A cold wind blows through the crumbling halls.... crying your name..... a name never heard. Fractured walls no longer able to hold the weight of thousands of years, shift subtly in the darkness. The ancient home stands briefly, with no support, dark windows crack suddenly, foundations crumble without a sound. Dust............ This, the winds scatter to the four corners....... Will anyone wonder, in their passing, what once stood so proudly on this vacant lot? Did they ever see the warm glow on a winters night, showing through the stained glass of the old house........ the beauty, the magistry and detail..... the unique quality and the depth. Or did they only see it as later ages shown, a place to be feared, shunned, ridiculed..... a haunted memory of what was supposed to be? 2008 .
that is one fantastic poem ty.it blew me away.absolutely beautiful. written with so much soul an depth in it. welldone! ty :2thumbsup:
I'm collecting some of my old stuff and I'm gonna just put them in this same thread... The first one and this one are from 2008, They were written a few months apart. I don't have much of anything recent... "Who wins this insidious dance with death, called life?" The man behind the mask, or the mask that entraps the man? In those brief seconds before the dawn, that minute instant before our ego takes hold, who is it that decides which mask to wear that day? And why is that one mask chosen over all the other ones? Is it the sad man that truely wants to be happy, Or is it the happy man that society forces to be sad? Who has more strength, the man with no legs who dreams of running even tho' he knows he can't, Or the man with good legs who wants to sit and has no dreams? Who has more talent, The artist, who from his multi-hued palate creates the perfect color, Or the blind man that sees this color in the darkness of night? Who has more riches, The simple man who found a shell as a child and holds it to this very day, Or the wealthy man that has so much he doesn't hold any of it? Who's song has more beauty, The critically acclaimed musician who leads a symphony of trained voices, Or the young unwed mother, singing a lullaby to her deaf child? Who has more power, Is it the champion of industry who holds the fate of thousands in his hand, Or the homeless man that wakes alone, looks out at the dirty street, and says "Good morning God" The one you choose the winner in these, will be determined by the one you allow to make the decision. The mask? or the man behind the mask? Who wins this insidious dance with death, called life? Thursday, May 22, 2008
once again ty.outstanding!that mothers lullaby for her deaf child.that so captured the depth of the greatest love of all.mother and child.and you already know the answers to all those questions in your poem.cos yor wise ty.you are by far one of the most brilliant poets i have ever come across.you are not only talented.you are uniquedly talented.welldone! ty. ace!:2thumbsup:
This one's from 2005... A little bit different style. The Woodsprite The woodsprite came silently that evening late Wrapping my heart in a love so gentle yet strong Never again will I walk the wood alone Now that I have heard the woodsprite's song Many a lass, whose amber hair beckoned Now pale in compare to the woodsprites raven hair Knowing full well she was one of the fae My heart went out to her so sweet and so fare The woodsprite came silently that evening late Wrapping my heart in a love so gentle yet strong Never again will I walk the wood alone Now that I have heard the woodsprite's song It is said that a mortal should not lay with the fae Least they leave this world and never return This chance I will take, to be here nevermore To feel my heart, my mind, my soul within her burn The woodsprite came silently that evening late Wrapping my heart in a love so gental yet strong never again will I walk the wood alone Now that I have heard the woodsprite's song This being my sad 'fare-the-well' to friends I have known This mortal world I leave to you, take good care For I have looked into the woodsprite's eyes Wrapping my heart around hers, my fingers resting in raven hair Never again will I walk the wood alone Now that I have heard the woodsprite's song .
I haven't written the song yet, but The Woodsprite is written as lyrics... Or, maybe I have written the song, or parts of it, and haven't put two and two together yet. Things happen that way sometimes.
