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David Freeman Poem
Woven with your strings,i found no
escape from
your obsession.
Ones that left me sentenced to thinking
as i
committed you to memory and stayed
vigil in wait
for your return.
Hallucinations from the spells you cast
on me.
Those times when i froze in wait for
your love and
heard the wolves scavenge in the cold.
While i drew your pillow close and drew
images of
you in the dark.
And in my dreams i could not get
enough of you
because i bred and fed thoughts of you
from the
hunger of your touch.
But you were everything i thought you
never
would be for you left me straining my
eyes at
every apparition.
And in all my efforts i lost while
bestowed with
desparation.
With the dawn fading into day and the
orange
skies losing grip to dark.
My long for your warm breath on my
neck and
the rollicking feel of your skin with mine.
But i guess that is just me thinking out of
the blue
and baking memories brown because it
was long
due,this bitter tale of our hearts.
Copyright © David Freeman | Year Posted 2013
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David Freeman Poem
In the dark allies they hide with the muzzles of their guns and fly bullets with people screaming for safety out of dazzle.
Reading long speeches in suits they wove out of patriotism and deception
Greed, vanity become values they cherish as they suppress guilt and shame with valiant valediction.
In these times when bread dearth, they match in their stripes without pity for their kind
The cologne of commiseration they refuse to wear.
Days when we strive to survive rather than live
When the echoes from the cries of children tremble hearts and wails from pain send down rain
They leave nothing but hide their eyes from their feelings so as not to look behind
With the minute wash of red stains off the streets and the digging of holes carved for the continuum of evolution.
All is well in their minds as everything that is after is what they painted it be
If only there were spaces left in their hearts for themselves they then will acknowledge there is no hiding place from mortality.
But the inevitable escapes them and they exchange calm with smoke from the barrels of muskets engaging men we trust who replace it with endless noise from the fire of fire
While mosaics are made of tears they sit content with their souls silhouetted against the very place they once knew as home.
Laughing heartily at deeds they presume as chivalrous and their superiors patting them like dogs.
With no remorse these ones are programmed to pester tranquil
As they are assigned their next and prove their loyalty by wagging their tails in submission
But men who dream of pouring hot coal on ice just for the fun of it will verily see the turnout for the prayers of the oppressor will never submerge that of the suppressed.
Copyright © David Freeman | Year Posted 2013
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David Freeman Poem
END, Truth, Pain, Life
The beauty in the death of life lies in the life of death.
I sigh in my mortal flesh
Of my mortal thoughts and ask
Should I remind you of your true nature
and your pursuit of final free freedom?
Or your unilateral universe burdened with unending pursuits and endless marathons?
I lost the battle in the East before the West
In these tattered, splintered, useless shreds of crown diamonds
Soaked in the eternal muddy pool veiled with ignorance
I have from my graves will learn
Love, Live, Ask, Think
Suffer, Persevere, Listen, Learn
While wailing waves woven with worry of
SAMSARA
I will dodge raindrops before they pour
And challenge myself to a duel with a mirror
Breath, Move, Grave, BEGIN!
Copyright © David Freeman | Year Posted 2022
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David Freeman Poem
Tears trickling down her heavy cheeks as
she lays
on the thick straw mat.
The souls of trees casting reflections into
her hut.
Her emotions turning against themselves.
She is caught napping with a task on her
whole.
Shouts of avid misconstrue out of blissful
ignorance
how she wished pain was contagious as
her aids
guess her cries are prepostrous.
Hearts throb and sweats drip.
The agony being endured draws her
body numb
as the morning dew sweeps a soothing
breeze
across.
She throws her hand for help because
she is
weary to the pulp as the life in her
emanates from
root.
The last hot blood in her boils down and
calm
returns to her in a split with fresh breath
pumping
ease into her lungs.
A new being has been born.
Copyright © David Freeman | Year Posted 2013
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David Freeman Poem
My eyes have found in your seams
While walking over the edges of my garment.
The intricate stitches, holding together the efforts of the steam iron
Become these knots untied.
The layers and layers and layers of fabric
Potentially protecting me from your prickly needles!
With all that is left within me -
Fragments, rivulets, pieces in teeny tiny composition carefully conniving against my obvious will.
But surely if you please
Spare me the reintroduction to you
My dearest seamstress.
Copyright © David Freeman | Year Posted 2025
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