The stream (all workshops)
Why do we send our children to war,
To seek revenge or settle a score?
They’re young and strong and full of life,
They have no fear of trouble or strife.
We’ll fire them up and wish them well,
And then send them trough the gates of hell.
It’s just an adventure and it’s all so exciting,
Do they even know who or why they are fighting?
For those who return all battered and sore,
No thanks for fighting a rich man’s war.
A terrible waste of young women and men,
They did what was asked and they’d do it again.
We planted ninety oak trees.
Will they prosper well?
Is there time?
In shadows cast by history's cruel hand,
Where hearts are torn, thrown into the festival of famine,
We ask many questions, withering away in the palm of endless strife,
"What are we, in the shelter of life?"
A world of colours, cultures, intertwined,
Yet prejudice still festers in the mind,
Discrimination poisoning the taste of the heart
Leaving wounds that time alone can never erase.
Days are cooling fast
gone the heat of summer
warmer clothes out
of summer storage.
Camps are closing up
put to rest for their winters nap.
In the lowland swamps
The maples are already turning
to shades of brilliant red.
The lakes grow eerily quiet
as the boats are taken in
and put in winter storage.
Hunters slip into the woods
in search of elusive prey.
Overhead the geese can be heard
on their annual trek south.
You can smell the changes
hanging ever present in the air
Old age can be a blessing in disguise
For the lessons it brings, can't be denied
It's often seen as a time of decline
But the benefits of old age can still shine
Experience and wisdom are a pair
Old age gives thoughts to share
The path of life is worn but true
We can follow it, if we choose to
We take out time to look at life’s flares
Offering our time and prayers
I placed my hand on the gravestone
Of a soldier down a white line;
Who had died in the heat of battle
In “Operation Watch on the Rhine.”
I saw where etched in the marble
His soul was committed to God;
A hero of men and all nations,
Now resting in peace under sod.
A flood of tears came o’er me
As I saw him rush in the snow;
From a foxhole close to Bastogne,
With a wind chill near fifteen below.
Our love, beside the sea did blaze,
burnt off the mist and violet haze.
A scorching golden ball of fire:
strong summer sun of deep desire
that torched the rainbow, (made us bleed-
cruel colours!) Then it did proceed
to crucify that evil, red.
( blood-spattered petals we’d both shed)
Then hearts, once broken, bled and bruised
did forge in flames until they fused
as one – as they were yesterday.
Cold colours now all drained away
to leave an incandescent glow
that melted sorrow’s ice and snow.
In our search for happiness
Do we know what that even means?
It must be different for each of us
Or so it often seems.
Enjoyment must be an important part
Towards a happy state of mind,
Those things that we enjoy in life
Each of us must try to find.
Satisfaction will be a factor
As we reach towards that happy goal,
Those things that give us satisfaction
Can touch our very soul.
The man stands still
Hoping for a helping hand
No one offers to fill
The bright red empty can
He walks around the streets
Life filled with loneliness and grief
No one to offer a seat
No one willing to give relief
The poor man begs for money
A plea that’s hard to see
It’s a plea to some that’s funny
As the poor man takes his knee
A car passes by and stops
Asking the man his plight
And into the can a five drops
Hoping he will have a better night
She looked out upon the ocean as the tide came rolling in,
I’d like to tell her story but where do I begin...
The mother of a child and the wife of her best friend,
Her family tree would never break but it would surely bend...
The sea looked so inviting as he pushed out from the dock,
He told her he’d be home again by three or four o’clock...
The seas can be so angry without much of a warning,
Things had changed dramatically since five o’clock this morning...
Pages
(c) Neopoet.com. No copyright is claimed by Neopoet to original member content.