24 June 2024 9:54 Am
What good is a written word if no one reads it?
What good is a spoken word if no one hears it?
What good is either if no one understands it?
How tight and dark the prison of confusion
Enlightenment rejected for lack of inclusion
Societal chaos a city of souls lost
Love abandoned sanity tost
My way my vision my wants, hearts incisions
Who cares who bleeds for my needs and decisions
Humanity my vanity self centeredness uncanny
When my heart is to busy to care for the many
My heart of stone disguised in flesh tone
Pretending to care pretending to atone
This is how I could be if this were the way that I see
But my Father replaced the faux for reality
So soft and fleshy this heart of mine
I lend it out time after time
It comes back battered and bruised
Torn and injured from being abused
But that is what it is for to be given not just stored
Given to those who need love most even if they smash it on the floor
Categories:
tost, life,
Form: Rhyme
AITS NEAR COMES EVERY YEAR
so as you go light mabe low
some will wear look like a gost
to you they might tost
so there's no tear
have some fears
you might wept
that night do it right
WATCH YOUR STEP
Categories:
tost, adventure, anger,
Form: Prose Poetry
Well, let it pass, it was only a dream
And dreams are made to melt in air
It cheered me with a passing gleam
And are realities bound more to fail
Or do they foretell a steadier beam
To gild our thoughts and soften care
Hope was wild! The mountain-rose
Brightness from its bower of thorn
Is more lovely in winds as it blows
Nor sooner, by rude tempest storm
Falls withered where in pride it rose
The joy of earth, the child of morn
That hope has fled, I knew it well
I felt it more when I loved it most
It could not long with mortal dwell
It was a real joy from seraph tost
As over this world his glances fell
He called it back, my star was lost
Categories:
tost, romance,
Form: Classicism
The Lady of Liberty looks me in the eye.
I am tempest-tost, and welcome reliant.
I pass at her feet, yet gaze at torch high:
Soon to be standing on the shoulders of giants.
Categories:
tost, hope, life, travel,
Form: Quatrain
Why do we think… me, me, and me?
Why can’t we even try to see?
Don’t we know it’s all about we?
First we should tend the sick and dying.
Then we need feed the starving and poor.
It’s really not about who can have more.
Truly… it’s about all safe ashore.
If, like all structure, society is built bottom to top.
Then all can drink the bountiful cup.
Life’s ocean is truly tempest tost.
We need to seek that the fewest are lost.
We are all in jail in the land of the free.
Even though we aren’t under lock and key.
We are imprisoned more, a little each day.
Surely that’s how they insure their pay.
We were handed our books for us to see.
The way our God says it’s supposed to be
Remember if the foundation crumbles
All above it soon tumbles…100% throughout history.
Categories:
tost, political
Form: I do not know?
A thousand times I've made myself
Into an interprative lie
A thousand times, a million words
That never will quite die
But in the truth, so continent
Is nothing that cannot be bent
Within these words, this plenitude
Is nothing of an origin
Within these lies, one bit of truth
Is only found within a facet of interpretation
And so we feel we know each other
Through the words we read, twice writ
But in all words, so many meanings
Kill all hope of understanding it
One word, one touch of mastery
Finds greatness only in what's seen
By those who are quite predisposed
To look for life in words transposed
Upon a page, so blank, so bare
That all the soul must still be there
Within that spot of black, inside the space
Surrounded by its like. There's left no trace
Of individuality within the frothing, dying sea of words once writ, twice faded, lost inside a sea of meaning, tost upon the shore of all that's seen by those who know what their own might-have-beens could mean to one who's never tried to understand, nor dared to try the hand of fate against a raging sea that took the form of fractured metaphor.
The soul seeps through.
Categories:
tost, introspection, on writing and
Form: I do not know?