You get up face this world one leg at a time but oh how you run
always in a hurry yes you scurry but life's essentials you repugn
You walk and talk and move in quick but you dont' hear my cries
nor do you remember the little things, like the color of my eyes.
Once the shuck is off of the corn
It’s too late!
Tom
7/16/2017
I can’t repair hearts I might have broken,
By thoughtless words that perhaps I’ve spoken.
I can't negate activity which I have done,
Nor can I in good conscience, truth, repugn.
I can’t recapture moments that I’ve let pass,
Or have ability to visualize friends en masse.
I can’t alter the velocity of an arrows speed,
Once released toward the target I can’t impede.
The clock hand movement I can’t slow or reclaim,
Nor will I exceed God’s intended time frame.
You were a thief, with a potter's worn wheel
stoled with artist's hands
what your eye demands
and claimed every lover's mould you could steal
to be washed away
with your potter's clay
and the pots love formed, from your lover's zeal
when the fire grew old
and the kiln turned cold
every clump of their clay, that you would repugn
you would darken the floor, with lovers you'd strewn
all that was, is now gone
With each counted tear, that rolled down a face
that's now a long line
a faded design
read through the night with memory's embrace
of deep tearful sleep
when hearts felt so cheap
for love is a cruel game, played always by one
in times of your lost soul, and only for fun
to never account, for the sadness you've done
all that was, is now gone
what's left to look upon?
5/15/18 Qarinage...Any Topic Poetry Contest
Hold the torch above your head and lean into the wind
Press those that do not see the light, let the battle now begin
Ignorance, intolerance, the colors of their flag
Their might exposed through woeful prose
The sword of greed they drag
Stand to fight the seething wave of treason's foul allies
Joining hands in fevered bands, their souls lost in reprise
Independence, autonomy, they relentlessly repugn
How dark the blight that shades this light
Our fathers' blood has won
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