Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
I've cried my eyes out,
Many heartbreaks.
The screams from my mouth
For a loved one's sake,
I know even heaven could hear.

There is no doubt;
No one can fake
The pains that we all share.
My holllerings shout
And my soul quakes
When I live my worst fears.

I've cried about
Things small and great;
Things far away and near.
I no longer pout,
I've been reshaped
And baptized in my tears.
Flowers are hung over the voices
where hope is not denied.
A story of unimaginable innocence
has been embraced
and now sings a melody
of a perfect smile
that has become one
with the skies.

Life laughs and takes flight
while violins play
for the stars,
chasing storms of fear
until our mouths speak its words
no more.
We wait with doves
we feed by hand
as we rejoice
on golden shores.

The depth of forever
knows
that no sadness
shall make waves or leave symbols
in our minds
that cannot fly away.
Together we will celebrate innocence
rippling
through our days.
Said the little boy, "Sometimes I drop my spoon."
Said the old man, "I do that too."
The little boy whispered, "I wet my pants."
"I do that too," laughed the little old man.
Said the little boy, "I often cry."
The old man nodded, "So do I."
"But worst of all," said the boy, "it seems
Grown-ups don't pay attention to me."
And he felt the warmth of a wrinkled old hand.
"I know what you mean," said the little old man.
I've seen you hundreds of times before,
with your broken shopping cart.
Sometimes filled with your possessions,
and other times with bottles and cans.

I’ve seen you hundreds of times before,
with your broken spirit.
Sometimes holding a sign,
and other times a bottle.

I’ve seen you hundreds of times before,
with your broken life.
Sometimes sleeping in the park,
and other times panhandling at a traffic light.

You’ve seen me millions of times before,
with my broken attitude.
Sometimes filled with compassion,
but most times with fear and disgust.

You’ve seen me millions of times before,
with my broken society.
Sometimes building a bridge,
but most times putting up a wall.

You’ve seen me millions of times before,
with my broken movements.
Sometimes going forward
but most times headed nowhere.

I’ve seen you hundreds of times before,
with your broken shopping cart.
Filled with my worst fears,
as I walk by.

You’ve seen me millions of times before,
with my broken attitude.
Filled with your hopes and dreams,
as I walk away.
Overnight storms
fill my gardens with sticks
Autumn, unsettled
Over casted skies, hughed faintly by these city lights,  
power lines and treetops, distract the view, but not quite.
Just enough to see, beyond houses and horizon,  
this sadly painted sky, it is not colored with the season.

I look into your eyes, there's a hint there's something not right,
eyeliner and makeup, slightly covers up the hindsight,
But thru it I can see,  beyond the smiles and the reason,
Its look inside your eyes, it's as though I do not please them.

Trees waving in the wind, changing course throughout the evening,
like the calm before a storm, mother natures heavy breathing.
Then rain begins to pour, ions crashing from the ground,
brightly lighting up the scene, with a devastating sound.

Words flying thru the air, given alternating meaning,
defensively we scorn, imply intentions so deceiving,
within we become torn, as hearts lost cannot be found,
why can't our love be free, without these tensions all around..

Dawn turns to morn, as the birds begin to sing,
And the night of the storm, had ended violently,
Branches and leafs scattered in the flooded field,
It's a night to remember, new beginnings can rebuild.
This is yet to be finished, lots of tweaking needed to set it in all fairness..
An elderly priest
sits on the dilapidated
stair to his hovel

Contemplating once again
the stinger he delivered
in his Sunday sermon.

An attempt to strike a note
of serious consideration of
the consequences
of sinning to his
congregation.

And yet, as he leans with
his gnarled hands upon his
walking stick,

He can not help but
smile at the wicked joy
he witnesses as a

Drunken Santa Claus and
a skimpily clad *******
weave their way past
him down the
cobbled lane.
Words given: Stinger. Santa Claus. *******. Priest. Gnarled. Delapidated.

Thank you, Sir Frank. :)
The Movement of our legs

one, lift, two, lift.

Such complications in a simple step
Naturality known since our first baby steps,

one, lift, two, lift.

Once the movement becomes right
walking becomes so much more

one, lift, two, lift.

It's a time to think,
to talk
to love the fall

What if we decided to walk?
Slow down the world.
Slow down ourselves.

Some people can't do it because
they are out of shape,
or have no time,
but that's not why.

Some people can't slow down.
Can't let life go by.
Can't pause for but a moment.

We take a stroll every once in a while
(actually more than just a while).
Several times a week
and every walk
is a new adventure.

It's a time to think,
to talk,
to love the fall.
Next page