Coming Of Age Poems

Growing up to fast and coming of age

Growing up to fast,
Coming of age. 

Both about maturity but different

One witnessed something they were not supposed to see, while the other saw when ready

One

His Constant Companion

Albert Nelson's father bought a huge clock, the very day he was born,
A happy fellow, with a winsome smile. Like the merry pink sun, at

Coming and Going

Jesus Doesn't Need A Rebrand - Part 02

If the message doesn’t have lights,
If the preacher doesn’t rhyme,
If the singer isn’t “branded” enough,
You say it’s not Spirit-filled.
Since when did the Holy Ghost depend

Prophets and comb overs

The false prophets abloom again
just like they were at the turn of the century.
Afterall, 2000 is a huge number
and huge numbers beg for huge events...
the

Beside the city

River is running to meet sea,
mountain for touching sky,
bee for taking honey
Birds are flying high.

snail on the leave of tomatoes
sucking flower glaring butter fly,
numberless cricket

As You Get Older

You start to look through another pair of glasses
If you lacked any experience, life has offered you classes
You learn from your past failures and successes
You've

Halfway-Nowhere

Love, is not a moderate image to paint !
I have tread a serene parks walk with colourful abundant trees and beauteous scenes
Yet Love  :
“let

Hopping Trains

On Friday nights we’d sneak into
the railyard and wait
in the shadows 
between the floodlights for a train
slow enough for us to hop,
our hands already tingling
with

Gnarls Knurl the Grip to Fight

after "Do not go gentle into that good night", by Dylan Thomas

Age can not scour away the furrowed gnarls time obeyed,
Nor mask the snarls, gouged

The weight at the station

To carry more than I’ve shown,
things I never told about,
I still somehow carry the cost
of your long forgotten chaos.

I stood strong with a heavy heart.
I

unwritten page

Unwritten page
An unwritten page on a Word processor, I ought to leave it this way 
look and dream of what I could have written on

The Wormwood

I have heard of it before, but I never knew what it was until I walk through the door, I thought it was a wood

Changing Trains

I used to ride the train
from school to home and back,
every other weekend,
in an old Pullman car
built in the nineteen-thirties.
It smelled like my grandma’s house—
a

unsaid

Haiku
A season is over
Golden leaves softly fall
The breeze is absent 

Bushes have blooms
Intact but covered in dust
The town waits for storm.

Indoor plants sag to
Sorrowful for