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Timothy Phillips Poem
He taught in stone temples
bricks built on law,
in the streets, he preached
and the people did thirst
at his heavenly decree,
that could raise nations
from the daunting sea.
Found on the highway
of the king of Jerusalem,
Jesus Bar Joseph,
crown of crowns
on his fabulous mane,
He was like a merchant
buying goods for our souls
selling in the marketplace
old memories, old songs.
Till he did kneel
to a kings zeal
carrying the drift of souls
burdened by the sin of
a world grim and cold,
he bought us at a great price
like a true merchant indeed.
Copyright © Timothy Phillips | Year Posted 2023
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Timothy Phillips Poem
The crimson and shadowed sky,
Like a watchman of specters,
a shepherd to warrior grim
and champions eternal,
a place of wandering dead heroes,
endless winds whisper of time forgotten
Here, at heroes end.
The last verse of dead poets
plays the melody to this gaunt land,
Lost in the endlessness of dreams.
Where did you lose your way? In the desert
wind of the forever dawn.
Two hooded men shaking hands
in this strange desert land,
trading the warriors of old,
placing them in the mind of those dreaming men
who are the deep thinkers of paper and ink.
Copyright © Timothy Phillips | Year Posted 2023
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Timothy Phillips Poem
I despise that soul with a face
Your face a sight to be forgotten.
My face and my soul to be forgotten,
You are a shadow of you self,
Your past, a shadow with a face to behold,
now a face to be forgotten.
My face and my soul to be forgotten.
I thought I saw a glimmer of hope for me
In the realm where I saw another me,
The realm of dreams, a fictional reality
but appeared so real to my withered soul.
Only God can summon up the worthiness of my soul
to this bane of a reality.
But will I be forgotten? my soul, my face,
my mistakes that scar and did flaw me?
I escape into the shadows, maybe I'll emerge
Like unto my inner most personal construct,
That being, the warrior born in the labyrinth,
a shadowy lair, his face is scarred but not forgotten,
His soul the strength of wisdom.
Copyright © Timothy Phillips | Year Posted 2024
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Timothy Phillips Poem
Gentle winds, drift
drift gently this
hawk above the waters,
brown like the clay
of earth's marble realm.
I saw the dance of crows
as I rose, far beyond reach
from the sight of golem eyes
of haughty men breached,
by the lies of serpents and swine.
How divine was the moment
when a hand lifted my brow
from the depths,
to the east
where my true call was,
a basilica of wonder
weaving the four winds
weaving worlds.
Dreaming into another life,
into another realm
I do best
than walk the streets as a beggar
in a world not my own.
Copyright © Timothy Phillips | Year Posted 2023
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