Best Watchtower Poems
"There must be some kinda way to find out here"
Said the seeker to the stealer
"There's too much confusion
I'm struggling to be the reveal"
"Conglomerate men, they drink my wine
Politicians dig my earth
None will level on the line
Because none of them are worth it" hey
"There is reason to get excited"
The seeker, he kindly spoke
"There are many here among us
Who feel our governments a joke"
"Now you and I, we've lived through this
And this is not our fate
So let us not talk falsely now
The hour is getting late", hey
Hey
All along the watchtower
Liars kept the view
While all the women came and went
Barefoot servants too
Outside in the cold distance
The C.I.A. did growl
Two riders were approaching
And the wind began to howl, hey
All along the watchtower
All along the watchtower
All along the watchtower on that tragic September day
We need some investigation, for someones has to pay
Now you and I, we've lived through this, and this is not our fate
So let us not talk falsely now, before this generations to late
We will always remember, and remember who we lost that day
We need some investigation, for someone has to pay
All along the watchtower, a nation in mournful cries
We are not so blind, it's amazing what you can see when you close your eyes
All along the watchtower
All along the watchtower
James, we lost you in Kensington, England. The Star Spangled Banner will
live long in your past. I can't say the same for some of your American so
called country people. Thank you for allowing me to gracefully use . . . .
'All Along the Watchtower' it's blatantly obvious someone was not.
To all the lost in the 9/11 tragedy, my thoughts will always be with you.
All Along The Watchtower by Jimi Hendrix, with some lyrics changed
Rough waters startled,
The vessels terror sounded,
Blackness overwhelmed,
Suddenly ahead,
The Luminosity of
A star led them home.
The watchtower knows,
That sometimes we go astray,
His light guides us back.
By: Sabina Nicole
Contest: Light house
All
along the watchtower,
little babies
line the tower
curled up
in a foetal
in the cold.
They live motherless
as
little snowflakes fall.
They live fatherless
as
the wind
sweeps,
every minute,
the weakest cry
into a better world.
High pitched cries
from frail bodies
weaken
by miles of seconds
Passing by.
As more fade
a multiplicity
of babies
are dropped off
along
the watchtower.
They're colder
and more shivering.
No one to feed
poor souls!
No one to fade
their cries
No one to give
them attention
No one
who cares
No one
at all.
It simply
difficult
to feel
helpless.
In twilight’s grasp, where shadows cling, The Watchtower stands—a somber thing. Its stones, like secrets, cold and gray, Whisper tales of faith’s decay.
Within those walls, devoutly blind, They count the hours, lost in time. Their hymns, a dirge for questioning souls, Echo through corridors where doubt unfolds.
The Watchtower’s gaze, unyielding, stern, Marks the faithful, their hearts discerned. Yet hidden cracks mar its sacred face, Revealing fractures in their grace.
They guard the gate, eyes fixed above, Awaiting signs, celestial love. But what if stars, in silent jest, Conspire against their sacred quest?
The loyal trudge a narrow line, Their footsteps etched in ancient rhyme. Yet shadows dance, mocking their plight, As doubt creeps in, a motionless night.
And when the moon, with silver thread, Unravels questions left unsaid, The Watchtower trembles, its foundation weak, A monument to hope that dares not speak.
Deep in the thought, they softly tread, Within the Watchtower’s veiled dread. For faith and fear, entwined they be, All along this enigmatic sea.
June 10, 2024
Separate — Divide
Conquer — Enslave
Tyranny’s — Song
Forever — Replayed
Reality — Stained
Foreshadowing — Long
Divinity’s — Pimp
Humanity — Gone
(Dreamsleep: June, 2024)
Dylan got bitten
hard by fame
and though wounded
continues to tour
A thundering
majesty
in makeup and veils
jesters by the score
Divorced from
his wandering
a pilgrim of dreams
the past too great a cost
A caricature
of genius gone
eyes clouded over
—Camelot lost
(The New Room: June, 2023)
So we grow older it cannot be denied
and we grow to like this little life
this smaller, quieter style
less of this and none of that
and how does that suit you
with all your bits falling apart
Now look, there
on the outskirts
see the dust, rising
it's the future calling us in
our names are in its dirty mouth
our names are on its filthy list