Let the tale begin
Though our hearts run, skip and race.

Squandering the living earth
With no conscience laying it to waste
Selling our lives for a printed green face
Ill- gotten by the stroke of a pen

We are all dead men
Counting our black  sins
Willing souls infected
Putrid
Evil smell carried high on the wind

Now the tale comes to an end
We are all dead men
Flowing thick blood, muscle and bone
Into the underworld we march
Judged and condemned
Hell now our comfort and home
We are all dead men


This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby Oct. 13, 2014

the only thing
i find myself comfortable with,
are the long lonely bus rides.
i find myself memorizing things
i could care less about,
but i just can't stop myself from letting
these eyes wander and take in surroundings
that are no longer new to me.
(i close my eyes)
the same familiar faces come through
the automatic door.
workers, children, or that grumpy old man
who forgets where he's headed,
never the person i'm hoping for.
the only thing keeping me from given up,
is the thought of you on the other
end of this map waiting for me.
i just hope i'm not too late.

She rides a thoroughbred perfectly like a man does,
that in no way makes her look less than a lass,
how does the horse feel, being in this rough and tumble dance
see the reason for his pride, it's deeper than what one thinks,
she makes him feel loved, he obeys every word of command,
not a mistress and slave, two beings benign, in sync
right then, my heart dictates,"Make this lovely Cavalry woman
your own", as the crowning moment dawns,
I wave to Esther, from among the motley crowd.
Still in gallop her eyes caught my eyes from that far,
what makes her look at me straight, later I would ask,
"Being the first, near the finishing line, the crowd was just a haze,
to my watery eyes, colors seemed blurred, but you stood out
the crowed simply cheered, but you! you were in such an awe."

Words dance at the poet’s tune
A grand symphony of feelings
Tugging at the heartstrings
The space between the words
Is where the magic lies
Music which enthralls the soul
Woven with the words
Which flowed from the pen
Birthing a poetry

A transformation so beautiful
Can emerge from a cocoon
Months in tranquility
Praying for the moments of splendor  
When hope gets wings
To kiss the beautiful flowers
It’s a magical journey
There’s sunshine and love
Winged angels perched on flowers

What you are thinking of
Is much less than
What you did not think about

Sunup
expectations low-
another day aimed my way

- till the sky became
a color never named
and changed my world - again,

a new day.

r ~ 10/12/14