The stream (all workshops)
Silence
you speak only
to barb my every thought
did you forget who I am not
Shut it!
And I have seen a war
I've seen mothers stand by their gates watching
With tears in their eyes as they watch their sons
And daughters march off, never to return
I've heard the wails of the maimed and the dying
The crippled and the broken
I've seen dead looks in the eyes of men
Who have seen terrors beyond words
Things that broke their hearts and sunk their spirits
The silent soul
who sullenly
seeps within
the sentimental
seas of solitude .
Always lead astray
by every
passing day .
Just to remain
amongst the stars.
Striding through
time’s strangled streams
of faintly
faded dreams .
Embedded beneath
the once blue
eyed beams of an
embittered beauty .
I thoughtfully walked, along a pretty long beach
Sea air in my hair; sand under feet.
Admired the view, that I’ve always known
Homed in and then reached, a ship called ‘Home’.
I live and I sleep where the seagulls screech
It’s ideal, idyllic, so I’m always at peace.
Lost without it, but on the beach near the ship
Like a seagull who landed, not stranded, - I found it.
I was told, by a man who was old, to be lonely is only
A feeling of needing, of which the purpose is solely
She seemed serene in her sacred shroud,
pristine and pure, like a snow-capped cloud.
But when I took a pensive peek
beneath the cloth that hid her cheek
she glared at me with her goldfish eyes;
her face, now grey as the winter skies.
I groaned with grief, then wept out loud.
My son, in haste, drew back the shroud.
Then, he clothed my sweet and scented rose
(same girl who had struck a goddess pose)
with sheet, to hide her skin of steel.
At feet - now clay - I went to kneel.
Some other time...
my eyes are freshly wet
do await some more time
I now no more can mime
it's late at night
need more rhyme
sleep over powers me
let dawn rise
overnight
I will become
may be wise
may be not
if comes early
my demise
then as you prefer soul
I solely
shall rise
be happy...
or many 'twill be a surprise
There is a place
that we know.
It may be a wall of gray fieldstone
covered with German ivy
shadowed in late afternoon,
silhouettes for an inspiration.
Along a path
and to each side
there may be burgundy roses in full blossom
struck by sunlight
filling the air with sweet aroma
where we walk as if on clouds
to brush the sky.
Beyond a canvas on an easel there is a pond.
We are quiet as swallows air dance,
but this will not be our work
nor the children playing with toy boats.
You are a piece of what you read,
the TV you watch.
You are the words you speak and
your thoughts.
You are a sum of the music you hear,
people you meet.
You are electrical impulses and a
heartbeat.
You are conversations you have,
the dreams you dream.
You are the Mountains, Valleys, and
the streams.
You are a little piece of each of
these.
You get in life there are no
guarantees.
The day has arrived again this year
When we reflect upon the things we have done
and the things we should do
We look inside our wandering minds
Moving forward the thoughts of yesterday
Wiping clean our imperfections
Promising to do better in the coming days
We profess plans and actions
That will act as daily reminders
Now is the time as we look in the mirror
And reflect on the sorrows of life
Reminded by the crossed ashes we see
walking and talking
in fragments and pieces
like stick figures
manifesting our weakness
unable to communicate
effectively or with true passion
never seamlessly
in silk like fashion
though there may come a day
when we blend in synchronicity
and see as we are seen
and know as we are known
nevermore to travel alone
unique and yet united
in thought and emotion
where our minds and hearts
gently renew acquaintance
after the long walk home!
Pages
(c) Neopoet.com. No copyright is claimed by Neopoet to original member content.