Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Iron and Steel rust and buckle. Stone weathers and is worn away. Mountains crack and crumble into pebbles in a stream. Yet a single strand of hope is stronger than them all. While time can diminish many durable things, it has no affect on hope. Where hope exist in the smallest thread, it can be stronger than all of these and so much more. Hope binds people together and gives a reason to go on. It is a solid foundation that does not weather and can withstand the fiercest storm. So when all other things are faded, hope is a strong thread that can ever remain.
 Sep 2017 Timothy Ward
Riham
Here we are again reading at the same page
Same eye color
Same habits
Same laugh
Looking similar to each other
He did like my words and
I liked the way he did hold the book
We did avoid eye contact  
We both know what it will happen..
I wanted to Tell him that he
did
appeared in my dreams last night
That's why I don't look existed to see him after such long time
And I wanted to Tell him that i miss the pure moments that we did share
Baby laugh , angel touch
Talking about our dreams
Under his favorite part about the world "the Rain"
He used to tell me that the rain complete us as much as we complete ourselves ...
But After a year and a half everything has changed
The weather, the people , our laughs , our happiness , our guidance ..
Everything has changed
Everything ...

_______
So divine such grace
The word cannot embody
Ballet when God speaks.
He keeps her photo in his wallet
From all those years back when
They made mistakes and loved each other
In those brief summer months spent

He keeps her photo there for certainty  
To remind him love is real
And even though he threw it all away with her
The picture helps him heal

So many years have past since then
And she was so long ago
She still looks just the way he remembers her
When pulls out that old photo
Photos adorn the dresser and a faded dress hangs on a closet door. A pair of well worn sandals collect dust beside the bed. Music plays from an old radio as the images of ghost dance through the living room. The kitchen sits empty and unused. Pots and pans no longer rattle and clang together and there is no laughter anymore. Tears now stain my pillow where the scent of your perfume was before. They say that you get better as time goes by, but I will be loving your memory until the day that I die.
Tepid is the soul that has no adventure. Languishing is the life that knows no love. Empty is the person who cannot find a passion. Dark is the life that will not let another person in. People need not  be hateful to express their desires and beliefs. When a person has no grit about them, life is just bland and you just exist. So take not the easy path, but challenge yourself each and every day. For if salt has no savor, then what good is it anyway?
 Sep 2017 Timothy Ward
ryn
.
I write of love and strength

like I know what they are

but I'm still like a child

looking up thinking satellites are stars


.
Neck-deep in the business
of business,
only his head remains sleepless
in the dark of early mornings
to enlighten those
who sleep in, and spotlight
his peers who delight him.

His capital investment
is love and empathy;
he replenishes the funds spent
on an island of shelter,
the helter-skelter of Monday-Friday
a Distressway away.
North Country chair on the dock
over beckoning waves
sounding their Circe song,
drawing him to the bedrock
of peace
with himself and others.

Generous with his words
his head runneth over
and verses cascade down,
filling one from another
like a mountain of flutes
poured from a veritable jeroboam
of the muse's vintage.

Only love shows as he writes
doing the poetic hokey-pokey,
left foot in, left foot out.
He has turned my world around...
and that's what it's all about.
It's about **** time you got your own tribute poem.
Next page