built walls so high and magnificent this time,
neither the Greeks nor the Romans can plunder.
creating an illusion of protecting valuables,
neither the British nor the Germans can peek.
All that is guarding are broken bones, ash and dust.
The inside glazed by the glasses reflecting the truth,
mazes more elaborate than the labyrinth,
no doors or windows and if any,
are locked away tight and the keys swallowed,
to keep any venturer, this side of the walls I built.
hidden from their view, moving in the shadows,
never revealing the truth, behind the red curtains.
nor will you ever know me.
Be ready to be treated as you would treat me.
As I now see most as a pack of vandalising wolves.
wolves isolating the ones those who show their weakness.
unaware of their deeds subconsciously keeping their packs strong,
I do not blame them, if it is how nature wants to nurture.
As it goes 'the survival of the strong'.
These are the walls just to protect me from those.
Categories:
venturer, betrayal, blue, depression, discrimination,
Form: Free verse
The impressive mighty trees
Are birthed from such small seed
Drawing resilience from the sun
And earth’s fertile garden bed
Trees wooden trunk has shaped
And sustained for centuries many in varied ways
Some over and upon oceans wide
Where waves stroke shapely hulls
And lull to sleep the hapless venturer
Trusting in woods durable strength and buoyancy
And from such crafted boughs
And whispered sounds
Her meekness and strength is seen and heard
Like the creaks of grandma’s rocking chair
Where the hapless wanderer was first rocked to sleep
Trees have cradled and rocked in their arms
High and low of this world
The greatest of these was in a lowly manger
In an animals crib
But for this one tree its destiny was marked
Chosen before time
For on this tree’s wooden shoulders
It bore God’s greatest gift–
A Holy Child born - Like it-
For one purpose only –
To become accursed - on its wooden cross
To bear the sins of All
The Holy Son then rose - triumphantly from earth’s fertile soil
Into His Father’s arms
© Brenda V Northeast 11th March 2012
Categories:
venturer, death, devotion, faith, mystery,
Form: Prose Poetry