"decedents" poems
My eyes are glossed,
I can not see.
I'm just as lost,
As a rootless tree.
Young strong ambition,
Brought down by the evils of humanity.
A good life was once my mission,
Now I question my sanity.
I feel separated from the world.
Reality is a fragment of my imagination.
What appears straight is curled.
Light is just a mere imitation.
We seek justice that is always blind.
For our laws are rooted in discrimination.
Greed serves as the currency of our kind,
And profit the sole motivation.
To see the corruptions of our society,
And sit outside and observe.
Brings a cold chill of sobriety,
and feeling of atrocity to my nerve.
My eyes are glossed,
I can not see.
I'm just as lost,
As a rootless tree.
For every beautiful creature,
There is complementary predation and blight.
For every miraculous feature,
There is a parallel of war and spite.
You can choose to accept things as they exist,
Or be the person that brings in change.
But if our current circumstances persist,
Our decedents will learn nothing but rage.
A wise man once said:
"Be the change you want to see."
So peace and love I will spread.
And live by the same decree.
I will use my tools,
Given to me by my Creator.
To make wise men of fools,
And make the common good greater.
My eyes are now clear,
And I can see.
I no longer appear,
As a rootless tree.
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 11:07 AM UTC
the acorns tumble, the dried leaves slip slowly sideways,
each a slow motion death, almost balletic, or acrobatic,
the decedents, like bodies on the Field of Hastings, their
skeletons to be consumed by a history ******* earthy soil
this more than any thing, as much as covid deaths of known
older brothers more than the messages on the answering
machine from robotic nurses and truly concerned doctors,
impatiently waiting to discuss test results with still alive patients
four lines in each stanza was unplanned like sets of decades,
that the man’s life can be retrospectively be divisibly assayed,
each titled, consistent of games and sets, until the last match
not on center court, is finale tie-broken, the faults too numerous
he writes this unshaken, but stirred, for the hours spent observing,
of each trajectory of every fallen leaf is distinctly connected to losses,
oh! how the losses multiplied; loves, children, unspoken words of
affection and forgiveness, mounted, moats, barriers to fulfillment,
a lawn of dead shriveled things, mounting, dear mother of god, all
préludes that hasten(ed) the shedding of lives every August!
Aug 25, 2020
Aug 25, 2020 at 3:52 PM UTC
prelude
High above the world of Man
in the realm of Gods and Muses
Love exists just like a creature
in the spirit form it chooses.
One day it gallops gallantly,
spreading goodwill through the sky.
The next, it stomps so stubbornly,
refusing even just to try.
----------------------------- ( Enter the Hero ) ----------------------
Hero: "You who are the Poet
I pray, tell me now of Love.
You, the Guardian of the Good Heart,
I am one deserving of."
"I come searching here for answers.
For some way to understand.
Why has the greatest test of Manhood
left me so unmanned?"
"My soul lies broke and beaten.
My heart is all but dead
from bedogging dark desires,
and forceful feelings in my head"
"I seek the fiery affection
of a Good Heart girl of gold
Sir, your sonnets speak of pale perfection.
And, its of this magic I've been told!"
-----
Poet: "Yes, you've come to the right man.
The lonely look to me for Love,
and my poetic plays of passions.
For words are putty in my glove."
"You see, the heart is of the body;
but Love comes from beyond.
Through Muses I make contact
and with my words you'll make the bond."
"All you need is look to language
the realm of rhapsody and song.
It is in here you'll find your answers.
It is here your Lover's heart belongs."
-----
Hero: "But how can your words speak of wisdom
that I do not know myself?
Poet, your Love is but illusion.
Please put your pen upon the shelf."
"Words can be deceiving,
with meaning high above my ear.
In such ways I'm made a cuckold.
It is such ways of love I fear."
"It is too late that I awaken.
Misfortune mocks me in my heart.
My Lover sets an Eastern course
and soon she will depart!"
-----
Poet: "Do not doubt the Poet's power.
Your tongue will testify with ease.
My words will work their magic
and your Lover will be pleased."
"Let me tell you of the Ancients.
Rooted, uncomplicated men.
For he it was his family,
and Love bounded him to them"
"Words today are the decedents
of the Ancient's mother tongue.
Over time their words were altered
as they got passed from old to young"
"Each letter, was once a picture
with a meaning of its own.
And, as they join with other letters
a brand new meaning can be shown"
Jan 9, 2017
Jan 9, 2017 at 1:46 PM UTC
How can white supremacist protest about making America a better place by concentrating on hating people because of differences? Something that's dates back further than Europeans and Spaniards settlement in this beautiful country. Have these people of today's world forgotten where they've came from as far as their ancestry and about the people whom they've slaughtered were in fact the Natives. They forced people to fall under their religions as far as Christianity and so on. African american women and men know that they're African decedents; but they know nothing about what was taken from them and we overlook it.
People that are apart of the LGBT community finally have the freedom to do as they wish with whomever and these white supremacist want to take that away from them again.
KKK's are against interracial relationships and yet some of their people within their bloodline ***** a lot people; let us not forget according to history the first interracial relationship in America dates back to April 5, 1614
Pocahontas and John Rolfe.
Jews were tortured by Nazis from 1933 to 1945.
Hispanics escape their originally places of birth to come to a country that gives people the right to make a better life for themselves and decisions just as well as everybody else.
People are so busy minding everybody else's business but their own
History creeps up on the current.
By: Leory Santana Dawn
Aug 16, 2017
Aug 16, 2017 at 2:20 AM UTC
100% dedication to the wrong thing
weeks of planning up in smoke
she walked away and left her shadow waiting
no need for precise measurements here
best guess &
best guesses
long wave radio and the strange signals –
transmission interrupted
– wavering
– on waves like the ark
– new ideas
third aisle on the left
that secret isn’t safe
the secret has escaped
they asked me if I was a spy
the bad compass points south –
things go down
magnetic forces
the limb
gnarled ends
impossible to be in two places at once
the belief in something that isn’t there
turn left when you exit this town
she reads the words then tries to forget
but she found the evidence
the picture in the frame with the four fingerprints
( find the four finger ghost )
the spies that wore a leather glove on their left hand
it was a sign – hidden but open
just like the looks she gave me
————————–
the Beatles came from a city of boats –
direct decedents of Neptune –
Apr 21, 2017
Apr 21, 2017 at 4:15 PM UTC
Watch the moon go across the sky
as you lie on your back and wonder why
or how on this planet we came to be
evolved from fish or decedents of Eve
Though none of it matters for we cannot go back
time moves forward as a matter of fact
just as the past, the future is unknown
except to the mystic and their crystal ball showing
The paths of men, women and beast
the future of war and lacking of peace
They see such doom and unfortunate pain
They see the young who end up insane
And other youth ruined as they grow old
tainted and rotted -- lost in the world
lost in themselves from the moment of birth
some unlit candles lacking self worth
lacking the chance their ancestors got
who ***** all the land, bickered and fought
A blind group of creatures who just couldn't see
the sacrifices WE made so they could be free
Mar 17, 2021
Mar 17, 2021 at 5:19 PM UTC