E K Weber

E K Weber Aug 2017

Happily I play the harp,
A soothing melody.
She sings a gentle lullaby,
And gives my worries wings-
Away they fly, away they fly,
They will cease to be.
All that matters is,
What will forever be-
Those indifferent melodies,
Of life ongoing eternally.

E K Weber Aug 2017

I am being

I lie down in the shade,
On green grass so tender,
My soul is touched by its coolness.
I am one with the grass,
Not afraid or lost or hurting,
Not happy or sad or excited.
I am grass,
I am being.
The wind is my breath,
All is calm.
In and out,
In and out.

E K Weber Aug 2017

Rest Now

I find my rest,
My soul is content,
Happy with whatever will be.
Dreams do not urge me,
Memories do not haunt.
I drink from the waters,
Of this moment before me.
In the present,
I am most alive,
In this moment.
And yet I find my rest,
My soul is content.

E K Weber Aug 2017

Nightmare

When will I wake,
From this dream of horrors?
A nightmare sprinkled,
With drops of light amidst darkness.
Forever I am reaching,
Yearning for something to hold.
Something on which to take purchase,
A foundation on which to build a life.

Too many competitors,
Claiming to have truth,
When all I see is the lie,
That runs through them all.
One day I'll find my inner peace,
One day I hope to be content.
No more of the itching,
The feeling of malcontent anxiety,
Distrustful and displeased with myself.
It's a nightmare.
I've tried to change,
Meditation, talking, medications,
But nothing lasts.
Not religious conviction,
Not career goals,
No life purpose takes hold.
Each day is full,
Small victories and constructive habits,
But what is my journey?
They say life is about the journey,
Not the destination.
But for me there is no journey,
And certainly no destination.

I'm floating in an abyss,
Drifting like a spec of dust,
In this large confusing world.
I've looked outside myself,
I've looked inward.
There is no relief,
No revelation of belief.
No moment of understanding,
Of why or what or when.
I am alone,
Without solid footing,
Without a firm grip,
On whatever truth there is.
It's a nightmare,
And I can't wake up.

E K Weber Jul 2017

Stories

Worlds within me calling for life,
Who am I to deny them breath?

Though lived alone on pen and paper,
Not born again in the minds of others.

Forlorn are their expressions,
When I them tell,

Their stories mean little,
To anyone besides me.

Compelled to write those,
Histories and memoirs of pretend.

I know they can not be.
Mysteries to all not in my head.

Some may see *******,
Perhaps most will, but,

One life touched by,
Worlds imagined is,

Enough to me compel.

The urge to write stories isn't something I can ignore. That was the sentiment that inspired this poem. Sometimes I feel like writing stories is a waste of time, particularly because no one else ever reads them. Or, if they do read them, they don't like them. For me, I have to write; it's who I am.

E K Weber Jul 2017

Daydreams

Tired of waiting for a wished upon star,
Imaginary portents that never lead far.

Within wakes a giant,
Hopeful and uncertain,

Afraid yet empowered,
With the intoxicating,
Thought of what could be.

On the outside a smile and happy laugh,
Inside a deep aching sadness.

Daydreams float up from the grass,
Into the sky painted bright hues,
Just dreams, never to be born.

A fish cannot fly, he is only a bass.
Life is a game and some have to lose.

It is drudgery yes, the pain makes forlorn,
The hope of those who dare,
Envision a world free of this snare.

The only thing eternal- nature is.
Song of seasons sung from the beginning,

Blankets of moss cover one deeply.
Streams sing one to sleep.

Woodlands carry to the land of lived out dreams,
Where can be no thing more beautiful,
Than a forest undisturbed,

Or a valley in the morning light,
Fellow man please let her be.

E K Weber Jul 2017

Humanity

When one learns of an atrocity committed past or present,
It is a feeling of such pain,

An ache within the soul.
If one believes in that sort of thing- a soul.

But one does not have to believe,
In anything of the kind,
To feel pain, to feel love for a complete stranger.

Separated by time and space,
It is through our own experiences and emotions,
We relate to others.

We imprint our own feelings,
On the experiences of others.

It is empathy, understanding, compassion,
That makes us human.

Let us not lose that, ever.