Volta147

Volta147 Mar 2014

Like a chant written by the angels
Is a storm set on a lake of silver and gold
So many stories to tell
Oh, and the glories to unfold

No matter what may come or go
A meadow I thought I saw in a dream
A dream or wish, would I know?
Or will it strike me in the wondrous seems

In the frightening abyss of the unknown
The wind, almost like a note filled song
A messenger from the heavenly creator
As I read my request in a silent whisper

Would it matter if the answer came now or later?
Life’s meaning becomes clear when you are sure that it is fate that drives your soul
A fate never changing, never ending, never doubting
Is a fate that makes even the bravest of warriors fall?

And bask in the solemn delight given by angels, and devoured by men of stature
And now in the days of love and purity
Which by no meaning are days of sorrow
Shall you find your fate in careless dreams?
And in the enemies of tomorrow

Fate and faith are all alike
In the distant layers of the horizon
All of same origin
But not of the same light
But bonded in painted colours

The colours of the soul
Are the colours that are tinted and scarred
Many are chosen by few are called
Some are made, and others just are

Volta147 Mar 2014

The Three Garden Doors

I walk into a garden
With but only a mere child’s feel
I look around me, the innocence shining
The light, painfully, seems oh so real

I come too quickly
Am stopped by something
And as I turn my face

I see flowers of the prickly sort
My life begins changing
When I see a maze

Garden doors are tricky things
But in this case there were three
Three doors, three choices
Oh my, which one shall it be?

The first is dark, with broken, shredded vines
The second is golden with coins portrayed on the sides

I look at the two, with delightful curiosity
Until my heart froze
I saw a third with a humming bird
So light, as if she knows

The third was neither of gold nor darkness
But of flowers and something in the core
In the core, oh, so beautiful was a key
With that I opened the door

A vision of a choice between darkness, glory, and serenity

Volta147 Mar 2014

The Three Garden Doors

I walk into a garden
With but only a mere child’s feel
I look around me, the innocence shining
The light, painfully, seems oh so real

I come too quickly
Am stopped by something
And as I turn my face

I see flowers of the prickly sort
My life begins changing
When I see a maze

Garden doors are tricky things
But in this case there were three
Three doors, three choices
Oh my, which one shall it be?

The first is dark, with broken, shredded vines
The second is golden with coins portrayed on the sides

I look at the two, with delightful curiosity
Until my heart froze
I saw a third with a humming bird
So light, as if she knows

The third was neither of gold nor darkness
But of flowers and something in the core
In the core, oh, so beautiful was a key
With that I opened the door

A vision of a choice between darkness, glory, and serenity

Volta147 Mar 2014

The Little Lilac Lassy

In the rain in the sun,
One smile stood out,
A giggle a laugh,
A face softer than a puppies pout

One colour many looks,
Lilac was the lassie’s heart,
Her meekness in her passion and books,
This lilac lassie was small in size, but big in heart.

She knew that one day her tears of joy and sadness,
Would be her part in the world,
She would pray, never fight, and in her gladness,
The Little Lilac Lassie would always be a special girl.

“I love I love!”
She would chant in her little garden, her own special place,
But what do these words really mean? “I love I love!”
Can you imagine the enchanted look on her white, yet marry face.

She leaped she danced she sang in the rain,
It was her most beloved place in the world,
For rain you cannot hold in your hand to your own advantage, keep on yourself for pride, or make from your arrogance,
That is why rain is special, all on its own.

This told her that The Abba Father was just as the same as the rain could ever be, but for now shall she pray, hope, and have faith, The Little Lilac Lassie.

Volta147 Mar 2014

The Poet

Everyone has a story.
The question is will we live ours like a true poet?
A writer?
A scribe?
A narrator.?
Everyone is a poet in themselves
Poetry cannot be confined to paper
Nor words
It cannot be confined to the sea
Nor the birds
Poetry can’t be commanded
Nor can it have a set destination
No..
Poetry is destiny
And destiny is a story
And a story worth telling
Poetry is deeper than the seas
Farther than the stars
Higher than the skies
It holds..
It promises..
It is true
Poetry is us..
Poetry
Is you
Is in the eyes of the young
Is in the hearts of the strong
Is in the minds of the great
Is in the souls of the gates
Poetry began with the greatest poet of all
The one who took the fall
The one who gave it all
To answer the call
Of every sinner
And in the end
Became the over comer
Yea
Poetry began with the Creator
And the Creator began with poetry
For was it not poetry when He said
‘Let there be light!’
For was it not poetry when He said,
‘Let there be night!’
Yea
When we've lost our purpose
As us mere beings sometimes do
We look to the core
We look to He who is true
We look
Through the eyes of the Poet

Volta147 Mar 2014

The Dream in a Bottle

I captured a dream
Of melodious seems
And put it in a bottle of glass
So that when I arose
The sunlight would pose
And the rays would begin to dance
I walked to a tree
Where the bottle would be
And saw a reflection on the grass
I looked to the sky
A bird flew by
And with it the bottle of glass
I searched for years
Wasted my tears
On the dream that now was lost
I walked through the deserts
Paraded the sees
And even scouted the frost
But alas the dream
Of melodious seems
Was nowhere to be found?
I looked to the north
I looked to the east
The West and the South
Then I had a thought
A revelation of sorts
On this dream that I wanted to keep for myself
That now far away
It would be found
And the dream would be with someone else

A poem that metaphorically illustrates what happens when people don't pursue their dreams, but instead use it as a show for the rest of the world-wrote from experience

Volta147 Mar 2014

An Internal Flame

Love is a state of the heart
Love is a work of art
That no man can hold or contain
But with those who are true, will remain.
‘tis not a raging tempest of lust and fire
Nor the gripping sickness of desire
‘tis not full hypocrisy,
Or envy consumed
Nor sets a legacy
To which all are doomed.
Love has but one request
To whom the unfaithful will detest
That when trials and tempests want to destroy
What has been molded and destined by a greater Being
And fear and deception ravage and ploy
That honour and integrity will be greater deemed.
For ‘tis said that once you've abandoned yourself to your art
Love faithful and true is an eternal work of the heart.
An eternal fire
An internal flame
That with those who are true
Will remain.

A poem inspired by the one and only William Shakespeare and his awe-inspiring 116th Sonnet

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