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Cynthia Barton Aug 2010
I look at how things have changed
thinking of how life was before.
It feels like my life has been arranged,
There are new opportunities at the open of each door.
I never thought i'd be able to speak
without stopping to think so it wasnt a mistake
I dont have to be so perfect and straight
because now I change my mind all through the day
I dont need permission of any kind
no matter what they say the choice is still mine.
Its a whole new world that im ready to see
Im gonna keep opening the doors for more opportunities.
I dont mind taking advice,hey thats great
tomorrow is a new day and I cant wait.
Cynthia Barton Aug 2010
Everyday more soldiers have to leave
to fight this war so we can be free.
they pack light to set out on their way
praying the war will end some day.
we have lost  young and lost old
but all of those men were so strong and bold
In reality it doesnt seem to fair
but when at war there is no time to care.
once in a while they may get a letter
from loved ones at home feeling a little bit better
They let them know they miss them so
but no time to cry the men must go.
They fold their letters up real tight
Putting them away for another lonely night.
slowly they rise to take their stand
as each american soldier salutes with right hand.
They yell that they will be home soon
but tonight their going to sleep with the moon
but not alone they have one another
To an american soldier those men are his brothers.
Each and everything they do
Is without a doubt for me and for you.
honestly,how many sit and pray
for each and every soldier on the field that day?
They dont draw names to see who they protect
So why need a face to match the respect?
They dont get hot homecooked meals
and I bet they would love a steak from the grill.
They are American Soldiers standing tall and proud
They deserve our respect,dont be ashamed ,scream it out loud.
but at times, a soldier has no choice but to sleep
with those words I will close for now.
Saying as I go GOD BLESS AND REST IN PEACE
Cynthia Barton Aug 2010
The child sat and read her book
trying not to make a sound
she could tell by the look
nobody else was around
It did not matter anyway
she was only a joke
all she could do was sit and pray
she was only there to tease and poke
she didn't know if he was right
so she never told her mother
fearing she would leave one night
with her sister and her brothers.
she lay awake at night and cried
not knowing what to do
why is nobody on my side
if i tell I lose my mother to.
then one day the child got brave
she had to tell someone
no longer would she fear a grave
this fear would be undone
the father was locked up for a bit
admitting to his sin
in the courthouse he did sit
swearing it never to happen again
that day I come home to a letter afraid to open it
but when I felt the time was right
the letter was legit
my mother left that night.
This big world cant scare me at all
not after finding out I wasn't in the wrong
but being strong and standing tall
im not ashamed to tell everyone I was the child all along.
Cynthia Barton Aug 2010
How many more tears do I have to cry,

how many more years til I understand why?

How many more of those long sleepless nights?

How much longer till I know im gonna be alright?

Wanting to belong is all that I need,

just wanting to be loved isnt acting in greed.

How many more sad poems will I write as I read,

its hard knowing it all come about from one little seed.

I see so many lives surrounding me with cheer,

then I see myself all balled up in fear.

To bad life doesn't have a wheel I can steer,

I guess I will just sit back down for now im just here.

Will I ever let go of this pain from my past?

or does this nightmare I live plan to always last.

Its all coming at me to hard and to fast,

feeling like im smothered in a full body cast.

Trying to understand where it is I belong,

trying to stay alert,but at the same time stay strong.

No matter what i've done its always been wrong,

at least thats what i have heard for so long.

I turn my head as I sit and pray,

hoping tomorrow brings a peaceful day.

Solitary and alone is how I must stay,

but still the pain and torture wont go away...


Saturday, May 24, 2008
Cynthia Barton Aug 2010
There was a distance between her and her soul.                                                                                                             Her heart was so dark,almost like coal.
          Never shedding a tear or ever experiencing her own fears,                                                                                             so alone however she still remained here.                                                                                                                    There was the inner child reaching out but never getting nowhere                                                                                   always so afraid and alone knowing nobody cared.              
           Her days were always so dark never bright from the sun.                                                                                                   So many tears shed from the pain, never to be undone.                                                                                                 Nothing to block the rain or no shelter from the bad storms.                                                                                               Now living in a life that has been shattered and torn.                                                                                                 Deep down inside of that shattered and torn life,                                                                                                              she could feel the jagged edge from a fiercely sharp knife.                                                                                            Vowing to never let anyone destroy her in the end,                                                                                                          She gave herself to god for she knew he was her friend.
Cynthia Barton Aug 2010
So many have fought for us and so many have died.                                                                                                                                                               So many tears there loved ones have cried.                                                                                                                                                                   Considering the pain of all the places they have been,                                                                                                                                                               Do you honestly believe we give enough thanks to these men?                                                                                                                                                                    Left and right our men are falling down,                                                                                                                                                             So many of their bodies never to be found                                                                                                                                                                      Could you look a dying man in the face?                                                                                                                                                           Could you tell him that you would have taken his place?                                                                                                                                                      There's not a single day that these men dont feel pain                                                                                                                                                                   Yet for us they get up and shake it off like a grain.                                                                                                                                                                 So the next time your mad willing to shoot someone and fight,                                                                                                                                                            Think really hard and Pray and hope you do what's right.
Cynthia Barton Aug 2010
Looking out in front of me yet nothing looks clear,                                                                                                                                         walking on toward it all yet it moves as I get near                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               I feel as if its lingering a few steps ahead                                                                                                                                           What awaits me there is what I seem to dread

  Thinking of turning back I  take a look behind,                                                                                                                                          A bottle full of misery is all I seem to find.
Looking in the distance up ahead of me                                                                                                                                                 I realize what it is, its my  future I see                                                                                                                                                What awaits me there at this time I dont know,                                                                                                                                          So I begin my journey forward carefully taking it slow.                                                                                                                                           Then all at once it comes to me finally at last,                                                                                                                                              That bottle full of misery appears to be my past.
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