how good it was before it all happened; life ceased to be fair
Realising how bad it is now and how worse it is getting
Thinking on how possible it is that life could still be restored to normalcy
Planning on how to prevent it from worsening towards the worst road
In all and all after the deep thoughts; I only see the ruins of life staring at me.
Woke up from sleep and felt like I dreamt of the end of the earth
Everything seemed so real; I have some bruises still in me
Looking so confused as I just realized that I have woken up in a new place
A better view in the mirror revealed more of me than I remember
I became so frightened that I so shouted and something happened
The echoes of my voice shouted back at me louder
Just then, I realized; I am the only one left in this ruin.
I thought there was hope until I saw hope running for his life safety
Then all became hopeless; the world is ruined and the ruin is the world
What is left of the ruin can’t be grasped; there seems to be no recovery
Women are faithly praying; men are fately striving hard
A quest of bringing life to order; a wish of normality
The hope of saving life from death and life from itself
The ruin destroyed life; all left now is the destruction of life...
Lordvip September, 2013.
Copyright © Victor Alexander | Year Posted 2014
Is it any wonder
that words plucked out of the air
cannot describe these common things?
Too often, heedless, what eyes
acknowledge as ordinary, is ours
to behold with brighter vision, a privilege to savor
The scenery surrounds every curve. Let us savor
each contrast, views that stab our wonder
grabbing our fervor. An open road, and the world is ours!
This is a time of admiration, a breath of new air
that is stirred by beauty seen with new eyes.
Mountains, valleys, rivers, streams, wondrous things!
We who split devotion into two things
He who loves the highlands, or he whose passion may be a seaside savored.
Let our wheels and hearts take us far, where eyes
would spy a snow capped peak, where climbing trails would make one wonder
how the view must be from elevation, or how thin the air
How looking down upon the vast, an earth that's ours
Perhaps we'll see a mighty purple rise, while having our
first glimpse of the western sky. While packing our things
let us not haste to travel on..let us linger, hold the vision, that takes air
from lungs, delay departure. Savor
a picnic from the road, to dawdle, chat and wonder
where the next stop should find us, and what will feast our eyes
Where days are bright and the sun and breeze sting our eyes
Choosing to take the back road highways, our
wheels flying like wings over hills and valleys, and wonder
of all wonders....discovery delight in the smallest things,...
a seagull soaring above, a blue blue sky at his back, a sun to savor
Finding thrill from the damp foggy morning, or the sunshine and salty air
Perhaps a seaside village, so quaint and sweet, having an air
of vintage life. Or skycrapers meeting the modern day sky, which rise in amazement
The choices are unlimited, so much to savor
The choice to dream can be ours
There are no proper words to describe these things...
Is it any wonder?
A chance to breathe the air from a high mountain peak is ours
A chance for eyes to feast on a wave or breeze of seaside things...
Close eyes, imagine them all, and be impelled to savor a world of wonder
For Carol Brown's contest...."It's Time For A Vacation"
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2011
on summer nights she cupped love in her heart
tasted the honey of a gentle kiss
and the heat of an exotic garden,
she roamed in a rabble of wild colours, with rows of chillies
red hot in the sun, back when she was young,
heart hammering, fluttering like a bird
she knew a freedom then and flew, like a bird
on the wind of words that touched her heart,
like Spring she burst with the richness of the young
she danced and claimed her man for a kiss
her blood burning in her like juice of chillies
she was exploring love and luscious in the garden
now frost silvers the branches in the garden
she fluffs herself in feathers like a bird,
her tropical thoughts, hot as chillies
still simmer in a corner of her heart,
though she has passed the joys and langour of the kiss
she knows the white heat of being young
she has a freedom too, not felt when she was young
is curious to know who lives now in the garden,
she knows the thousand meanings of a kiss
and feels the height and flight of every bird,
the smiles of those she loves nest in her heart
warming her blood and glowing like chillies
in a shadowed door she sits and strings the chillies
watching the posturing of the young,
benevolent, smiling, letting loose her heart
in memories of time once spent in a garden
when all she could hear was the singing of the bird
and all her dreams were garnished with a kiss
her love flows broader now, gifted with a kiss
the wind of her years rattles her old bones, like chillies
on a tin roof in the sun, watched by a bird
who remembers too, how it was to be young,
who flew and nested in a golden garden
and sang the songs that touched the woman’s heart
now, in winter frost, her heart is warmed with every childish kiss,
in the garden are scattered seeds and skins of long dead chillies,
and the young ones listen for the voice of the bird
Copyright © Lesley Morris | Year Posted 2017
Sunlight at an angle dancing through colored leaves
Cool nights to snuggle beneath the sheets; warm days of ease
Last of gardens harvest; goodbye to summer's bees
Joyful time fo harvest soon days a breeze
Pumpkins, winter squash, turnips, and peas
Food in bounty stored away for many days
Christmas will be upon us in just a very few days
The yard will have to be raked again and again to rid of leaves
Those garden vegetables will stored and put aside a cooking of peas
For right after Christmas comes New Years Day's fare with ease
The howling winds will blow and it won't be just a breeze
But now all the bugs have disappeared_ gone are the bees
On New Year"s Day we will have those delicious peas
We will float into spring with all ease
On the day we will not have to worry with yellow jackets or bees
As the nights grow longer and shorter the winter days
Those indominable buds show forth on the trees and soon leaves
March will come in bringing its strong breeze
Joy, oh!. joy and joy again with spring's green leaves
Just lying around in the hammock with all this ease
Newly hatched from hiding places comes those bees
Soft and gentle comes a blowing spring's warm breeze
In the newly planted garden_those early June peas
These wonderful times _joy of longer days
These times in life are just fun and a wonderful breeze
Then summer comes with the picking, shelling, and freezing peas
But there is one less chore now for there is no raking leaves
Out in the garden and in Pampas Grass thick with those bees
These times are wonderful long sunny days
Afternoons in the lazy hammock oh! what ease
How thankful that we have those great peas
Even if the pollen draws those hungry stinging bees
Summer still has lazy days with ease
Soon those longer sunlight hours sunny sunny days
Begins to slowly fade then the change in those leaves
From the west and north come a much drier breeze
Old man winter slips in with ease, now we'll eat those dry peas
Blow wind with swift breeze, time to kill all lingering bees
By th warm fire spend our days, soon snow covers all those leaves
Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2010
In those very few moments just before rising,
my Mind is busy with things that must be done,
as it plans the day ahead and organizes my time
into smaller segments that will fit into place,
then decides how I can do each one,
so that by nightfall, I will cross the finish line.
It reviews each activity line by line,
as it watches until it sees the sun rising
in the east, then my Mind and body become as one
machine, ready to reach its goal, until all is done.
I eat my breakfast at the very same pace and place
I do each day, and then rush to my tasks to be on time.
I try to concentrate on each thing, one at a time,
so as to be organized and keep all things in line,
but this is no easy task to keep things in their place
and I feel a loss of control and my blood pressure rising,
but I must stay at it so that I can get them done
and not be left short of doing the very last one.
But why the importance to finish every single one,
not allowing some things to be left until the next time,
instead, wearing out the machine, trying to get them done?
This is no more than my Mind trying to keep me in line,
taking control of the machine, to stop my will from rising
and doing the things I desire, in this or any place.
"Everything in its place, everything in its place,
one by one - one by one - one by one."
This mantra fills my ears and the sound is rising
ever louder, deafening me as I rush to finish on time,
line by line - line by line - line by line - line by line,
and the machine is breaking down, trying to get them done.
But what will be the penalty if things are not done,
and the consequences if they are not in their place,
and what can my Mind do if I step out of line,
nothing, for I have a will that answers to no one,
not to my body, nor my Mind, nor the dictates of time,
and with this realization, I feel my courage rising.
I step to the back of the line and relax, for I am done
working. I watch the rising sun come from its place,
knowing that I am the one in charge of my time.
Copyright © David Pekrul | Year Posted 2017
I spend my time changing diapers
Wiping tiny faces and drying little tears
My days are filled with giggles and wails
Nights are symphonies of snuggles and hugs
Never do I get time off or a needed vacation
Even sick days are not granted to my position
But I would never leave my position
Not even if it meant no more diapers
Or a three week long tropical vacation
I don't mind quieting the tears
I love getting paid in kisses and hugs
Though I could still do without the wails
I would love peace but I take the wails
Because they come as part of the position
They are often at least paired with the hugs
Yes, I get tired of wet, stinky diapers
But I get to be there to ease the tears
And a toothless grin is better than a vacation
Time at the park is like an all day vacation
Sometimes those days pass with no wails
And unless we skin a knee even no tears
Then we get to cuddle in a sleepy position
With sand and gravel still stuck to the diapers
Holding each other tight in hour long hugs
I love when they wake up and bring me hugs
Naps are my own little mommy vacation
Then off come grimy shirts and wet diapers
Of course taking off tops always bring wails
Until they see the bath toys all in position
Then immediately giggles replace the tears
We scrub away dirt and wash away tears
Wrap up in soft cotton towels and hugs
These are the moments I love my position
And cannot image why I would need a vacation
Then clothes being put on bring still more wails
As they wiggle and turn while I fasten diapers
Soon they won't need me for tears and I'll be able to take a vacation
But I'll miss all the hugs and I'll even miss the I need you wails
So I'll cherish every moment of my position until the next stinky diapers
Copyright © Christi Kopp | Year Posted 2010
Reflections of the Season’s Tomorrows
Wondering how long before tomorrow.
Watching the door every time someone passed.
Trembling hands reached out for a moments joy.
Her rosy cheeks and eyes were now faded.
Weeping, sitting in her room, she looked around.
Her aged heart had been for children waiting.
Ever since they left, she had been waiting.
Promising, they said, “We’ll come tomorrow.”
Reflections of the seasons shone around.
But in her heart lived pain as each day passed.
Her memories and delights, now, somehow faded.
As youngsters they had been her only joy.
Too much time gone; she could not feel their joy.
So many of her days spent hoping, waiting.
Her utmost fear was that their love had faded.
She thought that there would not be a tomorrow.
The sparkles in her eyes had all but passed.
She spent each lonesome day dazed, looking around.
Suddenly, they were there, children all around!
For the first time in years, she regained her joy –
One by one, she hugged them; loving glimpses passed.
The time had come for which she had been waiting.
Her dream arrived; at last it was tomorrow.
Pain that she had felt forgivingly faded.
Thankfully, love for them had not faded.
Her gleaming eyes sent adoration around.
All thanked God above for this new tomorrow.
Grandchildren bounced balloons squealing with joy.
It happened on a day she wasn’t waiting.
One by one, the children kissed her as they passed.
Each caring look joined reality; time passed.
Her fragile squeeze showed them love had not faded
Although she had been tirelessly waiting,
There is happiness with family around.
She knew, for the first time in some years, joy!
Reflected gleams sparkled on her tomorrow.
Too fast, the moments passed; holiday lights faded
There was no more waiting; loved ones came around.
Love redeemed joy, each today and tomorrow.
© November 19, 2010
Copyright © Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen | Year Posted 2010
The time has come to give some joy
To this sad and depressed world
To bring some happiness into hearts
Alike to young and old
Soft music to lift up the mood
And fragrant candles to light up darkness
The deep and impenetrable darkness
Will light up with joy
Bringing lightness to every mood
And the spirit of giving to this world
Caring for those persons old
With the trueness of heart
The spirit of this season in the hearts
Will demolish all darkness
The cheer felt by young and old
Will be seen by the passing joy
As it spread its cheer in this world
Uplifting everyone’s mood
This uplifted merry mood
Will cheer and brighten every heart
Happiness will reign in this world
No time for evil darkness
To meddle with supreme joy
When it shines brightly in the eyes of the old
Together we young and old
Will cheer away the sad mood
Dancing hand in hand with joy
With laughter brimming in our hearts
Forging away in darkness
To diminish it in this world
The brighter and better world
A safe haven for young and old
Life free of all darkness
Cheery and merry mood
Mellowness and kindness in every heart
Bringing to this universe some joy
To bring into hearts of this world some cheer
The mood out of darkness being uplifted
And into life of old some joy is given
Copyright © Tahera Mannan | Year Posted 2010
Once upon a time, mother was gifted new life.
Reformed, reborn the second child to poverty,
through the coldness of a Maine winter came beauty.
A fair Eve to her brothers Adam construction
her bloom was destined for a fresh spring being
and her eventual undoing awaits at death.
And, so she was born from the stark darkness of death
and raised on the undone leavings of old life.
Grandma brought bright sunlight with all of her being.
Granddad culled the forest deer to dress their poverty.
A thin walled lake cabin, a homes base construction
housed a family full of fine children’s beauty.
Field and forest with flower and tree were her beauty.
The doe, the buck, the rabbit bought life from their death.
The harshness of this life brought forth angry constructions,
razor strap beatings on small white behinds laced their lives.
Fishing, gardening canning and sewing relieved poverty
In time love came for her dancing into being
The Big One WWII brought my Dad to being
Auburn hair and chocolate eyed was Mom’s beauty
Her handmade clothes sewn with the art poverty
The war had brought them all too close to death
Lovers grasp at the gift they’re given, gifted life
and a new family of country and city was constructed.
Fifty years more , she was given, in this soul construction
tearful years of longing for a different being
with little joy at home, the family of this life
denying the world outside the walls the beauty
not even accepting the end of pain her death
Her gift to me, knowledge, I live not in poverty.
Mom died on a cold wet January day in poverty.
Her poverty was of money and not of love’s construction
at her tidy bed sitting with her hand in mine she died.
“Oh, I wish it were so, and then not, with all my being”
Not all of her treasures gone, for her children’s beauty
remains, their love had not left her throughout her life.
Though in reality Mom lived a short time in poverty being
but the construction of even that poorest plight was always beautiful.
And what is death really once through the pain but rich new life.
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2010
A whisper of beauty sets to the night
In ancient time of Autumn breeze
A flightless feather to soar the sky
Records the silent echos of sorrow
Carries through on seasonal change
Keeping time with history's eye.
A feather passes a tear filled eye
The sacrifice before the night
The day of blood held in the breeze
As a gentle wind through summer sky
Pierced by the blade of sorrow
The Holy man of change.
New land wandered for man to change
A wishful time to England's eye
The eagle spies the foot step night
The pilgrims beyond the breeze
As children cry to burn the sky
A massacred Indian sorrow.
A black man echoes sorrow
The pain of life to change
Freedom from the blood stained eye
His cry seeks out the night
Caressed by Autumn breeze
As another feather floats the sky.
Blood stench streams in horrid sky
The bodies of broken sorrow
The feather sights upon the change
As delusions form in hatred eye
Secrets under night
Their souls become the breeze.
Reaching upon the new day breeze
A scrape of cloud and sky
A world united in mornings sorrow
The view of landscaped change
Laments cry the tearful eye
Through restless lonely night.
Unto the land of darkened night
The feather of recorded sorrow
A moments break awaits, the next Autumn breeze.
BY: DARREN J McMURRAY
September 25, 2008
Copyright © Darren J McMurray | Year Posted 2008
The end was unfortunate
Unexpected and even more permanent
Yet it was bound
And coming for a time long
She needed change
She needed him not to argue
Nevertheless, he did argue
This made it all the more unfortunate
And even harder to in his ways change
She tried to explain it was permanent
However, his ears fell short to her words, not long
To his crying and whimpering, she seemed bound
She was bound
To escape the argue
The droning on and on so long
He was the unfortunate
She was ready for permanent
Moreover, it was time to change
This time had been bound
And she was sure this time around to make it permanent
No more to argue
No more of the unfortunate
It had taken too long
She would be gone, long
The winds of change
Were not unfortunate
They allowed her to be bound
Free and no one was to argue
It was permanent
A life of her own, a life that was permanent
A life that is long
With no one to argue
With new things to discover and a world of change
She was bound
To leave his horribleness, his unfortunate
So to argue about her permanent
The unfortunate and drawn long
Debated her change, yet she was bound
Copyright © Nicole Signorelli | Year Posted 2010
I watch the passage of the sands of time
As the gold and red combine on fire in the falling sunset
Yesterday I was content
Alas my dreams now scatter unto dust
I cling in desperation try to keep hold of the burnt out ashes
When the time comes
As the last grain falls through the hourglass
I am resigned to my demise
For I shall see her ne'er again, not least upon sunrise
Icicles in place of tears fall from frozen eyes
For I shall see you ne'er again, not least upon sunrise
I tried in vain to fight against the finality of time
How eloquent the vessel
The transparent hourglass
In different circumstances we may not of even met
Still I shall see her ne'er again not least upon sunset
Deliver me unto the ground
Beneath the storm cloud crashes
Where my remnantsfind release
Where I may rest in ashes
Faster, falling, silently time fills the hourglass
I guess it deems fair and just
This end of days like scattered dust
In different circumstances we may of made it yet
Still I shall see you ne'er again not least upon sunset
Master of the unknown fate
Ti's you I now despise
For I shall see her ne'er again, not least upon sunrise
I tried in vain to fight against the relentlessness of time
Cat of nine so sharp so keen
The agony of lashes
Lay me finally to my rest
Dispersed in crumbled ashes
Surrender as I raise my flag
As to the end I now call time
In different circumstances would you of been mine?
Still yet I shall see you ne'er again
Not least upon sunset
I scream and shout it's so unjust this end of days like scattered dust
Heavens open angrily
The thunder storm clashes
Don't lay me finally to my rest dispersed in crumbled ashes
Faster, falling, silently time fills the hourglass
Lord spare me from this awful place hear this sinners cries
For I shall see her ne'er again, not least upon sunrise
I drift away to different days, to childhood and girls in sashes
Until they lay me finally to my rest, a delicate mass of ashes
Faster, falling, silently time fills the hourglass
Resolute and pacified, I invite the end of time
Into the hands of my saviour I accept the death to dust
Lord welcome me from this awful place hear this sinners cries
For I shall see her ne'er again not least upon sunrise
In different circumstances, there;d be no sweet regret?
Still I shall see her ne'er again not least upon sunset
My ashes entwined within the falling sands of the hourglass
As time departs I turn to dust
From sunset to sunrise, I see her ne'er more
Copyright © julie Cottingham | Year Posted 2009
When the clock ticks towards the end of July,
I begin spending all too-hot summer days painting the blue-jay,
A rare and almost-majestic mini, hard to find the right color paint
For. But on good days after sunset the air becomes crisp
Enough for me to enjoy the change in temperature corresponding with my change
Of mood or palette, all-encompasses occurring under
That unfabulous shroud of melancholy, that, under
Which I cannot keep safe-keeping in July.
When the colors on the page scream for need of change,
I ignore the plight of the real blue-jay
As he exists in this reality of crisp-
Air-fragility which causes my paint
To dry and crumble like the immature cheap paint
Of a five-year old hanging just under
My incomplete summer canvas crisp
With hopes of an increasingly hopeful July.
I stroke the brushed-over blue-jay
Feathers fake on canvas which changes
With every motion of my hand, changing
The color of my paints
As I allow them to drip over the image of my blue-jay,
The reality now out of sight making reality more clearly hidden under
The lie of a canvas in late July.
It lies hidden under remorse of lies, crisp
With not-yet-oncoming autumn crispness
Teasing me with surreality which changes
With every movement of a hand this time of July.
I methodically repetitiously move my hand to paint but what I thought was real
was revealed as not under
The surreal thought of the canvas as the actual blue-jay
Who fluttered his meaningless blue-jay
Wings a long time ago out of sight—crisply
Seen crawling around or over, when it should’ve been under
The hammock tree in the rain, recently changed
To my favorite willow peaceful-painting
Locale no matters the month, even July.
The time the blue-jay wants most to be changed
By the crisp stroke of a masterful painter
In the yard, under the hot sky just after mid-July.
Copyright © Brooke Wolfe | Year Posted 2007
In answer to all the darkness in every soul
I offer this to the mighty pitiful world
Whose most sagacious few lie blinded by the light
Or some similar god they know does not exist!
Herein now, some thoughts on shimmering hopes ere long
We return to the same strife-filled life we were last!
For the true dreams that life answers seldom outlast
Beyond the duration of any faithless soul
Who had ever struggled on faithfully for long
To accept or change the mighty pitiful world!
For these few are we who ever sought to exist
Under the false rays of some benevolent light.
And though sometimes there are moments of pure sunlight
That promise to never fade and forever last,
(Or promise to become real and really exist!)
Soon enough the bright faith in every faithful soul
Learns to rejoin the faithless, atheistic world
And thank the darkness for not holding back too long!
For faith is weak and bleak, and grief is strong and long,
And each rives and thrives to see darkness smother light!
Still, we seek to find some form of joy in the world
Till we’ve suffered enough and learned again at last
If there is a god who saves any life or soul,
It’s a god who only on Sundays would exist!
Yet, at least, faith and doubt peacefully coexist
(But keep to the realms of belief where they belong!)
Still, if there is anything like a living soul
Who even finds a single ray of faithful light,
He must have found the first of it and not the last,
Let alone some god who long ago fled this world!
So the hell with faith and the whole damned underworld!
Where generations of us still fail to exist!
Some great one of us may hold out until the last
And never ask why the ruse has gone on so long.
To bathe ourselves from time to time in hopeful light;
However false, hides the darkness in every soul.
Just walk the wordless world and watch it roll along.
Let existence exist, but wait for deathless light!
Till death comes at last; and pray that you have a soul.
Copyright © Patrick Stafford | Year Posted 2005
This was her bitter sympathy,
she wished to not be seen,
crying up a sea of tears
and wishing to her last,
suppressed by all her childish fears
haunted by her past-
Grieving from the horrible past
crying for sympathy,
she must find a way to overcome her fears.
She locks a door to not be seen,
these memories are not to last,
so she wipes away those tears.
Wiping away those tears,
shying away from the past,
she wonders, "will I ever last?"
she has to stop the moaning sympathy
For who she is, she has to be seen,
she overcomes her worries and she overcomes her fears.
Overcoming her fears,
there are no more tears,
for she was finally seen.
moving on from the past,
no more crying self-sympathies
for the day it was she had last.
For a day it was she has last,
she helped others with their fears,
she finished her sympathy,
and she dried away their tears,
she took away their past,
their past never to be seen.
Their past never to be seen,
as day for them to last,
they finally forgot their horrible past.
they overcame their fears,
they never shed their tears,
for they were freed from this sympathy.
No more of these fears,
and no more of these tears,
there is no longer a sympathy,
for eye to eye they had seen,
they had finally last,
from their horrible past...
Copyright © Elaina Dixon | Year Posted 2006
It's the end of my purposeful day,
a prostate being in prayer
with much sincere accord,
and my gratitude is not hurried away;
it is persistent in its allegory
Days don't last, time does
and the thought of eternity causes a frightening rush,
not to comprehend its depth
too concise not to discern it,
making many so compulsive to act in ignorance;
time was created to confer, not to condemn a wish...
Making a comparison between days
and time is truly necessary,
because they aren't commensurate,
they only obey a command; and we humans
act in deceit and don't commiserate,
allowing vanity to exude inclemency...
Frivolous with a frowzy attitude,
we put on a frippery image
to separate need from want,
to notice the differences and deny fortitude;
and shouldn't harmony and fairness begin with grace,
or it is another informal demeanor we impart?
Days don't last, time does...
and can a mortal, like me, pretend to be God
and defy death with his ostentatious ego and live?
Every human must die and be buried with others!
Are you any superior or have a greater knowledge,
to be excluded from a fate that is indomitable and savage?
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009
I have my time
Of cheerful memories, with you
Solitude has no more effect
With me, for you’ve been so true
That made me feels perfect
By your sweetness and love
I am in love
Seeing you for the first time
My whole turns perfect
Every minute I am with you
For you’re nice and true
To me, you’ve a great effect
I possess your effect
The result of two souls in love
Exchanging words meant to be true
A splendid time
As I spent the passing days, with you
Since then, all’s perfect
I’ve seen myself almost perfect
‘Cos of the wonderful effect
Of lovely and caring you
Of spoken words of love
To be loved for the first time
Made me, real and true
So I am true
A reason to exist, to be perfect
Feelings before I’ve never had, the time
To enjoy, nor experienced the great effect
Of being truly loved, and to love
By anyone, except by you
I chose to live, with you
For your heart’s pure and true
And full of love
That to me, you’re a perfect
For you’ve an amazing effect
Sharing life, even in my crucial time
With you, my world seems perfect
I’m real and true, free from solitude’s side effect
All because of your love, I have my time…
Copyright © Ernesto P. Santiago | Year Posted 2006