Best Sympathywords Poems
Did you see the white bird fly,
pale against the azure sky,
did you watch the dead leaves fall,
windblown, strewn against the wall?
Did you hear the north wind's sigh,
coursing through the winter rye,
were you taken by surprise,
knowing now her words were lies?
Did you feel the heavens shift
as those words passed through her lips,
does she grieve the babes unborn,
as she turned from you in scorn?
Hypocrite, heard no alarm,
despite her oath to do no harm,
witness now the blackbirds fly,
ink against the blood-red sky.
All the trees are stripped and bare,
blackened claws that scrape the air,
vultures rip and tear the seams,
gorging, shredding all your dreams.
Feel the wind caress your face,
remembering her last embrace.
(For Ryan)
There’s a girl, a poet, pen in hand
Sitting beneath a maple tree
Trying to find something beautiful
To let her words run free
She spends the hours pondering
While her mind is busy wandering
And each word lingers an hour or two
Then scratched right off the page
A book of partial prose, unfinished
For this young beautiful sage
There’s a gentleman of forty-something
For years he played guitar
Trying to find something beautiful
“I thought it would take me far”
The chords he was composing
Were a closure never closing
And by the time his whisky drowned
His passions swam away
A heart’s crescendo in the past
With beautiful unborn tunes
And in a world of labels, plastic
Sucking on the media’s breast – here we are
Trying to find something beautiful
Apart from all the rest
It’s morphine for the minds that wonder
Into literary words of prose
And never find the beautiful something
Where the spirit of Keats’ mastery flows
It’s Novocain for hearts that compose
The melodic chords hidden within
Yet fail to find that beautiful something
That Lennon’s ghost could also sing
For the many, it rests
Beneath the tomb stone reading:
Here lies the hearts and minds of those whose fire
Burnt out years before they
Found something beautiful
Why am I born in this world? I ask myself.
Am I not a part of His creation? Why so to me?
They strike me hard that I’m out of self.
But I look at things as they look at, do they know?
Nothing is different to me as they think so.
I watch the world go, nothing different from others.
Whatever emotions they have I do have the same.
I do walk on stage, but they say I’m a puppet.
I do breathe the same air as they do, and no money paid,
But they doubt my breath, and stamp me as a dullard.
They don’t feed on what I don’t feed on;
Yet why they make me alien I know not why.
I too dream as they dream, and no dream may be real.
I too have my own world with new fantasies
As they wander in their own world of fancy.
Am I not in the image of God? Let them read themselves.
They say my mind can read nothing;
But they are poor to read my mind,
For my thinking is not their thinking.
Am I to be blamed? Am I to be neglected?
Who is neglected in His sight?
None dares to say that I’m neglected.
I believe that I am better than them,
For what I can do they cannot do
For my ways are innocent and child-like.
Then why am I born so, they raise their doubt.
Let me bring to light that Father’s Glory is in me
And will have its own way to outshine the creation.
Till then, my request to you, let not your words be indifferent
Against my silent world, for your words are accountable to HIM.
Try to enter my world and learn silence and meaning of life.