You know, I've been keeping count.
Of the years,
of the friends.
Those gained and lost,
the memories and the cost.
I'm not sure which
has topped the weight class -
the good, the laughs and the light,
or the pain, the loss and that sight.
Of the headstones,
the folded flags;
the mothers' cries
and brothers' eyes.
I know the count of them all.
Today a year goes to rest,
and a new cycle begins.
I beg of Life a reprieve,
a chance less to grieve.
I know not what to offer,
what you would take in trade -
be it a life, or a soul,
part of me or the whole.
Whatever it may be,
however large the demand;
take off this accursed gyve,
and leave them alive.
Categories:
gyve, bereavement, death, death of
Form: Rhyme
Don't ink me in words ...
O godly pen, dark inkpot and restless jotter
Battling with his merciless thoughts
He inscribed me on the desert of unruled 40 pages
Drops of ink rattled with hue of black and red stains
The blue ink stood on the deck of his lost vehement
There were no sunflowers face to greet the east
The black roses at Turkey were little lighter in shades than the dark west
The stubborn spirit and madness in love
All her said he gyve
He inked her in word by words
Readers read her from decade after decades
Later years mortal was he
But his gravestone and she remained immortal in the hearts ...
Categories:
gyve, 12th grade, age, art,
Form: Rhyme