a little poetry i once wrote

[Dan]

Weary man



He awoke last night,

Such a thorn has

Struck his mystic heart,

for he has no will to live.

Eighty-one years

He has walked the earth

And sixty-one with her.

For twenty years he had walked alone,

And now he shall again.



The nightstand shook with the breath of dawn

Eagerly the wind was lost.

One half fighting for the whole

As the feather floated from the pillows casing.

Down upon the rugged earth



Pure in word and deed

The man left his sorrow locked up

Away on the woven winter land

These Barren trees

with fading dignities lay awake

against the shelter they bestow



The bloody axe

of season kills

lay on the snow

as if it were a rose.

Contemplating

on where to go.



IN the woods he went, an hour or so ‘till the shadows fell.

A flame burst around him, as he took off his shoes by the stream.

The fox of orange and red, spoke soft to him.

Quietly among the brave

The man was not scared,

They both knew,

Looking

In the eyes there was

Respect.

The weary man travels again



His foot, torn from the dry twig of tears

Those winter chills setting

The tone for years to come.

The squirrel stopped, dead

In his tracks, gnawing on a nut

His food was lost; lie crushed beneath snowy linen land

Both of them worked so hard midsummer,

Persevering only to perish in the wooded land of beauty.



The trees shiver softly within the boundaries of gods will.

The lonesome sparrow, tucked gently and neatly, lands upon the man asking for warmth.

He gives it to the bird, who in turn pecks love in the darkest hole inside his heart.


The weary man travels again



Tender moon, with silver sash

Shimmers light for the man to see.

There had never been fear of death

Nor will there ever.

The slightest sigh,

Breathed hope for his hour was approaching



These were the woods they found

So eloquently prepared.

The years pass by but

Vividly the memory remains unstrung.

Music of love flowed out from the hearts

Of the two young lovers.



He had reached his journey

The trip of bland incandescence

Rising high about the trees, his nerves shoot

Impulses, for there was no were to go.

He would die like the rest of us,

Nature had run its course.



They meet again, united among the masses

Frozen in time as each perceives them to be.

He traveled alone, achieving only what he believed in.

Once again the mystic chords of truth

Stretched upon the frozen wooded land

Breaking for nightfall while it penetrates

The evil that men do, so hidden and concealed

As if it were illicit that the pure

Heart of love shines through all pain for

The weary man travels again

[tonygaboni]

thats actually quite a bit of poetry you once wrote, nice work though Dan

[Brook The Ace Shields]

My legacy is mine!
I'll take it to my grave.
You can have it when I'm done
because I'm going anyways...

I quit!

My skin turns blue, I quit.
To you my muse, that's who
I'm talking. I said, I'm always talkin
to her. She sounds so silent-sweetly
holds my hand so I can stand
She knows a friend or two.
It's up to us how much
we want to know
or how little
we could care.

If I could paint a picture of her,
I'd rather just paint you.
No matter how hard I try
to find the answers why
I'm blue
your purple
answer's only you.

There three stories up above me
looking at blue
while I trip
at the brink
of oblivion's
calling with
beautiful
patterns in
every shape,
every sound,
Do I think I've found my muse?

She's shaped like a question
without a direction
like me like us all
we were ever
Blue
and that's fine too.





















toter
9-15.
Sleepy. Gnight

[Robyn]

You two are really REALLY good. I wish I could write right now but I guess I just have way too much to do before I come out and I have ALOT on my mind. Keep up the good work. thanks!

Robyn