Be Statically Dynamic
When I stood beside you,
holding your hand
You didn’t understand me
discarding my stand
When I filled you with life,
ignored my love
When I mold you to withstand,
kept me behind
When I shaped you to live
made me to leave
My cherished memories
My beloved pleasantries
My charms of dreams.
My vision of togetherness
My mission of go along in futures
Remained as feature
Why this ? in creature
Is it the nature ?
Is it the creation ?
Is it the attitude ?
Is it the law with flaw ?
Is it written ?
Is it static ?
Is it dynamic ?
Dynamically static ?
If so we have to live
No need to leave
Face to resurface
Be Statically Dynamic
Categories:
resurface, inspirational,
Form: Bio
Betrayal injects hurt with its sting,
piercing a heart struggling to cope.
And reality starts to slip,
drifting with no anchor of hope.
As trust wanes, lies intensify,
snagged on the edge of deceit.
And innocence is compromised;
for a sense of feeling complete.
It's painful to face rejection,
summoning all your strength of will.
For love's illusion gets exposed;
purging dreams that may linger still.
Fueled by fear, doubts resurface,
as loneliness tears you apart.
Emotions reach a fevered pitch;
threatening to destroy your heart.
There's no shortcut past heartaches;
no magic spell or quick undo.
And dreams drown in a sea of tears;
feeling love has abandoned you.
Categories:
resurface, angst, depression, emotions, fear,
Form: Quatrain
Old Poems can resurface
written long ago like love letters in a hidden book,
you merely have to look.
I read a long forgotten one
found its cadence mesmerizing
could that have been my "Beginning"?
The lay out and the form
its very appearance yellowed and tattered
hold meanings that still matter
Though time has passed
I find my writings familiar and meaningful today
while sad to say some were trashed and tossed away
Because time seems to change us.
thoughts unraveling as we write
forgiving, forgiven, forgotten in the throws of night.
Old poems,
return and live to be resurrected better than before
changed, altered by time, life and circumstances explored.
The old poems,
still live, they are well and alive,
like the poets who write them, they survive.
Categories:
resurface, poems, writing,
Form: Rhyme
It was winter, and I ceased to remember.
Dandelions don't bloom in December.
Their presence hadn't been seen since fall,
but they were prominent, I now recall.
At spring's first touch I saw the color,
even yellower than butter.
My heart began to flutter at one's wake.
This flower was alive, not a plastic fake.
Then everywhere they seemed to appear---
the color of sun, the color of cheer!
Strikingly, they possessed every lawn,
greeting each peculiar dawn.
As summer's sun began to blare,
their distinguished color dissolved into air.
Then something curious began to settle---
a magician's act dressed each faded petal
with points as lovely as songbirds nearby,
soft and clustered as lashes of the eye.
I could make a wish, to blow them away,
but they'll leave more remnants as they stray.
They'll sprout with the sun and a soil that's wet.
Maybe I could never forget.
Categories:
resurface, autumn, flower, memory, missing
Form: Rhyme