- Mar 26, 2004
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- Faith
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Sunday
Once in a dream,
The spacious darkness
Of a cavern caught me,
Pacing circles in the quest
For freedom
While all around me,
symbols of humanity
stony, petrified with clinging evil
easy to sense but not to flee.
Once in a dream,
Through dulling layers, faint,
A church bells toll
Resentful darkness parting
for a living emerald,
a Lady, flooding her life
through every statue in the dome
but I, seeing such joy, fled
cowering in unreasoning fear.
Once in a dream
I hid in darkness,
yet the Lady found me
took my hand, and led me
gently to a door.
Then I awoke, and seeing
Sundays sunshine, knew-
she had not gone, but merely changed her form
to light my way once more.
What Balance?
Standing in,
I hear my heart cry out inside me
against the inconsistency of the world.
Why must I live?
Why do they?
What is peace, what is happiness?
What is Joy?
Why do we fight for peace,
when in doing so we are creating conflict, the opposite?
Why do we believe in neutrality,
when our only memories, our only joys
are times of extremity?
And how,
when all is said and done,
And all possible routes,
exits,
and changes been made or taken,
does Love fit in?
After the beginning
Before the storm breaks,
I sit melancholy in the lamplight-
Fragile light that whispers
dark memories into my mind.
A cool breeze stalks by,
tossing my hair and hissing
softly through the trees.
I have survived one storm-
the angry roars like wind
the flashing eyes, the threatening rumbles;
the bitter curses falling like rain-
and so I sit, and wait as one storm passes
and another begins.
I Am the Queen
I am the queen of unjust smiles,
secret plans, hidden files,
I creep around a question asked-
then run for miles.
I am the queen of mournful cries,
bloodied hands, reddened eyes,
I never care, I do my task-
while in disguise.
I share to you this peice of Fate,
Love and trust, never wait,
my soul was lost between the lines-
now it's too late.
Inspiration
Inspiration is a fleeting thing-
any writer knows that.
My words fall like teardrops onto the page
and I chop down my dreams
to fit Their rhyme schemes...
Can I help it if "the Moon in June"
sounds better than "the Moon in September"?
Polish, They say, polish.
"Poetry is an art easy to dabble in;
hard in which to reach true perfection"
I don't believe in sonnets.
My words flop and whither as I write
fade like the simple truth behind them;
And They whisper through incredulous,
sullen lips, "She cannot write!
She never will! She is a child!"
And so I'm here,
scrawling down this bit of myself
for Them to see; I'll show Them.
I will. I will! I must.
The Poplar and the Willow
The willow fair and poplar grew
side by side on a hillside green;
together they watched o'er the village below,
and the villagers, kind and keen.
The sturdy oak and the pine once grew
side by side on a hill nearby;
their aged trunks have been sawn through,
to build their city's towers high.
The oak and the pine once mocked the two
as they guarded their quiet spot;
but the poplar and the willow wept
when they saw their friends' trunks cut.
The poplar and willow were wiser than
the oak and the pine had been;
Though if you are any wiser than I
still remains to be seen.
This Too Shall Pass
It was long ago o'er the darkened fields,
'mid the clouds of fatal gas,
That a colonel spoke to his private soft,
and he said "This too shall pass."
It's been longer still since a mother wept
for her daughter had breathed her last;
As she died, the child looked up and smiled-
"Don't cry Mummy, This too shall pass."
Far out at sea lay a sinking ship,
ripped by enemy cannon's blast
And as the sea buried broken bodies
it whispered "This too shall pass."
The ship has rotted, the mother has died,
and the fields are covered with grass-
Though your hope be cracked and your life be black,
Please remember, This too shall pass.
Trapped
Sinking
Choking
lungs screaming for air
it is hard to die-
still harder to live-
dark water
closing over my eyes
The frenzied scrabble
of my hands
slow, and now
my head throbs with death
yet my fingers close
around a car's door handle
and I am free!
Soaring up
breaking through the surface
gulping air, my heart filling
With the conviction
I will not die!
Once in a dream,
The spacious darkness
Of a cavern caught me,
Pacing circles in the quest
For freedom
While all around me,
symbols of humanity
stony, petrified with clinging evil
easy to sense but not to flee.
Once in a dream,
Through dulling layers, faint,
A church bells toll
Resentful darkness parting
for a living emerald,
a Lady, flooding her life
through every statue in the dome
but I, seeing such joy, fled
cowering in unreasoning fear.
Once in a dream
I hid in darkness,
yet the Lady found me
took my hand, and led me
gently to a door.
Then I awoke, and seeing
Sundays sunshine, knew-
she had not gone, but merely changed her form
to light my way once more.
What Balance?
Standing in,
I hear my heart cry out inside me
against the inconsistency of the world.
Why must I live?
Why do they?
What is peace, what is happiness?
What is Joy?
Why do we fight for peace,
when in doing so we are creating conflict, the opposite?
Why do we believe in neutrality,
when our only memories, our only joys
are times of extremity?
And how,
when all is said and done,
And all possible routes,
exits,
and changes been made or taken,
does Love fit in?
After the beginning
Before the storm breaks,
I sit melancholy in the lamplight-
Fragile light that whispers
dark memories into my mind.
A cool breeze stalks by,
tossing my hair and hissing
softly through the trees.
I have survived one storm-
the angry roars like wind
the flashing eyes, the threatening rumbles;
the bitter curses falling like rain-
and so I sit, and wait as one storm passes
and another begins.
I Am the Queen
I am the queen of unjust smiles,
secret plans, hidden files,
I creep around a question asked-
then run for miles.
I am the queen of mournful cries,
bloodied hands, reddened eyes,
I never care, I do my task-
while in disguise.
I share to you this peice of Fate,
Love and trust, never wait,
my soul was lost between the lines-
now it's too late.
Inspiration
Inspiration is a fleeting thing-
any writer knows that.
My words fall like teardrops onto the page
and I chop down my dreams
to fit Their rhyme schemes...
Can I help it if "the Moon in June"
sounds better than "the Moon in September"?
Polish, They say, polish.
"Poetry is an art easy to dabble in;
hard in which to reach true perfection"
I don't believe in sonnets.
My words flop and whither as I write
fade like the simple truth behind them;
And They whisper through incredulous,
sullen lips, "She cannot write!
She never will! She is a child!"
And so I'm here,
scrawling down this bit of myself
for Them to see; I'll show Them.
I will. I will! I must.
The Poplar and the Willow
The willow fair and poplar grew
side by side on a hillside green;
together they watched o'er the village below,
and the villagers, kind and keen.
The sturdy oak and the pine once grew
side by side on a hill nearby;
their aged trunks have been sawn through,
to build their city's towers high.
The oak and the pine once mocked the two
as they guarded their quiet spot;
but the poplar and the willow wept
when they saw their friends' trunks cut.
The poplar and willow were wiser than
the oak and the pine had been;
Though if you are any wiser than I
still remains to be seen.
This Too Shall Pass
It was long ago o'er the darkened fields,
'mid the clouds of fatal gas,
That a colonel spoke to his private soft,
and he said "This too shall pass."
It's been longer still since a mother wept
for her daughter had breathed her last;
As she died, the child looked up and smiled-
"Don't cry Mummy, This too shall pass."
Far out at sea lay a sinking ship,
ripped by enemy cannon's blast
And as the sea buried broken bodies
it whispered "This too shall pass."
The ship has rotted, the mother has died,
and the fields are covered with grass-
Though your hope be cracked and your life be black,
Please remember, This too shall pass.
Trapped
Sinking
Choking
lungs screaming for air
it is hard to die-
still harder to live-
dark water
closing over my eyes
The frenzied scrabble
of my hands
slow, and now
my head throbs with death
yet my fingers close
around a car's door handle
and I am free!
Soaring up
breaking through the surface
gulping air, my heart filling
With the conviction
I will not die!
