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Christopher Roberts Poem
Clouds of despair pierce the lights of hope I bear. In one I hold a flute. In one I hold a sword. The flute looks ahead. The sword looks back. Back to when troubles made my reality. I still hide beneath thy blade to this very day hoping the melodies of time will sing to me. Alas I drop! Dropped against the pressures of hardships. I play my soul out in despair and I noticed something. The flute shines of light not to my eyes, but to my heart. Then the sun glistens and the larks whistle their tune. Hearts of others look forward as mine will too and all shall begin anew. My sword reminds me not to turn back. The flute to push me on. I gaze up at the stars tonight and say aloud, "I strike this note for all to hear to bury thy blade. Depart from my distant pasts I may and embrace my future with open arms and broaden mind."
Copyright © Christopher Roberts | Year Posted 2011
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Christopher Roberts Poem
My words are on paper and my sentences made clear. Such as the testaments for which has traveled from my heart to my pen. Though my message seems clear, my intent is still obscured by the mists of days that has come and passed. Just who am I to say that I understand the hearts of my fellow men around me for I can only guess. Wanting to be remembered, I'd do almost anything to see this pulled through. Now I'm writing of lavish fiction and coffee cake stories for which I know is all a lie. What have I become...? I'm not a monster but, I'm not a saint as I'll never be. Who am I...? Through all the candy coatings of all the stories I've written and told, my heart remains obscured, lost in a blinding veil of mist. My mind seeks cover waiting for when my heart rips in two for the truth it seeks can no longer be handled from reading the lies written down for which I'm dead guilty of. What do I do now? I can't abandon my paper, my stories, and my life's work. All I have left is to embrace this as a part of me, the heart of black and white and the realms of ink and paper. Whatever the day, whatever life throws at me, I will remember the journey between the heart and the pen.
Copyright © Christopher Roberts | Year Posted 2011
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Details |
Christopher Roberts Poem
I am just a slave to you, mindless to the strings. From sunrise to sunset I dance upon this wooden set. My limbs and body are made of oak, so is the case in which I spoke. The places I go, the people I meet. It kind of makes this life somewhat neat. Though my day's work may be done, I search the star filled skies lusting for more fun. One day the cart skips a beat and out I go onto the street. The young children once playing ball stopped to look at me in great awe. My stage once wood is now worn out cobblestone and the tots are grabbing my strings. Can I say that I am free? Must this be fate that's granted to thee? The tugging now becomes peace and the children head in for a bite to eat. Once again I'm alone on the street. Will this be the end of me? My master now returns, relieved to have me back. He cuddles me and cradles me, and then it's back into the case I go.
Copyright © Christopher Roberts | Year Posted 2011
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Details |
Christopher Roberts Poem
The day's just beginning and tapping I hear against the window shear. Looking out as if I were a prisoner, a grim, gray sky encroaches and envelops the manor of which I reside. Fascination consumes my very mind as I watch the crystal clear rain turn to a deathly crimson. I blinked my eyes to try and shed this image, but this horrid crimson I could not shake. I leave my chamber halfway to insanity trying to salvage the rest. A cup of tea to do the trick even if it's just a sip. These crimson drops still embedded in my head, robs me of my rationed thoughts drip by drip. Heading for the door I must, for just a faint hope of clearing things up. My mind now in shambles, I look up still seeing the crimson falling from above. I slammed the door shut huffing, puffing, panting in fear knowing that I might be done in by the rain of crimson wanting to get in. I headed for the closet and summoned up my umbrella. I headed for that formidable threshold ready and determined. Do I go out, or should I stay in?
Copyright © Christopher Roberts | Year Posted 2011
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