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Peter Little Poem
a heavenly voice
whispers from within my wrist
I carve to hear it
unfathomable
she has chosen to be mine
out of our passion
a child is created
my son is born dead
the portrait of love
has become a charred picture
the colors have dimmed
as her life withers
my agony flourishes
my black heart decays
the angel of death
has come to take me away
two destinations
to which one shall I be sent
I fear the outcome
when she shows her face
angels hang their heads in shame
men fall to their knees
ethereal loveliness
she'll never want me
I purchase a gun
then take it back to my home
and load one bullet
why won't she depart
she exists in the blackness
when I close my eyes
when it rains fire
Christian priests take shahada
belief is fragile
I weep from her death
too beautiful for this world
even for Heaven
Copyright © Peter Little | Year Posted 2010
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Peter Little Poem
Autumn's proud treetops
the leaves once so beautiful
are now crumbling
Copyright © Peter Little | Year Posted 2010
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Peter Little Poem
unimaginable terror gripped me when she fell ill
a fear that caused all else in my life to still
words cannot describe the dread that I felt
so for the first time in my life, upon the ground I knelt
in such fear that her soul would leave
I prayed to a God in whom I don't believe
I asked why he would ever strike her dead
I begged of him to take me instead
I pleaded with desperation, sadness and rage
she wasn't even a year of age
it was a sunny day when my daughter died
as if the God who took her was mocking me
I buried her in a shallow grave
for I couldn't bear to stare at her lifeless form any longer
her mother gave me a final kiss
then went to be with her child once again
I pen this with a blade in my other hand
the instrument that shall reunite me with my family
Copyright © Peter Little | Year Posted 2010
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Peter Little Poem
in the freezing storm, I sit beneath ancient, blackened elm
upon numbing snow, ready to pass from this realm
it's been but a few days, yet my face betrays the ware of years
an expression of solemnity adorns my face, my cheeks bedewed with frozen tears
along with my frozen heart, which can never be thawed
I stare at the sky, ready to see if there is truly a God
Death embraces my broken form as I begin to tremor
with utter longing I remember the heat of our passion in this coldest December
into his care I surrender
his caress so tender
the edges of my vision begin to darken
my last sight is of rising snow and a meadow of dying roses
the petals have been poisoned
dripping with blood from my weeping wrists
I'm coming to join you my love
Copyright © Peter Little | Year Posted 2010
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Peter Little Poem
these pure hearted people slave for masters whose souls are dead rotten
blood dripping from their fingers, filling baskets with red cotton
they sleep on the hard floor of their crowded, torn shed
half of the babies they have are born dead
they wear the same tattered clothes throughout the whole year
frozen on the inside by their soul's tears
being tortured mercilessly, falling down from starvation
it's disturbing to think, this was one of the foundations of our nation
he sees despair in his six year old son's eyes
neither of them know if they'll make it to see the sunrise
none of them know what the next day will bring
yet despite all of their pain they still sing
with tear choked voices they sing through the sorrow
they sing of freedom and hope for tomorrow
Copyright © Peter Little | Year Posted 2010
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Peter Little Poem
at dusk I come upon my lake and sit beneath a shaded tree
with lifeless eyes I gaze at the setting sun, for it is the last one I will ever see
in my arms I cradle a shotgun, loaded with only one shell
the instrument that I shall use, to release me from my endless Hell
with utter calm I press the barrel beneath my chin, ready to see if there is truly a God
but then I am halted from my salvation, when from across the lake I hear a sob
my first thought is what has brought this Goddess such pain, tears streaming down her
cheeks
this creature is of such ethereal beauty, that I am rendered unable to speak
so deep is her despair that she doesn't even notice I am there
still unable to find my voice, all I can do is stare
cerulean eyes, raven tresses
thoughts of blissful cries, and lustful caresses
in those eyes I see a pain that rivals my own
on her wrists, the evidence is shown
but I can see that the scars are far more deep within her heart and mind
whoever has brought this angel such misery only deepens my loathing for mankind
I feel a strange sense of peace, looking at this creature in all her splendor
the embers of longing ignite within me for the first time I can remember
my heart clenches as her tears fall onto the water, the cold wind creating gentle waves
from the agony that radiates off of her, I know that she plans for the lake to be her grave
I wonder if I can save her, pull her from the abyss
a woman who has endured such suffering, deserves nothing other than bliss
as the last rays of the sun vanish, into the water she begins to descend
I stand up and run to her, the shotgun forgotten on the ground
as she disappears beneath the water, I grab her and pull her above the surface
like a comet streaking across my mind, I realize that saving her is my purpose
she looks into my eyes and gasps when she sees her pain reflected
a vestige of hope wells up within her, for she knows she has found a kindred soul
from the pleading desperation in her eyes, I know that I've been trapped
and I never want to escape
Copyright © Peter Little | Year Posted 2010
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