The stream (all workshops)
one more day
lost chord
is hidden in chaos --
perhaps chaos is lost chord
in disguise
I came into the world screaming
I may stay under protest
but --
listening to lost chord
while still here is
a wonder in itself
midst chaos' clamber
tune keeps me
present
one more day.
vcp
Resting in peace beneath the earth
As the life that caused our existence
Goes back to heaven from whence it came
Ending the pain and suffering
Consuming our very soul
BEST OF FRIENDS
We were lying on the grass,
We were talking of the past,
And I told you of my dad's old steel rimmed glasses-
Then, you told me of the man
With another in his hand,
And you couldn't believe that he was making passes...
Then, you spoke to me of touch
And you said it meant so much
To be touched when you are down or just plain lonely-
Now could that be the spark
Made you hold me in the dark-
Though you said you really loved your one and only...
Only the bravest, strongest birds
dare go aloft on such a day
a breeze which whispered now shouts its words
making trees bow deep and sway
The wind which once sighed through tall pines
now strips last leaves from old oak trees
breaking large limbs, snapping small vines
while bending cypress to their knees
It blows the woods' duff into drifts
while lifting harvest's chaff to skies
where all the clouds are rife with rifts
and dust peppers my squinting eyes
The kaleidoscope of events
was the life that passed
well planned strategies of life
that were expected to occur,
have fallen short of dreams
that were held while still
a bright eyed youth
To have thought that achievements
would come by simply working hard
then to realize
dreams are but made of vapors
which seem to pass like clouds
all that's left behind is the reality
of standing in the light
`
Invisible but not voiceless,
This fire within me burning;
Fueled by things long since done;
Uncertain it would continue
And most certainly would one day end.
Resounding vermillion trains,
Travelling across frontier lands;
That began by fits and starts.
But this is just the beginning,
And most certainly is not the end.
Smearing the silence with my thoughts:
Scarlet ink on blue paper;
Conversing along the lines;
Uncertain it would continue,
And most certainly would one day end.
craps shoot at thought café
in backroom
at the thought café
game of craps
was ongoing for as long
as I recall.
most of the regulars
were there with
their money folded
long ways between
middle and ring fingers.
action was a little
slow, and regulars
were looking for new
meat.
they looked my way,
and I shook my head, no
and said, “I don’t gamble.”
“why are you smoking that
damn pipe and drinking
cabernet?” they asked.
Through my eyes
You say you don’t feel beautiful
And you’re not the girl you were
You look into the mirror
It seem that things have changed
But baby,
you need to see what I see
And know you’re still the beauty
You’ve always been
Through my eyes
Don’t trust your eyes
For they only lie
I see how others look at you
And they want you as I do
So baby,
you need to see what I see
And know you’re still the beauty
You’ve always been
Through my eyes
I suddenly came to be
me
an individual
some say unique among myriad
white brethren
Having no religion or direction
I drift in a seeming random route
only connecting with others
by short -lived accident
from which I rebound
The short duration of
my brief lifetime
spirals slowly
inevitably
down
Until at last my beauty crashes
as I join my fellows who fell before me
and mingle with others once unique
in an ephemeral blanket
of a southern snow fall
which melts
Pages
(c) Neopoet.com. No copyright is claimed by Neopoet to original member content.