I Write
I tried to
dance,
But my feet
wouldn't move.
My spirit
stifled, manacled
By the bonds
of indifference.
I wanted to
sing,
But my voice was stilled.
As my heart shriveled inside me.
And died a death of retreat.
I needed to speak,
But my words were garbled.
And my passions retarded.
Pushed back into the hollow, that was despair.
So, instead I wrote.
The words danced around my mind,
As I put pen to paper; oh song of delight.
While I spoke volumes,
To the masses who would read them.
My spirit soared, as my
Heart beat out a tattoo of emotions.
That was too many,
To contain deep inside me.
Me. I wrote.
|
 |
|
|
HOW I WAS BORN
From out of childhood's loneliness,
From hope, which quickly became despair.
From my footsteps constant unrest,
From my dreams which proved a nightmare.
From where my doubts became my fears,
From where my hope soon disappeared.
From where my life became many years,
From hatred my head reared.
From the name my mother laid on me,
From the calls of gentlemen.
From my lovers loving came me,
From a thought left unremem'd.
From the mist in which I solidified,
From the final discourse, respite.
From the darkness made now into light,
From out of this stepped I.
|
|
|
|
|
LIFE'S PROCESSION
Through every situation
There'll be a re-creation.
For every possible cause
Somewhere there'll be a pause.
Either there'll be love
Or there'll be no thought of such.
Distinctions, trivialities,
Disbeliefs, lost realities,
Probable evasions,
Miscalculations,
Distinct possibilities,
Grand tranquilities.
Cast in dark shadows,
Love that's grown shallow.
Breaks in relations,
Dawning revelations.
Crass sensations,
Life's procreation.
Peace for short times.
Passion that's sublime.
We live.
We love.
We die.
|
|
|
|
|
