Sunday, February 22, 2015

Of The Soul


Her eyes
take in the breath of my heart…
with each beat –
and the clouds weep…
when embraced,
as does anger
and love –
these human acts
convulsed by change
correlated
by the bounty of truth
or the vision born…
by the old
seen by the tribes of youth –
and in the end
the roses still grow
and so does war
poverty
and man –
but heal the soul
to watch the action…
of the power of one – grow.


Her eyes
take in the breath of my heart…
with each beat –
as she cast a vote
which tells the truth…
of good and bad –
and of the soul.

Thursday, February 12, 2015

False Hope


She lives…
inside his head
like a polite memory
which weeps
into his soul –
buried deep
this greyed out past…
with only
the remnants of ruins
which remain –
a false oasis
is a bleak reality
or perhaps
a parched drink…
of false hope.
 
 

Thursday, February 5, 2015

Like A Mother


Mental rips,
like folded paper
creases, wearing on the soul -
a forgiveness sot
or perhaps...
a broken sword
or maybe a mother...
the person who ask..... always
if you’re alright.
 
But then you think...
the conscious
is like a good heart -
but -  a bad liar.

Then tears like ink
have dried
and their shadows
show the stains...
to tell a story
where the heart remains.
 
Then view these smudges
as if they were darkness -
and not the light...
one wishes to see.

Like a mother...
the person who ask..... always
if you’re alright.