a little poetry i once wrote
Posted: Sun Sep 11, 2005 7:10 pm
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
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