All that's left, lifetimes hence
Through their lost consequence.
Is God. Such grand defeats!
Unlike in warring heats
Acclaimed. Us, disappear.
And not but starred appear!
For Light itself foresaw
Those diamonds in the raw
Took back. Past seeking Him
From the cave entrance, dim;
To what, hill-high opens
Upon the same heavens.
if a fine-all sigh - hence...
a science
of...
some full-loss-of-why...
philosophies size a -
'hence'...
'when a full-loss-of-phi means...
the-oughts have
ended'...
stans sand
All of our songs and stories
are written to hold the shadows at bay
but each evening long dark arms
unrelentingly slink across the land
ever so slowly and inevitably
they blossom out of the receding light
Their arrivals are foretold
prophets penned of their ashen fingertips
that cast our fleeting moments into dusk
our theaters of light to shade
and our pain and sorrows to silence
A loud clamoring presents itself
shouts and screams fill the air thickly
louder and louder it grows
until the clamoring yields
to a crescendo of cries and prayers unanswered
they slam up against the encroaching shadows
as though to ward off their inevitable arrival
A fool's errand
For the night alone bears silent witness
and scribes solemn and eternal testament
to the beauty of all ephemeral things
"Alas, such endings must come
for you see all things do perish
and all things inexorably decay"
And in just this way we arrive
to write our songs and stories
filled with beautiful new beginnings
of art and love and hope and joy
pages and pages hence
that hold the shadows at bay
When she gave birth to you, your mom
lay resting in her bed
and wondered what you would be like
three decades up ahead.
She thought you might decide to be
a monk withdrawn from life.
You'd ponder all the mysteries
alone and far from strife.
Perhaps you'd be a bon vivant —
pursuing mirth and wine.
You'd burn through life like through a wick,
but that would be just fine.
Or you'd select a scholar's path —
a thinker deep in thought.
You'd spend your days reflecting on
what matters and does not.
Your mother would not mind if you
became the artsy type,
creating paintings, songs or yarns
and puffing on a pipe.
But then you might elect to be
political perchance.
You'd run for office and proclaim
this or another stance.
A man of science in a lab
would not have put her off.
A Nobel prize is not a goal
at which good mothers scoff.
What she could not have guessed back then
but what has since come true
is that it took you thirty years
to just emerge as... you.
Don't worry now about past tense,
It's gone, passe'~ no longer hence.
Forget all those words left unsaid,
moments still waiting, books unread.
The future will come, enticed or not
Enjoy the days time has brought.
Whence and Hence Dear Lord
David J Walker
The Father of Heaven knows best
I guess
Mother Mary hear our prayers
Are these the stars
Are we the heirs
Is this the dust from whence
We came
And hence we shall return
Dear Lord
I shall go hence
back whence I sprung
to shed, disgorge, eviscerate
all that I have ever known
all that I have ever learned
all that I am
all that is me, I be.
A full hard refresh
to be what I could be
untainted, smirched
unbiased, neutered.
Hence to whence
and thence I be,
freely
impotent.
How it mocks your mind to think
a thing your faith affirms as tenet.
You tussle with the doctrinal ink:
was there an inaugural minute?
"Always existed," can that be right?
The thought swevels all your senses.
Saints with you do mull and marvel
trapped in past and present tenses.
The picture will clear on a day hence
when puzzles will be pieced complete.
They will make heaven-sent sense
as in tears we kneel at Jesus' feet.
Cleverly
Articulated as I type these words,
Cleverly thought up, diligently said.
Hence, this is where my story begins.
As words come, I should write,
No place to go, but what is right?
Thought up in verse,
You see, I know.
But about its sentences,
We will read, but how's it going?
The poem it is with arousal begins,
My brain is stirring out on this limb.
My rhyme, you see, has it to be,
Or is it this that is a joke?
My fingers, my thoughts,
These words that I type.
I am doing my best,
Do you see as I write?
I shall write these words,
In its simple of ways.
I think my story has found its end.
Not so fast I'll try writing this again.
Edited 04/27/2023
What will we look like 300 years from now
With the progress being made, will we still be around
Supermarkets will be teeming
There'll be bashings and beanings
Everyone wanting their share of leaves by the pound>center>
I presage many years hence
My poetry would be read,
To then spread some hope and cheer
Though I would long be dead.
Wish could from some secret door
Be able to see that soul,
Who would read my rhyme and verse
Laud its lyrical scroll.
Such would suffice my labour
For my runes would find their goal,
Reach portals of paradise
Having fulfilled its role.
***********
What a shock it was about the air disaster that was MH370...
A greater shock it is that today it is already more than a year later..
The grief and sorrow of a nation in grief and bewilderment...
Those missing their loved ones are still in limbo and painful silence...
As the nation goes all out to scour the bottom of the Indian Ocean...
The long difficult search mission has been intensive and exhaustive...
Unceasingly hunting traces of the plane as the grief gradually turns pensive....
Like looking for a needle in the haystack that's the Indian Ocean ....
Let's all spare thoughts and share the endless grief of not knowing....
Say prayers of hope that a recovery will soon be coming...
For the survivors of MH370 there is nought we offer...
Merely our sincere regrets and untold sympathies as they suffer...
Rest in peace those who were in the vanished plane...
Be strong with renewed cheers for those who had hoped in vain...
Let this little piece be a kind of requiem ever so sincere....
For all the missing and the survivors of MH370 from Malaysia.
If receiving is believing
Then
I gladly give my life to you
In that
The joy and the dream's
That
Makes' it clear
Will appear
In everything that I do
Concerning the knowledge
From above
To adorn the headgear
Of affliction
And wheel with the
Scepter of Light
With a level of forgiveness
Well beyond compare
Well beyond sight
At hence
GF
Tense and hence
you are past
gone in the fog
that is now very dense.
There is flash of lightening
and remembrance
but it is bitter
and quite a blow hitter
and I do not hoard but freely fritter
your memories that bug like garbage and litter.
I may chase you and it may so seem
you may feel important and keen
but it is in my self defense
tense and hence
you are a group and that is vicious and crook
ensuring that you are up to no harm or machination
that may beat me to loss and anticipation
I maintain dossiers and keep watch
of those whom I found to be harmful
and ready for a rough grab and a theft snatch.
So you are classified and you know now
door is narrow and short
but it is open
escape while you can
taking a bow.
...
tense and hence.
dominant people
pole master in position
away from the man
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