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Mar 2014 · 1.2k
Grandfather
His voice like the sky splitting open,
When a storm is just over head.
His smile is warm and crooked,
Framed by cheeks of rosy red.
Always to be found under the hood
Of a car being restored from old age.
Or a bench made of wood by a grand piano
Reading music from a hymnal's page.

The greatest example of a love for life;
Generous, kind, and forgiving.
Always thinking first of his wife,
As if she is the sole reason he's living.

But oh to hear him sing!
The sweetest tenor voice you've ever heard.
Hymns, carols, all sorts of things.
I would stand next to him and sing "Oh, my Lord"

He gave me a gift that is the best gift to give
The gift of a love for music
and the voice I use to sing it
A poem about my greatest friend, biggest inspiration, and the greatest person I've ever been lucky enough to know- my grandpa.
Mar 2014 · 645
You are the Sun to me
I shortly fall away from the taste of a stranger's lips
So sweet and unfamiliar,
but not enough to captivate me

But you,
Oh you, my love...
To kiss you is to have breathed.
You are the Sun to me,
And I am your Earth
Ceaselessly born back
To feel your warm touch once more.

Without you
I have no purpose
I am nothing.
Only a lone body,
Floating through cold lonely space.

You are the Sun to me
Mar 2014 · 348
march 27th
how fitting that it should snow
on a day like today
blankets of white and fog on the mountains

how fitting that you did go
on a day just like today
a sudden departure, like a shot from a cannon
Mar 2014 · 1.7k
Canyon
Cool and lonely canyon,
With fiery, sunset eyes.
Rivers make companions
And creeks adorn your smile
Your lips, they are the mountains
And you breathe the smoky skies.

Cool and lowly canyon,
Mouth agape so wide.

Your arms reach out to hold
Small slivers of the sun.
A sky that’s ages old,
You see as just begun.
Northern wind sighs so cold,
With breezes being spun

Cool and lowly canyon
Takes in the setting sun
Another one from last year
Mar 2014 · 1.0k
The Mariner
Black the night, black the road.
Gray the sea and gray the shoal.
Downward drifts a pale white glow
From silver moon above the wave.

And on a hill beyond the shoal
Sits a shack of wood and stone.
There lives a mariner aged, now old.
The sea his solace gave.

Trees miles tall, trees like bone,
Trees that bind the ancient shoal.
Where souls now drift as in ocean cold,
Men lost beneath the waves.

Then all depart to heaven’s heart,
The Lord their soul to save.
To waste at sea ‘til Death imparts
This is a mariner’s fate.
Something I wrote for a class last year. One of my poems I like more.
Mar 2014 · 463
to your very bones
Confess your every love to me
Every name and why you loved them,
and why they loved you in return

Disclose your deepest dread to me
The ever haunting thoughts,
that make your stomach turn

Express your biggest joy to me
The feeling of sun on your skin,
not caring if it burned

I long to know more than your surface,
Of your skin with its wonderful tones.
Of this I am certain
I want to know you....

*to your very bones
This is my first post on this site. I may not post a lot. This is just something I jotted down in class today.

— The End —