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Angie Sharp Poem
Parchment turns yellow in time's orchard,
and colored ink disappears with age.
Written papers crumble into dust,
traveling back to Mother Nature's stage.
Store bought treasures feel the decay
from the invading touch of deadly mold.
Rust caresses with corrosive fingers,
feasting upon the metal bodies of the old.
The dazzling colors of pampered clothing
ebb with the endless load of years.
Stains paint their limp fabrics,
weaving memories of life's fleeting tears.
A human's decaying body accepts
the priceless gifts that noble time brings.
As a troubled youth fades into time's whirlpool,
growing wisdom lessens life's stings.
Copyright © Angie Sharp | Year Posted 2006
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Angie Sharp Poem
Slowly, one's self control ebbs,
as appetites begin to take hold.
The body's defenses crumble,
while temptation grows more bold.
The mind tastes the sweetness
of pleasure's tightening noose.
A chain of craving is formed
to set the drug of addiction loose.
The body becomes the eager slave
to an appetite's endless desire.
Self control dies within the light
of the soul's own forest fire.
As the mind surrenders to want,
the addict's life spins faster.
A slave is born into this world
when the appetite becomes the master.
Copyright © Angie Sharp | Year Posted 2006
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Angie Sharp Poem
They say that fishing is a sport,
but who wants to compete with a fish?
These small, slimy swimmers
often end up as someone's main dish.
The fish's pea sized brain
is usually fooled by store bought bait.
The only problem for the fisherman
is how long his patience must wait.
A fishing rod and decorated hook
lures the brainless victim to its death.
After its fins slap the human skin,
the fisherman brags with every breath.
A cold blooded fish's defeat
means little on the scoreboard of life.
If fishing is meant to be a sport,
why are the losers chopped up with a knife?
Copyright © Angie Sharp | Year Posted 2006
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Angie Sharp Poem
The true spirit of the season
lies in the heart of giving.
The joy of helping others
makes life worth living.
The precious gift of love
doesn't come with boxes or bows.
In the sharing of oneself,
the true meaning shows.
Holiday cheer is not bought
from any retail store.
Sometimes it's the little things
that's worth so much more.
Carols sung with a sincere heart
fill the sky with peace.
While the season's prayers of love
cover the earth with charity's fleece.
Copyright © Angie Sharp | Year Posted 2009
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Angie Sharp Poem
E mails lose the human touch
that handwritten letters used to bring.
A glowing screen can never create
the warmth that flies upon a smile's wing.
Typed words forget the tender sounds
that escapes from a human's soft lips.
Addicted eyes focus upon the dim light,
while the joys of human contact slips.
As technology woos the human mind,
life's simple pleasures are sent to the past.
People become dependant upon stiff computers,
making treasures of things that fail to last.
The human touch begins to ebb
when machines increase their hold.
Life's sweetest candy is found
only by embracing the human gold.
Copyright © Angie Sharp | Year Posted 2008
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Angie Sharp Poem
Frosted windshields reflect winter's beauty,
as snow tenderly covers the errors of man.
Winter winds voice their new griefs,
wailing louder than the engine of a van.
A human's breath freezes in the air,
birthing a baby wisp of smoke.
As the warmth submits to icy fingers,
human skin feels winter's frosted cloak.
White visions touch the faulty human eye,
while the sleeping earth snuggles in a blanket of cold.
The white skin of the hidden ground
bathes in the icy flakes of winter's gold.
The sky hides above stern clouds of grey,
shielding the sun from winter's white glove.
Bundles of human beings struggle to move
within the winter's storms of love.
Copyright © Angie Sharp | Year Posted 2011
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Angie Sharp Poem
Each crystal tear that escapes the human eye
is built by uncontrolled waves of growing pains.
For each glowing gem of warm laughter,
a wound of despair leaves bloodless stains.
When the tongue swims within the silent, salty water,
The nobility of the human character begins to form.
As wrinkles of time erode the youthful face,
the immortal soul is pushed into another human storm.
The precious minutes of fleeting joys
become more cherished than a vault of gold.
The torn and battered heart starts to blossom
when it endures trouble's touch of endless cold.
These growing pains bathe the frail human skin
with wet trails of salt drenched drops.
Bubbles of grief tames the wild mind,
growing wisdom from life's bitter crops.
Copyright © Angie Sharp | Year Posted 2008
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Angie Sharp Poem
Specks of crystallized water float down from the somber sky,
touching the nameless buildings in multicolored lands.
Innocent eyes watch with a fragile awe
this blinding sheet of heavenly white sands.
A moist tongue hesitantly reaches out
to feel the melting sweetness of new born snow.
The feathery flakes brush pure eyelashes,
only to vanish in the human's warm glow.
Frozen lips laugh with a child's delight,
as heaven sends down its delicate toy.
The patterns upon the icy snowdrops
build the inner walls of childhood joy.
Fragile flakes collect upon human gloves,
their beauty lasting for just a breath.
But the wonder they give to this cold world
surpasses the sorrow of winter's death.
Copyright © Angie Sharp | Year Posted 2009
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Angie Sharp Poem
Glassy eyes patiently watch the empty room,
reflecting each slight movement of light.
Muffled noises stroke the tiny head,
inviting the ebony melody of night.
Dust leaves its fingerprints on the stuffed body,
mixing with the stains from childhood's tears.
The frail breast loses the human heartbeat,
as time erases the memory of a child's fears.
A smile remains frozen upon its lonely face,
softly weaving comfort into the weary air.
But the faulty human mind forgets
the love an old toy is willing to share.
Copyright © Angie Sharp | Year Posted 2011
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Angie Sharp Poem
Fairies paint the frozen crystals
that glide softly to hide the bitter earth.
Trees eagerly submit to these moist kisses,
tenderly watching each new flake's birth.
Winter releases the magic of frost,
allowing faulty human eyes to see the icy art.
Frozen blossoms decorate all fragile windows,
blessing the distracted world with winter's heart.
Cold wind tastes the warm human cheeks,
as it rushes to greet heaven's snowy breath.
A blanket of snow covers the weary ground,
whispering of autumn's early death.
Sidewalks cling to each puddle of ice,
making winter smile when humans fail to stand.
Winter's hand caresses the wounded soul,
bringing a white peace to a tired land.
Copyright © Angie Sharp | Year Posted 2012
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