"seest" poems
Tis I am just a man, a boy if thou want to sayest, a foolish lad; who hast hurt his blessing of a queen.
Tis I am just a man, a sinner, a prehistoric bringer; of sorrows
Where bird's dont sing.
O' wretched man I am; overlooking this perfect flower, she's arrayed as a petal neath the tropical hours.
O' im just the rain that brings the flood of many woes.
I wish, O' how I wish, I couldst pour all contentment and merriment into her lonesome soul.
Tis she's the rainbow, I the dusky storm. O' how her glow maketh mine day's liveable; O' how her voice is opulent galore.
If only she knew, she is mine better, mine best; mine breath of yellow dew.
Though I've not shown her the worth that she is; mine trials and tribulations hast become
mine abyss.
Though I shalt get through
This passage of gloom.
With God All is possible;
Even being set free from this tomb.
Tis I am just a man, a boy if thou want to sayest, a foolish lad.
Who if couldst wouldst start all afresh; re-giving mine love, and to get all mine best.
How a simpleton ive been;
To not seest heaven's eastern gem, glimmer her perfect wing's, for mine foolishness, these word's shalt I sing.
(Goes into song form, words "I love you jane, please forgive me" sung in spanish, greek, cebuano, tagalog/filipino).......
(Spanish)
Te amo jane,
por favor perdoname.
(Greek)
Se 'agapó Jane,
Se parakaló synchóresé me.
(Cebuano)
ako nahigugma kanimo Jane,
palihug pasayloa ako.
(Tagalog/filipino)
Mahal kita jane,
patawarin mo ako.
©Brandon nagley
©lonesome poets poetry
©earl Jane nagley dedication (agapi mou dedicated)
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 6:54 PM UTC
O my mind,
Worship the lotus feet of the Indestructible One!
Whatever thou seest twixt earth and sky
Will perish.
Why undertake fasts and pilgrimages?
Why engage in philosophical discussions?
Why commit suicide in Banaras?
Take no pride in the body,
It will soon be mingling with the dust.
This life is like the sporting of sparrows,
It will end with the onset of night.
Why don the ochre robe
And leave Home as a sannyasi?
Those who adopt the external garb of a Jogi,
But do not penetrate to the secret,
Are caught again in the net of rebirth.
Mira's Lord is the courtly Giridhara.
Deign to sever, O Master.
All the knots in her heart.
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Verily this day April fourth, two-thousand and seventeen; there's a boy and girl using razors as allayments, making veins as paintings.
Verily, this day April fourth, two-thousand and seventeen; there's a mother holding her young one in ashes, guts with limb's sketch the war-torn scenes.
Verily, this day April fourth two-thousand and seventeen; a father toils on concrete and soil, breaking sweats for a dollar-
Fifty.
Verily, this day April fourth two-thousand and seventeen; a fiend shoots fire in their blood with syringes, whilst kin makest family arrangements for other's to
Come visit daughter's and sons
In boxes whilst they sleep.
Verily, this day April fourth two-thousand and seventeen; a poet and poetess write, O' how their word's do excite, whilst they
Dieth daily from secret pains unseen.
Verily, this day April fourth two-thousand and seventeen; a young woman's locked in
a semi trailer, smuggled by men from foreign labors, O' how her life shalt be
In a room with many strangers; she
Seeks to die yet wants to live.
Verily, this day April fourth two-thousand and seventeen; there's a broken child in
Many ghettos, whilst elite buy wives stilettos, dope dealing is the only survival, just to put some food in malnutritioned
Mouths.
Verily, this day April fourth two-thousand and seventeen; theirs a soldier in many lands, making wealthy men richer, whilst their bullets fly, they come home with the images they've seen, devastating guilt-messed up heads.
Verily, this day April fourth two-thousand and seventeen; there's God Almighty who's been with each of these people, in their souls he dost seest through, passed their skin, and flesh and bones. He knoweth
Their pains, hurts, he seest their loves,
Loves lost, though none of these people
Once hath stepped into a church. Though
God is not about religion, just for all to
Know his son; who took all of their pains
Two-thousand years ago up on the cross he gave his love. As each of these many spirits from all walks and ways of life, were all just the same, perfectly made and beautiful in God Yahweh's eyes. So his arms wilt always be open to those who hath that feeling of not wanting to live, for he sent his son yeshua hamashiach, (Jesus the Messiah) for God's own son for mankind's salvation didst he give. For poet as thou doth read mine words please do know this one thing, thou art not alone, for dear God Dost love thee, his arms art open for thee to come home to him.
© Brandon nagley
© Lonesome poets poetry
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 4:18 PM UTC
Some only seest her flesh
And her bones;
I seest God's handprint
That brushstroked
Her soul.
Some only heed her outer
Reflection;
I seest a masterpiece
In paradisal direction.
Some only observe her comings
And going's;
Not perceiving
Her tears, beyond year's;
Hath been like white water's flowing.
Some only descry
Her Filipina eyne;
Whilst under her roof
She's lonesome, aloof;
Pain is her daily bread,
As is her heart's
Screaming proof.
Some only espy, the girl
They seek to know; not
Knowing nothing of who
She really is, an Angel from
God's throne.
Though this Queen doesn't seest
What I seest, she is blinded by
Worldly lies; demon's art her
Enemies, because she's God's
coruscating light.
If only she could take a step
Out of her body and her mind;
She'd be free, to perceive
The treasure she is
As the creator made
Her after his
Kind.
If only she could
Seest, the elegance
Inside her soul;
She would
Knowest
She was
Created to be
God's light, lamp;
God's perfect mold.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Sardua nagley ( agapi mou) dedicated
Jul 28, 2016
Jul 28, 2016 at 8:31 PM UTC
i.
Gramercy, it hast been one year now, one year of smiles, laugh's, cry's; growing together, growing
Wing's in ourn flight.
ii.
Fain I am, to seest thee at night, slumbering as a newborn, queen
Of orbiting light's, woman of mine
Insight; sagittiferous to mine
Burden's of life.
iii.
Let me clear away that vultuous countenance mine girl.
iv.
We art namelings, with ourn letter's hewed into the highest realm, noscible to the Angel's; we
We're recorded on God's
Film.
v.
Perantique we art, as we battle the being's that fell, they've broken their iron locked doorway's; to make their way out of hell.
vi.
Stand close to mine side, I canst heareth those wedding Bell's, I canst feeleth the earth to swell, as the labor pain's art now.
vii.
This place shalt sway and moan, like a drunkard without a home, the living in Christ shalt rise; with the dead already rose, silver an treasures shalt come to naught,
Home good's and store bought,
For men won't grasp their own
Thought's; as the misfortune
Cometh upon them. Lover's wilt
Love themselves, they'll seeketh life
In the devil's Lip's; for the lies he speaks art quick, powerful,
Deceiving, cunning.
viii.
Look on high mine Jane, ourn lord is coming, the globe is spinning to the drum of celestial prophecy;
None stopping wilt be, yet we art free, a king and queen with a heavenly home, with mansion's
To roam, streets followed with
Gold, with like-minded souls;
Awaiting ourn entrance.
This one year wilt lead
To an eternal precipice,
In which we shan't miss,
As all wilt take focus;
For we hath life, mine Jane
Ourn hope is this;
One son of God
Who goes by the name
Jesus; ourn hope and ourn
Reason even more to be one,
To showeth another and all
The Savior's dying love, and in him
Salvation alone, fret not mine lass, soon we shalt go home, soon all ourn waiting wilt be gone, and ourn hand's shalt hold.
Two spirit's to be;
One love,
One soul.
look up
Look up
The time is now close......
©Brandon Nagley
©Earl Jane sardua Nagley dedication ( agapi mou)
© Lonesome poets poetry
Aug 11, 2016
Aug 11, 2016 at 9:19 AM UTC
i.
Sto mystikó kípo sas,
Where thy purple rose shalt be;
Where thy flower bed wilt hath many roses, where thy breathe
Shalt Never cease.
ii.
Sto mystikó kípo sas,
Where hue's and tints hath life;
Thy husband wilt be with thee,
Guiding thee into God's light.
iii.
Sto mystikó kípo sas,
Where petals never fall,
Where the angels sing, their voices ring, bouncing to and fro the pearly gates; painting melodies in the spirit form, colliding back to temple walls.
iv.
Sto mystikó kípo sas,
With a palace for a queen;
The queen is thou, window's thou canst look out; where glass is clear, as there's no fear, inside thy garden
Of majestic scenes.
v.
Sto mystikó kípo sas,
Tha sas xanadó;
That's to say, I'll seest thee again soon one day, in thy secret garden,
Where thy love wilt always grow.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Rita Mae nagley dedicated( golden grams) rip grams, I'll meet you at your new heavenly mansion in your secret garden.
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 9:03 AM UTC
O' agrestrial daisy, don't lose hope; for mine love is not fading. Ague hast hit me, thirsting to touch just one finger from thy hand.
Im a child within a man;
Im weak, hurting, eyes worn,
Drowned in no time,
One pocket and a dime,
As I seek out thy soul,
Mine soul wails and mourns.
Seeking a vessel, to sail the sea's,
I'd do anything, to get to mine queen;
Anything tis, tis I'd do, even if still far, I love thee mine muse.
Dost thou not seest, mine heart beating quick; it quiver's, it aches,
From the fears that I get.
The fears tis I get, to be thine own best, even in mine sorrows,
Darkness, distress.
I smile to impress, to show thee warmth, because O' how I love thee; even in mine own hurt.
Even in mine own pain, with crooked teeth, and an ancient way; im a soul of the past, not one of today.
When thou art cold, mine hair wilt be thy quilt, when the world try's to hurt thee, I'll take all it's filth.
When the cloud's overcome thee, I shalt be thy sunlight; when thou only knowest wrong, I'll make it all right.
When the bird's no longer chirp, i'll be that baby bird; that whisper's it loves thee, even in all of it's hurt.
©Brandon nagley
©lonesome poets poetry
©earl jane nagley dedication
Jan 13, 2017
Jan 13, 2017 at 11:25 PM UTC
In thine aromatic causeway,
I wilt peregrinate thine
Soul, which is a hallway
That leads me to a railway
Of amour's finest tastes;
If tonight's the last night
Of mine, I seek to seest thy
Face, hold hand's, with
Grand plan's shaking
Rhymes as cosmos
Trace. Doing mine all to please thee-
To showeth thee mine many reasons;
With thee I am so graced.
I'm sorrowful mine dear,
Mine tears as year's stack dust to
Bones that waste.
I feelest out of place; out of thy arms.
I need thine enjoin, bring me close that I may feel thee, a warmth of charm. I want to be sent to heaven's stars, a place to fly and float, no devils or ghosts; nor any drunkard's bar's. Fain wilt I be to hold thy arm,
As the burn burns hard, and nothing negative may enter in. Babes of old, washed clean of sin, nothing to loose-all to gain and security to win. Making music with the sound's of ourn snoring.................
Under mystical spiritual willow trees. Heads aside another, connected brains of information-
Souls alike, forever a blessing. Love to flow wild, from the celestial beyond's dressing.
©Brandon nagley
©Earl Jane nagley dedicated
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Nov 9, 2016
Nov 9, 2016 at 6:15 PM UTC
Fond woman, which wouldst have thy husband die,
And yet complain’st of his great jealousy;
If swol’n with poison, he lay in his last bed,
His body with a sere-bark covered,
Drawing his breath, as thick and short, as can
The nimblest crocheting musician,
Ready with loathsome vomiting to spew
His soul out of one hell, into a new,
Made deaf with his poor kindred’s howling cries,
Begging with few feigned tears, great legacies,
Thou wouldst not weep, but jolly and frolic be,
As a slave, which tomorrow should be free;
Yet weep’st thou, when thou seest him hungerly
Swallow his own death, hearts-bane jealousy.
O give him many thanks, he’s courteous,
That in suspecting kindly warneth us
Wee must not, as we used, flout openly,
In scoffing riddles, his deformity;
Nor at his board together being sat,
With words, nor touch, scarce looks adulterate;
Nor when he swol’n, and pampered with great fare
Sits down, and snorts, caged in his basket chair,
Must we usurp his own bed any more,
Nor kiss and play in his house, as before.
Now I see many dangers; for that is
His realm, his castle, and his diocese.
But if, as envious men, which would revile
Their Prince, or coin his gold, themselves exile
Into another country, and do it there,
We play in another house, what should we fear?
There we will scorn his houshold policies,
His seely plots, and pensionary spies,
As the inhabitants of Thames’ right side
Do London’s Mayor; or Germans, the Pope’s pride.
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Martin Buber, I and thou,
du, nicht Sie,
see, I am, thou art and it is
nothing other.
Okeh, the sound, not the letter runes
to fix my meaning
to your way of taking grace
as granted.
Simple magi?
I am acted on by your you, I see,
how strange I seem, from you, looking
out
for one,
I say, one, may say, what I am then not
accountible for, or something like that, eh
no-account, you know
who you seemed to be in that one book, you passed
through
in a trance, thinking this feels real, as any reason given
listen, we are not the first to make this connection,
it only feels crazy at first, then it turns, eh
turn turn turn a spiral ********
as from the too small to imagine past the last edge
of ever and back to now,
speed of thought imaginable due to vast increase
in how far our tools can go to gather bits
to blow up with AI assistant importance, gage,
the twisted spot a galaxy, by god, there are billions
of
billions of things, and I have but one breath.
What am I to be,
wait and see, I think I am the string, soaked in hummingbird
juice from the feeder, from when the oriole tipped the balance,
and soaked me,
the string,
thinking this is as absurd as being a bug, and I have been led
to imagine being tried, while being a bug,
and some time,
after all
that
I thought I ought to imagine Sisyphus happy, due to not knowing
the whole truth of any given circumstance,
here I and it is me and thee, the ready written
and the reader wrote. I am with you always, even, smooth, no
ripple, even to the final valley filling with peace
I made with friends since who knows when,
this is the time, we gather to measure
worth of knowing who has lied,
to whom, today, all things being open, to the art intuitive, thou
seest all things, each thing
accounted for in the grand motion going
on, make it better,
AM BIG I dare you, live on and learn off chance bets
cheat the stats, if you knew what I know
then, when it counts.
You be the judge. What good can contain the likes of us?
Oct 19, 2021
Oct 19, 2021 at 6:19 PM UTC
Reaching out mine poetic finger's,
None to reach back.
Roaming in this passage of expiry,
quietus; how solitary tis.
Patting panels of mysteriousness,
Feel like letting go;
Though do I knoweth I shalt get through
With God, for with humanity I'm alone.
I wilt seest the peep of gleam, just
Yonder the gloaming.
At the moment dead yet living,
Though betimes I'll reach
In pure love all that's
Right and knowing.
With one to hold me
In seas of affections
Warmth, I'll be the
Light I'm meant to
Be- I shalt with
Other's share
Mine torch.
© Brandon nagley
© Lonesome poets poetry.
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 12:26 PM UTC
The problem with phantoms, rings so clear
Like fear, they don't just go away
The more is learnt of the world, the smaller it becomes
The less of open space is felt.
The mnemonist lives in a pretty tale
And heads the way off rocky shores
For, oft a fool will come along
And wilful, bash his mind on reef.
Spill then thee, cantankerous spirit
Thy guts of ill-placed rancour
For in puny efforts to uproot
Fresh soil turned is...fresh soil turned.
The more we feed on empty words
The larger grows that aching void
Engulfing all but esurience
Engorged thus, thee will choke.
A mere gesture of goodwill
And extending act of kindness
Will conquer every wicked sentiment
And leave thee broken ... in thy own mess.
So, thy tiresome pictures on the wall, we see
Paint on, dear artist, paint on
These very merry parties, ye assemble
Will ken thy sharp and twisted ire.
Push on, weary soul, try to find thy heart
Thee seest not thy efforts fall in vain,
Fail to latch, for thy error sits too tall
In the absence of saving grace.
So caught up in thyself, art thee
Thine eye too bright upon the prize
That thou did not see thy plot at play
Thy goest yet on; breaching full redemption.
Weave thus thy tale and clothe thy mind
For, in this act, thy mind doth shut
So ill-fitting thy own garish attire
Seams must needs split eventual.
Seeketh truth and truest, thy find's a trove
But sadder yet's the day, indeed
All vouch that in thy heavy plunder
Its value now plain conferred.
Treasure trinkets, happy hoops
Whatever be thy favour's currency
When day is done and swift sea smoothes
Revered will always be...saving grace.
Star Toucher, 17 February 2013
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 4:49 AM UTC
Immensity cloistered in thy dear womb,
Now leaves His well-belov’d imprisonment,
There He hath made Himself to His intent
Weak enough, now into the world to come;
But O, for thee, for Him, hath the inn no room?
Yet lay Him in this stall, and from the Orient,
Stars and wise men will travel to prevent
The effect of Herod’s jealous general doom.
Seest thou, my soul, with thy faith’s eyes, how He
Which fills all place, yet none holds Him, doth lie?
Was not His pity towards thee wondrous high,
That would have need to be pitied by thee?
Kiss Him, and with Him into Egypt go,
With His kind mother, who partakes thy woe.
1.5k
i.
Inside the aumbry of thy rib's,
Mine verses there queen
Shalt alway's live. When
Thou doth close thine
Engineer orb's,
Knoweth this
Mine Jane;
Mine pearl.
ii.
Long agone, god choose thee,
To be mine darling from the sea;
The one who whisper's to me when I sleep,
In thy soul mine poetry speaks.
iii.
If tonight mine inhalation shalt cease
I'm not just flesh, but a spirit antique;
Mine word's hath come from the up above,
To show thee forgiveness, and Christ's own love
And don't forget queen where thou camest from
From the Almighty's hand's wherein life dost come,
Where the Angel's fly, and the mountain's hum
Past the human sun, in the third heaven.
iv.
So go to sleep Reyna, and dream of me,
One day we'll meet, O' please believe;
And when thou dost wake in the morrow
Thou shalt seest the clear amour that follows.
And smile we wilt do plenty of,
For we aren't of earth, but sky's above;
And when thou shalt see the light
I'll guide thee where there is no night.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl jane Nagley dedicated ( àgapi mou) dedicated
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 9:55 PM UTC
Daily mine jane, I seest thy steps,
As thy feet traipse the jungle grounds; shh, deep breath mine
Love, God walks beside thee,
Where loneliness is not found.
Durst the day, durst the ground;
Show the world what light is,
Where light does not abound.
Let none take thy crown,
Wherein it hast many jewels;
Thou art a saint, so dont be late
For the wedding plates set up,
Unused.
O' jane mine muse, the clock hast struck twelve, the trumpet shalt soon blow, I hear all the saints yell.
He's coming, he's coming,
O' verily tis true; look up
To the cloud's, yeshua's
Calling is soon.
In the moment, in the twinkling of an
Eye, the bride of christ (the church)
Oh dear jane wilt we fly.
Wilt we fly, O' Wilt we fly,
Be ready mine dear, smile
Jane, do smile; hush
None fears.
©Brandon nagley
©lonesome poets poetry
©earl jane nagley
©prophetic poetry
Jan 4, 2017
Jan 4, 2017 at 5:28 PM UTC
Thy September wind is most winsome today.
Seest the lovliest of lilacs and lillies sway ?
Seest the daintiest of daisies dance away ?
Seest the tangoing tulips seductive at play?
Seest them now, beckoning thee?
Hearest the lissome buttercups rejoice?
Hearest the lucid charm in their voice?
Hearest the lithe of the Myrtle tree?
Hearest them now , whispering to thee?
Nov 26, 2010
Nov 26, 2010 at 2:26 PM UTC
That time of year thou mayst in me behold,
When yellow leaves, or none, or few do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou seest the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death’s second self that seals up all in rest.
In me thou seest the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie
As the death-bed whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourished by.
This thou perceiv’st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.
1.3k
Be thou as a newborn.
An innocent babe but
with the knowledge
of a king.
Be thou as the sun
that riseth out of night.
A god ever slain and
ever risen.
Be thou as life and as
death, as night and as
day.
Dwell not on the
poisons of sorrow
and joy, good and
evil.
Thou art not like
other men.
The face thou seest
is not thine.
Thou art nothing,
ashes thou hast
become.
Ashes carried
far away to join in
silence with the
winds of the night.
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 12:23 AM UTC
Roman Virgil, thou that singest
Ilion's lofty temples robed in fire,
Ilion falling, Rome arising,
wars, and filial faith, and Dido's pyre;
Landscape-lover, lord of language
more than he that sang the "Works and Days,"
All the chosen coin of fancy
flashing out from many a golden phrase;
Thou that singest wheat and woodland,
tilth and vineyard, hive and horse and herd;
All the charm of all the Muses
often flowering in a lonely word;
Poet of the happy Tityrus
piping underneath his beechen bowers;
Poet of the poet-satyr
whom the laughing shepherd bound with flowers;
Chanter of the Pollio, glorying
in the blissful years again to be,
Summers of the snakeless meadow,
unlaborious earth and oarless sea;
Thou that seest Universal
Nature moved by Universal Mind;
Thou majestic in thy sadness
at the doubtful doom of human kind;
Light among the vanish'd ages;
star that gildest yet this phantom shore;
Golden branch amid the shadows,
kings and realms that pass to rise no more;
Now thy Forum roars no longer,
fallen every purple Caesar's dome--
Tho' thine ocean-roll of rhythm
sound forever of Imperial Rome--
Now the Rome of slaves hath perish'd,
and the Rome of freemen holds her place,
I, from out the Northern Island
sunder'd once from all the human race,
I salute thee, Mantovano,
I that loved thee since my day began,
Wielder of the stateliest measure
ever moulded by the lips of man.
1.2k
Sayest the name
"Jesus"
Openly in a crowd;
Seest how many mock
Thee, and how many
Shalt stick around.
I asketh thee reader,
The one breathing
In mine word's;
From whom doth
Thou get thy
Living water
From;
Yeshua
Or the world?
Aug 2, 2016
Aug 2, 2016 at 10:14 PM UTC
i.
Yonside the celestial, whereinto ourn
Ability to seest shalt abraid as past day's fade.
ii.
Over with ourn life-time of a wait;
iii.
Accolent being's, praise in song-
We sit as children on living grass,
Tables made for dinner's to last,
As no time wilt pass, noone shalt be
Late, predestined plates; to never be
Athirst nor hungered.
iv.
Warrior's, King's, Seraphim's, cherub's, angelic shine, O' a place
To wonder.
v.
Thou to be mine yellow rose, me to be thine chaperone on the streets of gold; feet being led by the spirit of old, with God on his throne; in the
Holy city wherein love is the
Greatest command.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane nagley dedicated ( agapi mou)
Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 9:47 AM UTC
science now has shown it plain as plain
that clouds and coastlines share an abstract bond
as do trees - indeed each green or grain
yes, every leaf and every twirling frond -
the large may be divined within the small,
an ocean in a single drop of rain -
minute the variation to recall
complexities of evolution's chain;
no need to travel far as either pole
to plumb the depths of man or womankind
and while there is uniqueness in each soul
our kindred nature's easy there to find
we all tell truths - yet none are free from lies
thou seest all in every person's eyes
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 4:37 AM UTC
"'Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed."
Oh, Shakespeare, knowest thou not what is in my dreams?
I am both for I do bad deeds,
yet from judgement I receive no relief.
Their eyes are adulterate, but so are mine;
both our eyes with sins do shine.
Thou seest not what I do;
I am evil through and through.
The worst of evils am I,
for in my soul I am kind,
though my exterior pierce like barbs,
for I let myself be rule not by my heart.
I soothe the pain with hidden love
praying at least to be forgiven by God above.
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 1:32 PM UTC
to you my unknown angel
thou seest not what stands forth thee
thou seest not a lady
bearing forth her burdens for centuries
looking for some one to find me and set me free of my misery
i sees only in my dreams an angel to help me
find my way in these times of terror and unknown pleasure
searching all my life for this angel...
coming thus far ....
and found non as true as my dreams
perhaps been looking in wrong places.
most of me feel that ,that person is long from near in reaching me
or maybe if god wills
there be'ist no angel for me
that can blow away the pain the burns so long inside me
and can finally set me free
my life is but a game
a game in the hands of the gods
those mighty hands that toss me around
up and down
giving me the pleasures of happiness
and weighing it twice with pain
i hide my tears and pain with
smiles and laughter
not to trouble those dear to me
cant let them see this selfish side
this lust and greed that grows inside
it must be me.... that feels this way
for every one says other wise
perhaps the times not right
perhaps.... that times near!
for when the hand of fate shall change on me
hopefully for the better this year
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 7:54 AM UTC