Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Dec 2016 Illya Oz
SE Reimer
~

when joy seems lost, when peace is gone;
to earth falls flat pleas skyward cast;
when those thought once to be a friend,
have all gone on, seems none are left;
when ears that heard, yet now are deaf,
when dreams lay torn, and hope bereft.

do not despair, nor call for end,
beyond these mists i am your friend;
your voice, a cry on wing and clear,
not all have left, know i am near;
i am hope disguised as gentle hands,
that reach to sooth the soul in angst.

i am love cloaked as eyes that seek,
the wounded heart that silent weeps;
i am your brother, i your kin,
though not by blood, nor race, nor skin,
yet beats within this breast as yours,
a heart breathed life at heaven's door.

your breath, my own, my will i share,
till yours can breathe, your burdens bear;
my oath, my pledge, your comfort be,
my blood transfused, beats still in thee;
i lend my hope to be your warmth,
i offer arms to hold you close.

you need not face another day,
a lifeless soul who walks away,
a faceless one who’s lost their voice,
but ’til your own has been restored,
to you the lyrics, lines belong,
'til you remember, i’ll sing your song.

~

*post script.

approximately 96 hopeless souls reach the end each day, and pull the trigger on whatever their choice of escape they had planned it to be (that’s one every fifteen minutes).  the number is even larger if we include those who attempt and fail.  if there are only six degrees of separation, imagine how many in your circle this means are contemplating, and are in and out of some level of consideration of making this day their last.  remember, a song is amazingly powerful.  it does not take a fireman to talk someone down off a ledge or a policeman to coax someone into laying down the gun, it only takes someone who is willing to listen, long before the gun and the ledge; someone willing to smile and be hope and notes for a soul who has lost their song... to remind them of the song they have forgotten; their song... hope’s song!
Wild native branches - A jungle-green canopy sheltering this ever-flowing stream that runs rapidly,
most steadily, to and fro my heart.

Ancient autumn leaves weaved into an intricate, detailed, complex, rustic carpet, concealing paths and footprints leading in and out of my mind.

Forty two springs worth of magnificent arrays of wildflowers decorate each serene scene bordering this stream - each cluster a chapter of my life.

These scattered wild arrangements, with their heavenly scent, delight my senses - they are most pleasing to my mind's eye.

There's gold dust, nuggets, and precious gemstones, hidden in the gravel, they're also buried in the bedrock of this stream, and in the river that it feeds.
This stream is a constant source, feeding my hungry heart and mind.

The river that is fed by this stream
  is my soul - this ever-flowing stream is a corridor which runs to and fro my heart; it carries the oxygen in my blood, through my veins.

Whilst manoeuvering around the stepping-stones that are laid-out sporadically, most beautifully, but imperfectly, across this stream,
THEY, double cross me;
A highway, used to get to where THEY are going, time and time again.

~By Lady R.F ©2016
All that is left are memories
When a loved one sadly passes on
One never really gets over the loss
But, you must be strong
Never forget what your mother taught you
She always wanted you to do your best
Just carry on with your mission
And reach for excellence
My liberal broad-mind is a tree,
each branch carries the weight
of an independent hope, fear,
anxiety and dream.
When the wind imposes,
when it whistles, howls and blows,

you can hear each of my independent emotion's haunting cries.
They cry because I've let them go. 
They're now lost in limbo - it's somewhat disturbing and morbid,
I know!
But that's just how it goes!

By Lady R.F ©2016
 Nov 2016 Illya Oz
CeriseRed
The cotton of blue
The sheets of green and grey
Dazzled with fireflies of orange
The crescent plate glows in gold
Twisted with mantle of black
With gold, with silver
With gun,
Shoots the sun
Had once risen
In glittering yellow and white
Been scattered into pieces of maroon
Blood deepen in red
Upon of once ever pure sky
Until his death covered with violet
For the moon will reign.
*No pun intended
 Nov 2016 Illya Oz
CeriseRed
I would love to fly
   -- and form my own figured cloud
I would love to swim
  -- and rest under the seabed
I would love to fall
  -- and be burnt beneath the atmosphere
I would love to wander
  -- and pick every stone along the street
I would love to long
  -- and live beyond reach

I wish I hope I could,
But I rather love to be with you through these adventures.

Or I would love to love you
Beyond else and beyond reach.
Fire to ashes
Mountains to dust
Water to ice
Metal to rust

Like to lust
Lust to love
Love to hate
Hate to love

Breath to life
Life to death
Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust

By Lady R.F (C) 2016
Next page