"compair" poems
I know That Times Will Change.
The Struggle is the same.
The Battle lines are always where they've been.
We've been charging for so long.
This time we must be strong,
Or be scattered like the leaves blown by the wind.
Yesterday as I was walking.
I heard these two men talking
About a third man who wasn't there.
I heard them put him down,
Just because his skin is brown.
It's no wonder that the world just isn't fair.
I heard a woman say
She did not have equal pay
As the men who did the same job that she did.
When she asked the bosses why,
The looked her right in the eye,
And told her to go home and raise her kids.
In the poorer neighborhood
Where the roads are never good,
And the prices in the market are too high,
When you bother to compair,
The food is cheaper where
The well-to-do are sure to shop and buy.
I know that times will change.
The struggle stays the same.
The Battle lines are always where they've been.
We've been charging for so long.
This time we must be strong,
Or be scattered like the leaves blown by the wind.
They said in the news cast
A man was beaten bad.
He was on his way for treatment when he died.
He had dared to love a man,
and they called that love a sin.
I think the only sin was how they lied.
There's an teen-ager in jail
Being held without a bail.
His only crime was coming to our land.
Before they let him go,
They'll strip him of his hope,
Then send him to the gangs across the Rio Grande.
I know the times will change.
The struggle stays the same.
The battle lines are always where they've been.
We've been charging for so long.
This time we must be strong,
Or scatter like the leaves blown by the wind.
We've been fighting for so long.
This time we must stand strong,
Stronger than the leaves blown by the wind.
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 1:34 PM UTC
There was a time
Once...
Long, long ago
(or so now it seems),
That You
Being the elequent (and yet awkward) man that you are,
were the kind of man who (without prompt)
went out of your way to do romantic sort of things.
Hardly were they anything as eleborate as gifting fine jewelry,
or a dozen red roses,
or even boxes of chocolates,
no, no
you were (and perhaps still are),
the kind of man who wrote poems,
who dedicated songs,
who went out of your way to express love
in ways that were not material.
But still so Sincere were the ways in which you expressed yourself,
And although these days seem to have passed from existance (eons ago it seems was the day of their passing)
I do not sit now,
with pen and paper,
to write out complaints of days gone by
For this is a tale of neither joy nor woe.
A Tale not of anger, nor strife,
nor any other strong emotion
that most tales of this sort are written to express.
Perhaps, it is a written account of my curiousity.
of how, as these years have gone by, you have evolved
and I too, have grown with that evolution.
For even though we don't venture out into the world
alone with one another
for we generally take with us friends and loved ones,
And you,
That beautiful, glorious person you are,
have delved deeper into louder, more agressive (and somehow soothing) music,
and have strayed so far from the romantic ballads
that you once used to send to me,
I do not weep for those days,
For even with their death
came a sort of comfort
that I have seldom known before.
It is as though the cute, romantic days of our early love,
blossomed into a love that, words cannot express.
And no amount of Well-worded poems,
or Love songs, or Cards;
No amount of gifts,
like fine rings,
or overly-cute stuffed bears.
Could ever compair to the emotions that run deep through our hearts,
like rivers flowing along side one another,
that as years pass,
slowly errode away the earth, and stone of contemporary love,
And, as they do so,
they take with them the overgrown weeds of dime-a-dozen love songs (even though I cannot help but cherish each and every one),
and wash away the insignificant problems everyone faces,
And someday soon,
those last few bits of rock, and dirt,
with fall away.
Leaving only one river,
that will flow strong, and pround,
until one day,
a story will be told,
that there was a time,
long, long ago...
Jan 4, 2011
Jan 4, 2011 at 12:24 AM UTC
I love the way
you make my brain float
a never ending trail of white
with fallen leave clouds
and rose petal air
I adore how you
fill we with warmth
tingles in my veins
with feathers to cushion me
and a smoke induced high
you comfort me
and remind me of life
what it's like to be happy
and vibrate with the magick of the night
carrying me up into the calm
I'm so grounded yet flying so high
I feel like touching clouds
but the earth is just under me
while I'm calm beyond compair
and my monsters are safely hidden
don't you love the way
you make me feel?
so high up above the darkness inside me
treading the fallen leave clouds,
and caressing the rose petal air.
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 11:45 PM UTC
You told me not to compair the two of you
Because he loves me and you assume I love him
I told you I have too much love to give to someone like him
Because there's nothing to compare
Aug 17, 2017
Aug 17, 2017 at 11:48 PM UTC
A garden has grown within me
The Garden of Eden cannot compair
Vineyards produce sweet wine
The blood of Christ could not praise
I have been saved
Salvation found in another's heart
I have been found
Every piece where it once belonged
I may never understand what you did
I may never feel this way again
But in this moment I am found
I am saved
Aug 12, 2017
Aug 12, 2017 at 1:39 AM UTC