Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
As I glance around my corner room,
a place that I call home;
The walls glistening in pearly white,
bringing peace when I'm alone.

My writing desk of hearty oak,
is carved quite intricately;
With books and papers piled high,
all arranged meticulously.

A tiny table sits by the window,
and placed there with supreme delicacy;
Is my collection of porcelain flowers,
imbuing a sense of serenity.

A Queen Anne's chair near the fireplace,
gleams in a vivid, azure blue;
With a comfy quilt of rosy pink,
lay waiting for me at noon.

The flowing diaphanous curtains,
allow rays of pale sunlight today;
While my tea-tray tempts my appetite,
for luscious tastes of scones and Earl Grey.

I could not ask for any finer things,
to set my eager mind at rest;
What a lovely way to face the world,
with a life that's genuinely blessed !
My "dream office" where I could write, play music, gnash on goodies, and just RELAX !
Where did all the time go ?
with my life in such a whirl;
The daylight mists have worn away,
the moon is red and curled.

Blinking my eyes continually,
in outrageous rhythm to the sounds;
Which perpetuate my lasting frenzy,
and lift my soulless being from the ground.

In twirling amazement the moon changes,
from red, to yellow, then to whitest white;
Inside my heart those colors spark dread,
and fearfully I hide myself from sight.

In blazing fireworks depicting notions,
that came to me inside my mind;
I look out and see a massive darkness,
a blackness seared through humankind.

Then peace becomes a fleeting ideal,
corrupted by the woes and sorrows;
Of everyone who seeks to covet the stars,
stacked against the canvas of bleak tomorrows.
The streets are lined with coal-dust,
the trees stand still and bare;
I wonder if the earth will turn,
it seems no one would care.

Alarming all the citizens,
the trash sits on the curbs;
And people scowl at one another,
whether in the Cities or the 'Burbs.

Is it really worth the struggle,
living days and nights like this ?
Why didn't we listen to experts,
who warned us of the abyss ?

Global warming has taken over,
the sun grows hotter every day;
We swelter in the moonlight,
as the whole world goes astray.

We've yet to learn to make a change,
in how we treat our blessed home;
Overturning the madness before us,
remember--we're not at all alone.

Fervently, we pray for guidance,
from an eternal source of grace;
And if the words are strong enough,
there's a chance we'll rescue this place.
In New Jersey, it's been 100 degrees or more for over a week, and will go on for the next few days. Climate change is upon us, and we should work to stop it while we still can ! FEM
Annoying thoughts can color dreams,
which proselytize their wanton schemes;
Intriguing worlds come into play,
while clouds of perception waste away.

The doldrums of this mournful scene,
can shatter hopes of a life serene;
A struggle lasts beyond the days,
in melancholy moments here to stay.

How do the clouds relieve our pain,
in subtle spaces which shall remain ?
Among the woolly white of fluff,
destructive signals call our bluff.

How soon the notions that perceive,
a chance to grow, a chance to grieve;
For when the night calls to the clouds,
it wraps the daylight in its shroud.
This wretched war of twenty years,
has finally come to an end;
Our soldiers and our pilots know,
coming home is around the bend.

The sacrifices our folks have made,
to bring aid to a foreign land;
With hesitancy they leave this place,
as the U.S. government has planned.

Yet while we save our very own,
many folks are still left behind;
who supported us and fought along,
our forces in this treacherous time.

Please, save the Afghan interpreters,
and those who nursed us when in need;
It's our duty to see they have a place,
of peace and calm--it's in our creed.

Let's cheer them well and bring relief,
from the enemies we've bravely fought;
We're bound by our word, the President said,
or else these heroes will be forgotten.

To higher ground our spirits soar,
when citizens pledge with honor;
For AMERICANS are the fortunate ones,
who live freely each passing hour.
You're still a child who spends her days,
in the solitude of your tiny nursery;
One doll is all you need for comfort,
like you, she's lonely, but feels free.

Inside your mind you're a princess,
who roams the halls of a palace;
With your pretty doll for company,
there's no sadness and no malice.

Yet whenever the sun floats into view,
your heart fills with some remorse;
Secluded still, beneath an azure sky,
time has followed its natural course.

A child is meant to run and play,
to be outdoors to cheer the daylight;
Katrina, please, put your doll to bed,
then open the door to a world of sunlight !
Next page