To my lover in the sky,
Please come to pass me by
Forever I stand vigil
My tears for you are not dry.
When the firmament erupts in first light
I remember how you’d shake me from the night
And we’d cuddle together beneath the dawn
And watch the sun realize its might.
When the sun reaches its peak at noon
I remember capsizing in our canoe
Laughing and squealing at our failure
And when we emerged, how we swooned.
When the day has reached its close
I remember the steady running of your nose
The blanket I enshrouded you in
When the heavens were a bloody rose.
When the sky turns black like my heart,
I remember your breathing’s stop and start
When finally I sealed shut those frosty eyes
My soul’s collapse at your depart. more…
Old as the mountains,
She rocks at her porch
Wispy gray cloud
Once shone like a torch
Her heart is at ease
Where once it was scorched.
Wise as the Alps,
She reminisces her past
Her husband, her children
Have all gone to pass
How her life had unravelled
At first slow, then to fast.
Strong as the Himalayas
She has seen all
Justice and chicanery
How the best ones must fall
And in the face of death
Those who stand tall.
Where he came from no one knows,
A place of hatred, animosity and foes,
His eyes are icy blue like glass,
Glazed to hint at a haunting past;
His hair is longer than his face,
And his type a peculiar race,
Of which he did not belong.
The motive for his coming is clear
To rid him of his abysmal fear
Dread which built in his home of hate
Of murder, blood-lust, and cruelty of fate;
His stoic exterior shows ragged scars,
His legs tremble from a journey far,
To a place which he may belong.
We took him in to help him heal
Time was needed for his trust and appeal,
We gave him faith and love and hope,
Allowed him view of a wider scope;
Now his eyes are not full of angst and unrest,
And he has reached the end of his quest
For a home for him to belong.
Broke.
Homeless,
Life of a beggar.
He walks the streets
With guitar in hand.
Cracked voice.
Snapped string,
Broken heart.
Hoping to be
Discovered.
Pennies in a hat
Refill his lust,
His overwhelming passion,
And he finds the strength
To dream.
In the City there is a girl
Who stares at the ceiling at midnight
Afraid to go into the ghetto.
She covers her ears to muffle
The shots, the sirens.
In the City there is a teen
Who sits just outside his doorstep
Afraid to go into the brawl within.
He brushes a tear and tries to drown
The screams, the curses.
In the City there is a man
Who runs from a house with a bag and gun
Afraid to be caught in thievery.
He blindly bang-bangs behind him at
The cops, the world.
In the City there is a crone
Who waits for her children to return
Afraid of all but death.
In her chair she gently rocks away
The memories, the pain.
Portrait of Worldliness
Cursory glance, she’s a beauty.
With shimmering locks of auburn hair
Swaying hips and slowly beckoning finger tips,
Tall and nimble, strut of a cat.
Her form-fitting dress is jewel-encrusted,
Silk sash, enticing eau de cologne,
Embroidered veil to shield her face,
Whatever beauties it surely holds.
Her superficial beauty is a lure
For all those foolish enough to look
Men adore her, kiss her feet,
Women envy, admire, full of desire.
There are many who fall for her trap
Those who long to see her face
With a laugh she removes her veil:
Black, foul, decrepit—she is no beauty. more…
