A tired wood surrounds the town I live in
and
if I could,
I'd wander for a while where the giants stood,
in the shade of their descendants,
small, if you recall how trees used to be,
yet their abundance hides you from me.
And the moon turned shy.
Between the places here and there you're waiting,
so am I.
If it should happen that we come across each other,
laugh away our worries and our scars,
the canopy above us would surrender,
and we could stay the night beneath the stars.
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 12:41 AM UTC
I sure hate haikus
Less complex than they appear
Wow they really ****
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 2:15 PM UTC
Let some seconds flee,
and I'll bring you to smile.
Let some minutes pass,
and I'll make you laugh.
Let some hours vanish,
and I'll tell you a story.
Let some days disappear,
and I'll draw out your sorrow,
Let them leave together,
and I'll give you a lifetime.
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 11:16 PM UTC
If I'm not deep then
I'm not special;
how can I be
if I but skim the surface of the sea?
Wrong, so wrong,
for how can you be special if
you're too deep for them to see,
they who you're scared to be?
This is hardly poetry,
so I'll rhyme to make it so,
hopefully.
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 11:26 PM UTC
Somehow soon I hope to pass
into the ever-changing state,
of drifting off to solemn dreams
with which no other can relate.
This threshold lasts but for a day,
neither before, nor in the end,
at least for me, this serene peace
should be where God pretends.
Here, can He think and ponder on
about that which does not exist,
where all will feel the unique touch
that is the Reaper's kiss.
The quiet calm that does descend
before the day is gone,
attracts me back through use of force
and a silent song.
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 1:37 AM UTC
I live with iron, lead, and steel
in the house you built for me,
in the country.
A rusty door keeps the wind out;
it creaks, but it's not often I need hear it.
Inside, resting by the window,
I listen to the rain sing pitter-patter on a tin roof,
and ask aloud; "What will grow, anyways?
It could rain for days and dry soil would stay so."
A few weeds once speckled the front yard,
but they withered when you left;
not from thirst, but because they needed you.
Specks of silver could be found in your footsteps,
and a light spinning at your center
radiated warmth on chillier nights.
Still, you were but the kindling for my forge.
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 8:42 PM UTC
Unusual I think, a hero, sinner, saint,
betwixt a commoner and his tomorrow ever faint.
Alone outside, the breath of death will fog his window pane,
the three between, I'll call them we, can't see beyond the rain.
Though now for fun, the normal one,
unfairly cast aside by I,
he yells like he escaped from Hell
and now we are alive as five.
But still another waits outside.
He starts to scratch the glass
where the six of us reside.
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 7:04 PM UTC
Maybe, challenge that shadows but are words and
maybe you sincerely. it in believe pride, seems,
just to merely the discover so their it
once see in meaning inside. hide in as
you clearly. circles my message will breathe solemn
will love extremes dearly, so you can forever,
find me in my dreams, where reality rests
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 5:59 PM UTC
I wander through the mist,
the heavy air by sunlight kissed,
yet now too late to dissipate,
crushing, unrelenting weight,
maybe we can coexist.
The sodden earth beneath me lay
trodden normally on by day,
though now was overcast by gray,
the fog that did persist,
the bog would not decay,
I wished that I could stay.
But then ahead appeared a light,
to my dismay, far out of sight,
how could it be, as dark as night
I thought it was today.
A slimy serpent crossed my path,
and with a smile, hissed,
humbled by its vile wrath,
I wander through the mist.
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 4:19 PM UTC
Arrogant we are
each night, and night again,
to look upon a sea of stars
where not a soul has been,
and still believe if we were gone
the moon would cease to yawn;
no one would remember
that it's slumber brought the dawn.
The wind that whispers in our ear,
echoing the Earth,
in a way intends to say
"Recall who gave you birth,
for although you grow in number,
you really needn't fear,
I'm not as frail or fragile as I apparently appear."
And then She sheds a solemn tear,
which we mistake for blood,
when in reality
She's seen many a flood.
Though I suppose it could be sweat,
as such a weight we are to bear,
burdensome, like morning dew
is to mountain air.
We silly children never care
to overestimate our Mother,
foolish as we ever are
to think She won't recover,
yet should She decide to turn aside,
weary of our humble pride,
naught would stand between us
and Her fires gold and waters wide.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 4:02 PM UTC