Best Timechild Poems
The castle stood with majesty.
The child stood justly proud.
Both night and sea stood patiently,
In hand the castle's shroud.
My thinking now became serene,
Of things small and sublime.
How I saw all played in that scene
Of man, his deeds and time.
But here I raise a quandary.
I question thee a tad.
Are we the castle stately?
Or, are we the lad?
Are we the child? Are we the sand?
We're either, can't you see?
Both built and build to pass away
With time our ebbing sea.
The tide we face is Father Time.
Aren't we but molded clay?
Just like that castle so sublime
We are not here to stay.
Yet like that child in spring of life,
His days are numbered still.
Just like the grains of sand it took
To stir this old man's quill.
Whispers...
Don't wake her,
Let her rest.
Whispers....
Don't tell her,
She's not ready.
Whispers awakened her
From a drug induced
Slumber.
She listens
For a voice
So familiar
It could have been her own.
A voice
Cooing at a child,
Smiling in it's vibrations
Making promises
It will keep,
Making promises
It can never keep.
This voice was not there
Among the whispers,
And yet she yearned
To hear this voice.
The slumber was thick
And yet she swam
To the surface
Using all she could summon
To break the surface
To break the slumber.
As her eyelids fluttered
A strong hand
Grasped her hand,
Pulling her through
To the real world.
He sat at her bedside,
A face as familiar
As her own.
And with her eyes
She asked the question
He was afraid to answer.
"She was beautiful."
It was the word
Was
That plunged her back
Into the abyss of dreams
And unrealized wishes,
Leaving her there
For a day,
Or was it two.
When she woke,
Those words roused her.
When she slept,
Those words were her lullaby.
No child
Rested in her arms,
Once nestled in her womb.
No child
Suckled at her bosom,
Now heavy with sustenance.
No child
To cry out
For her mother.
Time waits for no one,
And days pass,
Then weeks and months
And soon a year
Had come and gone.
Soon another child
Filled her womb
And this child was born,
And then another,
And then another.
Three children
Had rested in her arms,
Suckled at her bosom
And cried out to her,
Their mother.
And when asked
About the fourth
She would say,
"She was beautiful."
There’s another child on the way
I’ll still be here
As I was for generations
Year after year after year
I’ve seen a revolution and a Civil war
Brother against brother and cities burned
Memories of Cassie and me on the front porch
Waiting for her soldier who never returned
Each generation had its’ own story
From heartbreak and tears to romance and love
I was sitting there through it all
Warm sunny days and nights with the stars up above
I was handed down as the torch was passed
Another child born, time moves so fast
As each generation came to be
Mother and child came to me
I was there in the sun so warm
A sense of serenity after the storm
They came to me with love and tears
Seeing many emotions throughout those years
Times have changed, progress to blame
Many things different but a few are the same
Like the seasons changing, one to another
And the bond that exists between child and mother
There’s another child on the way
I’ll still be here
As I was for generations
Year after year after year.
Counting with hidden eyes,
Holding hands, spinning singing,
Chasing, tagging
In warm summer days.
Can’t you remember?
Loved child games.
When did the never ending game end?
When did the days pass faster?
When did we grow too old,
For child games?
When did dinner come sooner?
With no time to play,
What did we do?
Forget our child games
Hidden in memories,
Always there when needed,
Are our child games.
It is God’s will that I breathe.
I was a fatidic plan; thus, I
Breathe; But I never gave
Permission to do such. I
Was never given a choice.
How is it that I breathe! I burn
Frankincense praying for an
Answer. Days continue to turn.
I am a halcyon hillside disturbed.
I am a callow child clinging to a verb.
I am fraught with consternation.
I so need God. I so need meditation.
It is God’s will that I breathe.
Abed, afire with angst, I felt a flood of
Deception. I have been sold a dream.
Life is absurd—a deceptive stream.
Have I revealed that I was ordained
To breathe? How was I ordained to
Breathe? Could it not be a haphazard
blunder? Could it not be by chance?
I was preordained to breathe.
My only vang is breath—it sustains
My very breath. Breath sustains me.
From breath, I cannot break free.
I am again a slave—a slave to breathing.
Whoever said it was my desire to breathe?
I am the byproduct of a lustful embrace.
I am an accident. Was I not a mistake?
I am a halcyon hillside disturbed.
I am a callow child clinging to a verb.
I am fraught with consternation.
I so need God. I so need meditation.
I never asked to breathe.
I never asked to feel so trapped.
Existence is a prison. But
I must exist for I breathe.
Glenn Jr. Marchand (Naïve)