The irony of Death: looking through the eyes of the Lamb
What does he see in You? The wealth of wrinkled age. The sin of being allowed to walk through the forests and jungles of debris and mayhem just to say, "I'm sorry, but I'm too old to mention You in my Book again this Christmas"? The old are growing in number, like rabbits to sheep. And I am growing tired, tired of this Apocalyptic life as Paul of mayhem and death. Where you are winter without summer. Where You are embers without defeat of the Death that haunts You.
What does he see in You? The wicked innocence directed by naivete's age under the shoe size that they wear in age limit. Their sins are being born into each breath as they awaken the chaos of life and reaffirmation of retribution, anxiety, even Death. Where repulsion and retribution are met with sprinkles of revolution and rebellion. Aren't I the singer Scorpio? Nay. I am the Titan, Capricorn.
Death clings to your prosperity in age and wisdom as it mothers and nurtures you into infamy. Am I the beacon of Hope? Nay. I am Ra. I am Exodia the Forbidden One. I am Obelisk the Tormentor. Forever Tormendable... Forever...
To a Certain Poet
by Frank Daub
Your modesty -- regarding talent? BECOMING to your SOUL.
The decision to embrace this thought? Belies your role –
As MESSENGER.
Long ago you took the mission
To tell beauty in words and lines.
Now time has blurred your vision.
Now doubt has wormed your mind.
Think about the adulation –
Deny those words are true!
It is you might stop creation –
It is you must see it through!
Sirens ringing through my ears.
My cold, dead body,
Laying on the brown, wooden, kitchen floor,
Holding a cheese knife in my left hand.
My neck split open, blood leaking out endlessly.
I hear the sirens of the ambulances
rushing to the back alleyway of my townhome.
All I hear is celebrating,
As the one I love the most
Can’t even talk to me.
Autumn is not mine to desire,
but I have longed for it for months
Since death stole my love for summer,
I have craved Autumn like a lover craves her love
I want the cool breezes to ruffle my hair,
the sensuous moon to light my skin in the dark,
the bountiful harvest to prove that life lives on
in a dark world that color still lives and lights up
the world with bright colors of a changing world
that will soon be barren and cold but for a glorious
season, it is bright and bountiful and joyful for all
Sheets of blank paper had yellowed with age
I wielded a pen, but no ink was spilled by my hand,
Memories were left unwritten on every page,
though as many as a beach holds grains of sand
I gave in to my Muse and scrawled line after line
thoughts drawn from my soul, buried fathoms deep
Were all of those sad recollections really mine?
They were flowing as freely as the tears I weep
Reflections of my past in sunlight and ebony night,
refusing to remain entombed, fled from their prison
Strokes from darkness were escaping their plight
Released by my pen, from their sepulcher had risen
There is battle brandishing power in the pen I wield
A weapon I've found useful in place of a silent tongue
It cannot protect me as though suit of armor or shield,
Emotions shouldn't be confined; they should be sung
Sometimes pain overcomes
Through the shadows dark
Doubts assault, fears prevail
And life feels so hard
But I can feel. . .
Sunlight through a window
Moonlight through the pain
I can see the rainbow
Hope shines through again
Troubles may not vanish
Life keeps going on
Darkness spreads its gloom but
Soon will come a dawn
And I can feel. . .
Sunlight through a window
Moonlight through the pain
I can see the rainbow
Hope shines through again
Even when I give my best
Life may not applaud
Shattered heart, tears flow but
I've got faith in God
For I can feel. . .
Sunlight through a window
Moonlight through the pain
I can see the rainbow
Hope shines through again
Yes, I can feel. . .
Sunlight through a window
Moonlight through the pain
I can see the rainbow
Hope shines through again. . .
Hope shines through again. . .
15.09.2026
I see myself at the tender age of five.
A strange loneliness I feel, and I am shy.
I wonder sometimes why I’m even alive.
I chase fireflies and watch clouds in the sky.
I’m fifteen, more confident and doing well at school.
I read, play records and dream about guys.
I like to think I’m nobody’s fool,
and I’ve no time for watching clouds in the sky.
I’m thirty and still, there’s so much ahead.
Married, with two kids, I am having great fun.
Health concerns haven’t yet filled me with dread.
I swim often in a pool and lay out in the sun.
I’m fifty; my children have long since left the nest.
I teach and write poems; I’m a grandmother too.
Except for health issues, these years could be my best.
Life’s gotten so busy. There’s so much to do!
By 70, I still feel blessed, yet also have some woes.
I care less for possessions and the world’s triviality.
I want to be grateful no matter how life goes.
I realize now my purpose seeking spirituality.
Autumn's many colorful moons seen through the lens of a camera,
I see beauty and color everywhere.
As a child,
I did not know there was a harvest moon.
I loved watching the full autumn moon,
as it seemed to change colors.
Autumn's many colorful moons seen through the lens of a camera,
have changed over the years.
What has made this change?
The huge night clear sky is not as clear as it once was,
the full bright moon is not as bright.
Do we see the change year after year?
Do we even care?
I weep for the beauty of olden Autumn days,
a more peaceful time.
A bright full moon and clear night's sky,
that was once seen through the lens of a camera.
I'm only here for one reason
I finally see
that Jesus died as an atonement
for me
so I will praise through
my issues in life
I will praise through
as I worship the Lord Christ
I now understand
I fully comprehend
that His spilt blood
eradicated my sins
so I will praise through
my issues in life
I will praise through
as I worship the Lord Christ
If not for His grace
there'd be no me
If not for His mercy
a new day I"d never see
If not for His sacred blood
I'd never receive His unwavering love
so I will praise through
all my struggles
I will praise through
all my troubles
now down on bended knees
to praise He who watches over me
I will praise through
my issues in life
I will praise through
as I worship the Lord Christ
I will praise through
grateful for His favor
I will praise through
giving all glory to my Savior
I will praise through
Old and Alone Through the City
Old and alone, autumn wanders bare through the city,
A smoke of memories coiling around the streetlamps,
The woman dissolved into the arms of another mirage,
And the dog grew old begging for the warmth of days.
The child who was never born wanders through the fog,
A bodyless shadow knocking at autumn's gates,
And the wind and the sun, old brothers of a lifetime,
Lean on each other on the steps of forgetting.
The old organ-grinder, with his leg of wood and dream,
Cranks out a melody rusted like a wound,
The old prostitute sells her shadow, the unclosed
Coffin of her longing under a pagan moon.
Someone in a graveyard whispers a song of wax,
An old head trembles, hollow as a scorched bell tower,
The tree shakes its leaves like a final summer,
The idiot from the commercial smiles, a wounded mask.
The whole city trembles, full of loneliness,
Crowds of old young people flow like a river of wax,
All of them, everything, old and alone, carrying in their chests a fortress
Of silences fallen to their knees, under the same bitter snowfall.
Airing myself
In liberty
Along whose open roaded
Sky-wide access
This day, as gift
On life's journey
Both offered and accepted
In its fullness.
Memory
I walk the lonely road through my heart's rain
that falls from the dark clouds of my memory
where its ancient wind softly sighs
from the beautiful face of a lost dream
that silently dwells in the dim-lit shade of parting
when her eyes slowly turned away
breaking the bond of beauty briefly caressed
in a moonlight's longing glance
of mutual understanding, we'd be lovers
giving of ourselves without hesitation
to a realm of emotions chased
in a silver night of starry heavens
carrying us to the dawn of forgiveness
leaving our souls vanquished and alone
filled with a precious memory
When the brain's befuddled
gone astray
the mind's a muddle
lost my way
then's when I could use
a cuddle
to pick me up
set me straight
get me going
yet not too late
see me through
somehow
and if it's all the same to you
I could do with one right now
I journey through love
on the most beautiful voyage—
into the boundless blue,
into the wildest wave,
into the whitest foam.
My body, the sturdiest hull;
my soul, the tallest mast;
my thought—this
most beautiful voyage—
a wave to batter the hull,
and as a reward,
the mast touching the sky.
MUDDLING THROUGH
It seems i'm in a quandary of a most perplexing sort.
I'm second guessing my enrire life without a firm retort.
I went fishing and I asked the fishermen, "What was his best way?"
"How about a tip or two," I never thought to ask the prey.
When I joined the football team I listened to my coach.
His game plans were solid, they gave a logical approach.
When I had a job to do, the tech manual was required.
If I'd asked what the airplane thought, I'm sure I'd soon be fired.
We take a different tact when love and romance are the aim.
We listen to the the other team, as if they'd throw the game.
We work to be the best we can to date a better class.
We listen to what the others say, and it bites us in the ass.
Now I'm even more confused, and I know not what to do.
I'll be myself, hope for the best, and somehow muddle through.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.