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Hannah Stiles-Culver Poem
A dusty old town-so quiet
a man, a traveler
takes off his pack-so heavy
and reclines for a rest.
they dont know his name, they never do
they wont even bother to ask
he troubles them-his mysterious past
leads them to prejudiced views
but were one to ask, for if naught but a name
what would this traveler say- would he speak?
a word, no. a name, he would give them and pass
"Im Wanderer, the world is my street."
Wanderer-what a name
does it signify much of his life
or is it a code- a cypher?
an enigma to his past.
Copyright © Hannah Stiles-Culver | Year Posted 2011
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Hannah Stiles-Culver Poem
To be a hero
To save a life
is this how one gets the title?
rush a burning building
or take a bullet
conquer the fight or flight
but the real hero,
is called a true friend
in the spirit of service
to help the hopeless
find purpose and joy
to be a hero
to save a life.
Copyright © Hannah Stiles-Culver | Year Posted 2012
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Hannah Stiles-Culver Poem
A Blind Blessing
A beggar, walking blind one day
Stumbled across a stream
He curled his fists in anger and cried
“How could God be so mean?”
“He made these wonderful waters here,
and the grass, so soft and green.
These wonders are those that I cannot see.
How could God be so mean?”
“He gave me no eyes to see the trees
That grow so tall and lean
So if he made this beauty here,
How could God be so mean?”
“Tis I who most enjoys his works,
I love every single thing.
But I’ve not the power to see them.
How could God be so mean?”
And as he sat and pondered this
A voice came to his ear
“Son, these are the gifts I’ve given thee,
to feel, to smell, to hear.”
“Thou love this earth much more than some,
Those whose eyes just pass it by.
I’ve given thee the gift to see
Within thine inner eye.”
Copyright © Hannah Stiles-Culver | Year Posted 2011
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Hannah Stiles-Culver Poem
A lawn full of things
like shoes without strings
all set out to be taken
To be bought off the shelf
by somebody else
some things new, most old and shaken
but to part with these tokens
so bent and broken
has symbolism all of its own
our lives are bought for a price
and the memory dies
just as soon as it leaves our home
think twice before you give
for what you once lived
be it cutlery, art, or not
and remember these tokens
the bent and the broken
the ones that have now been bought
Copyright © Hannah Stiles-Culver | Year Posted 2011
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