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Oh to be swept away in a melody
Caught in the maelstrom of a rhapsody.
The throbbing tide tugs our hearts
Like David charming Saul with his harp.

In intimate dance, soul and song entwine
Two notes forming a chord sublime.
The lyrics, an incantation, of unearthly hold,
Giving us the vigor to face the untold.

And one day our cadence will surely cease.
Our completed symphonies may bring peace.
Will our compositions instill life or death?
Will we exhale life before the last breath?
We all have a song in our hearts, yet we have the choice to use it to fill others with life or death.
Robert Watson Dec 2021
A captured thought thrashes inside my chest,
As the droning teacher drills out his behest.
His lecture lulls us with impervious haze,
As the wandering pupils observe in a daze.

My captive prisoner rages to reach outside,
But I fail to arise, I'm shut up, tongue-tied.
The captain now slowly sails the ship away
Completely unaware of the treasure left astray.
I can't tell you how many times this happened to me throughout high school. I'm so grateful to be in a college where group dialogue is integral.
Robert Watson Nov 2021
Bubble over and spill.
Without fire, stagnation.
Effervescent, excited electrons
Vaporized into emotion,
Hurtling through space
On a collision course
With an unsuspecting alien.
In a world of stagnation, boil.
Robert Watson Nov 2021
A gallery full of flawless art.
The colorful walls are lined with portraits.
My canvas face observes patiently.

The drones buzz around the room.
Stinging, they leave no honey.
Jagged lines, a black and white visage.

Swarms amass on the colored sheets,
Desperate for a hit of gratifying nectar.
My crude gaze has none to offer.

The incessant humming is deafening.
As I hang there, suspended, in neglect.
The sun sets; wasps return to their hives.

The artist who drafted me chose stark lines,
And hung me unfinished in that dark corner,
Reminding us of apathy for works in progress.
Robert Watson Oct 2021
Charged neurons firing,
Bombshell ideas explode,
Rifting old beliefs.
Digesting poetry has waged electrical warfare in my mind. Neural plasticity is a gift from God.
Robert Watson Sep 2021
Plagued by crippling doubt,
You trudge through life
Hesitant, confused, aimless.
Peril lurks behind you.

You cling to what you know:
A sweet numb idleness.
You seek a badge of courage,
But are waylaid by hedonism.

Sinking deeper into sorrow,
The many colored beast nearby,
Whispering “you are alone,
Worthless, inadequate, a corpse."

Night’s jaws envelope you,
As the taint burns your soul.
The beast prowls unchallenged
Leaving the heart torn and gory.

About to concede to the Destroyer,
You are interrupted in the act,
By a still small voice,
And love embraces you.
You can't always conquer evil with your own resolve.
Robert Watson Sep 2021
A sultry wind surges o'er the Mediterranean.
Rosy fingered dawn wakes the world,
As I habitually walk the lonely path to labor.

A melancholy song sounds from the barley field.
Hypnotized, I follow through undulating grain,
Which lithely tosses back and forth in dance.

‘Neath a willow, amongst the barley, sits a girl,
Garbed in a white tunic, playing her angelic harp.
Her hazel hair weightlessly sways in the wind.

Her olive toned fingers pluck with mastery.
Nobility marks her solemn dark brows,
That sit atop commanding umber eyes.

The harp's supple bends are a tribute
To the lady's long limber figure,
As she directs wind and waves by ballad.

She looks up from her earthen dais,
Eyes aglow with a playful, sultry look.
Pierced by her gaze, I awake...

With her, my wife, beside me.
I love visiting my wife in dream.
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