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Steve Whitacre Poem
All night the clock ticked, and outside a moon like day,
And I, in the ravages of sleep, head on a stranger's breast,
Shed tears, like a task not to be put away....
In the false moon light, overwelming grief in my happy bed,
An ocean of tears, set to undo joy's rebirth.
I would not wake at your word, I had only tears to say.
I clung to the dreams and they were my soul,
And let pain's derisive hand had give me rest
From the night of living flame, and the darkness within.
We do not get over grief.
But over time, we do learn to live with the loss.
We learn to live a different life...with our loss.
Copyright © Steve Whitacre | Year Posted 2005
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Steve Whitacre Poem
I stand upon the mountain top
High above the mist covered valleys so far below
The great sun slowly begins to burn its way into the sky from the east
The night reluctantly retreats to the west
It is a beginning
I listen as the night sounds begin to quiet
I listen as all the parts of the world begin to awake
The changes in the flow of life float gently against the shores of the all
There is a sense of motion building
It continues
I learn of the true meaning
I gleam understanding from nothingness
Of the great rolling turmoil of survival and progression
Of the rightness in the balance of existence
It becomes
I know now of importance and solecism
I have learned that which is sought yet missed
The center of what is me rejoins the center of all in perfect union
With each beginning a false end
It is
I stand, I listen, I learn, I know...........
Copyright © Steve Whitacre | Year Posted 2005
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Steve Whitacre Poem
And the rain falls
A cascade of broken glass falling from the heavens
The musical magical sounds of the droplets striking this reality
Sheets of running moisture flushing across the surface of my world
The night is lost to yesterday, yet the darkness remains across the morning
Time stands still as the confluence of nature manages dominion
In a sky of dark cold iron, a single star courageously fights for survival
One last small point of diamond shimmering brightness amid chaos and
shadow
A beacon of hope in an otherwise cistern of despair and loss
But I hear the music
The sweet ringing sounds of oscillating crystal struck with perfect cadence
The gurgling rhythms of the water swirling down the pipes
Clamoring hammering pounding of the droplets striking metal and stone
Juxtaposing in the orchestral muse of natures own melody
The never ending, never tiring, always changing song of the universe
Natures own cry of celebration for the existence we take so much for granted
With gifts such as this, could there be a better day
Copyright © Steve Whitacre | Year Posted 2005
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Steve Whitacre Poem
She is flawless beauty, With immortal grace,
But few have seen past her delicate face.
Look past her smile, beyond her gentle glow,
And into her heart, which closed so long ago.
It is not her laugh,
Nor the light in her eyes,
But hidden in the silence,
In her maelstrom of cries.
Her splendor hides, in unworthy hands,
Veiled by false promises, which few understand.
Amidst all the lies, and her deep rooted pain,
She grieves for her loss, its crushing disdain.
Because of this hurt, of her building resilience,
She rises above captors, breaks with its insolence.
As the long rain slows, her soul slowly mends,
Will this world be ready, for my beautiful friend.
For she does not know, how could she see,
Through all of her sadness, she’s perfect to me.
My flawless beauty.
In my eyes you are flawless,
As fresh as new day,
And with this love that we share
We hold the darkness at bay.
The Devil screams out
"What love is this?"
His screams are pure torture
He can not come against this.
This love we have may be all that we own.
This love of ours could be all that we know.
With every word you speak, you leave a legacy in me
And now you must know, that as long as I am here
The will be no love that shall cause you fear.
Copyright © Steve Whitacre | Year Posted 2005
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Steve Whitacre Poem
In an almost unbearable burst of enlightened thought
A moment of crystal clarity, and unity of mind and soul
I find myself here, at this spot, at this time
And ask, what we all boon to ask
The question all must ask of them-selves to become whole
Why
There must be a reason, a plan, some greater command
Some guiding force weaving the threads of the tapestry of my life
The potter’s hand that has shaped me for a purpose that I am to serve
Some finite goal not shared, but there regardless
Awaiting the day when I’m truly prepared
And I am here
Marching back through my memories and lessons
I can now see the pattern emerging
The trials put before me to build my strength and character
Loves filling my very soul to build my compassion
Losses to embed my understanding and insight
The long, slow awakening of that who I am today
And now, in rapturous and joyful discovery
The answer is at long last found within
The simplicity and propriety of the solution
In its self, yet another of that guiding hands special wonders
All the pain and anguish of the long hard years recede in importance
As the reason becomes so clear
I am here to be your friend
Copyright © Steve Whitacre | Year Posted 2005
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