I cannot outrun it, It tries pushing me over, I stand my ground But cannot fight back, It is a one sided punch And I cannot throw one, I still do not submit to the pressure, Every second my skin gets weaker, Every hit it gets on me Makes my body cry out in pain
On winter days like these wet windy and cold my mind goes wondering to warmer days when I was a kid whole life In front of me the days I played without care In the world they were days thought I'd never get old 60 years ago that was, and It seems more like a million years now, Man lives but a short time It's said I look back on my childhood It seems so long ago almost an eternity I suppose when It my turn to depart this life I'll be ready, I'm already starting to feel tired need of a long rest
Winter days wet windy cold my mind goes wondering go when I was a kid and warmer days
When you reach those remote lands and when you see my pain, please ignite a candle in our cold night, and make this sleepy world know something about the truthful light. I know; you can't remember the souls of the flowers which know nothing but beauty but when we drown deeply in our dreams and when you meet all the possible illuminations, at that time you may find the windy fingers of the poet.
Can you hear the trees sing In this October breeze? Can you see the dance Of the wooden giants In their dance hall glade? Come lay witness to The shedding of the leaves Under this blanket Of overcast skies
Been awhile since I last wrote. I had a picture to go with this poem. I was at work walking through an area I maintain looking for fallen or dead trees to cut down when I noticed a leaf that perfectly looked like a heart.
Winter winds carried on the backs of wolves. A rumble of darkness among the silence. Flight of blue fire. Blood of the kingdom before me coats my wolven teeth. The wolf king rises. Through swollen snow and ice we trot among the fallen wolves. Winter.
Swathes of swollen, rolling hills With chops of fluffy, dry grass scattered over. It’s nice knowing they’re also not perfect, no one has cleared away they’re loose ends. Silver, bumpy cloud fluff is grasped and pulled along through the air. Blowing wind is picking up planting a chill on my arms raising the little hairs like baby fuzz.