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Emmanuel Williams Poem
Do not wait for me, for I am quiet as a heart that beats no more.
Do not wait me for me, for I am move unseen as a shadow at night.
Do not wait for me, for I am inevitable as God's judgment upon his creation.
I have a partner in crime.
We treat him with respect and associate him with wisdom.
He brings not gifts of joy, but rather grey hair and wrinkles.
He does not gently knock on your door to present himself.
But rather, he enters without your permission and says " happy birthday, I'll see you 365 days later".
How rude of him, I apologize on his behalf. I haven't taught him basic etiquette.
Yet, How hypocritical of me! I am not gentle either.
But HE is my friend, he reminds when it is time to visit you.
We'll use leaves on a tree to symbolize your lifespan,
And we'll use the season Autumn to symbolize my presence.
Your leaves are colorful and vibrant,
Yet, as with all things, they eventually fall.
Do not wait for me, for I am what Autumn does to leaves on a tree.
Copyright © Emmanuel Williams | Year Posted 2024
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Emmanuel Williams Poem
History awaits for it's train to the past.
The future awaits for it's train to the present.
History blows a kiss of comforting memories.
You linger on to History,
Yet History is quick to board his train.
It's time to depart.
The stage is set.
The crowd awaits your choice.
You stand in anticipation with your paintbrush.
As the curtain drops, a blank canvas appears in front of you.
The future cheers you on.
You cannot expect a person to reveal their true colors until you give them the colors to paint to the picture.
What was once black, white and familiar,
Now purple, orange and forgerin.
The kiss of History now plagues your heart like lcotus that ruins a haverst of good fruit.
Do you consider your "art" wonders to your llusion or distrous to your reality.
A picture usually worth a thousands words,
Now only worth 1 question.
" are you an artist of your misconception of your illusion or merely a witness to the disappointment of each painting you find?"
Copyright © Emmanuel Williams | Year Posted 2024
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Emmanuel Williams Poem
I woke up from my slumber, just as the Sun I raised up as high as my heart's desires.
The horizon wait's for the sun to perfectly align, so too with my expectations. Only exception there is no horizon for my expectations meet in any way, shape or form.
I take 3 steps towards my mirror.
Instead of seeing my reflection.
I saw white roses embedded with blood.
A reflection crafted by the world "World"
But HE defeated the "World"
For what was once stolen and ruined
Has now been restored and made new through him.
I blinked and now I just saw white roses, but this time with a net as his covenrant.
My expectations now had a horizon to meet, and it was him.
Copyright © Emmanuel Williams | Year Posted 2024
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Emmanuel Williams Poem
I often see astray dogs, roaming the streets for a sense of purpose.
I am quick to find simlarties.
After all, why wouldn't there there any similarities.
If life is a game of poker, then my dealer had shuffled and dealt a set of cards that contained a theme of arbitrary in abundance, an infinite amount of unfortunate fortune, foreshadowed.
But who am I
I would of hope that the court of life awaits my case.
I'd believe that I would present my case and win.
Those that have trespassed against me would testify against me,
But the act of their trespass would be my evidence.
The ace up my sleeve would be the jury.
That's only if the jury had eyes to see and ears to hear.
But who am I?
The judges will decide.
The likes of me abibe.
Their ruling deemed to be arbitrary and unjust.
Played by the rules of learnt ethics and morals,
As a result,
The looser has to fall and
The winner took it all.
But who am I?
Guilty!
I have played my best cards.
No more cards to play.
Guilty feet has no rythem,
But I was never in sync with the rythem of life.
Is this the color of life?
Why should I complain.
But Who am I to complain?
Be gone!
Am I now forgotten as historical evidence that had been lost in transit,
On it's way to future generations that require the truth,
A sense of heritage to neutralize the doctrine of man.
The wind pushed me into the abyss.
The similarity between myself and the dog now personified.
But who am I after all?
Copyright © Emmanuel Williams | Year Posted 2024
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