The little one has left to play,
In the twilight, at the end of this day.
To the calls of his mother he’ll return,
And then he’ll remember all he’s learned.
Now comes the night where he’ll dream of nothing else;
Than to play in his field, undisturbed.
By the door he has left two pairs of empty shoes.
Tomorrow his mother will help him decide
Which one to choose.
This is one is about our mothers raising us up to be good people. to make the best choices. When we are young we tend to not dwell on the future a lot, but our mothers and/or fathers are doing their best to prepare us for our adult lives. A fact most of us can’t see until we move out and see what life is like on our own. It’s funny because now I look back on all those times my mother said: “You’ll thank me for this when you’re older.” and I’m actually grateful.
There in your sleep, deep,
I wished to hear your voice before my sleep.
And hoped that this wish was yours too.
Sleep well, and dream of me as I shall of you
Then dawn will break,
A moment of your time I will take
And in return I’ll give you a moment of mine.
In this moment we will only share one word,
Spoken only barely loud enough to be heard,
First to me from you,
Then to you from me.
That word will be:
A bent life
A bent soul
A broken knife,
Lying in a hole.
I’ve fallen in,
I shout for help.
Despair won’t dim,
Hope I’ve not felt.
Now at the bottom,
I’m tossed a shovel.
The knife is welcome
And pain is doubled.
The secrets I’ve kept
Have brought me here.
At the chance I would’ve leapt,
To get out there.
I dig myself deeper,
Into this pit of despair.
Of my past I’m a keeper,
I’ve hidden a gun under the stairs.
With my shovel of self-pity,
I travel further away from escape.
My fate should be fitting,
I don’t deserve to leave this place.
My time is up.
It is sounded by a gong.
I don’t want to look up
To the ladder I’ve known of all along.
They were better, the ones before me.
Why do I remain,
With those left standing from the storm?
Better than I those who fell.
I should have also.
They were stronger, I could tell.
Left standing among the dead I,
Have nothing left here.
My brothers fallen; I leave and lower my head.
A part of my heart died there that day.
Though I walk away,
My soul will never leave this place.
Why am I here left standing?
I’ve nothing left to give.
What am I to do but find another storm for chasing?
With no place to call his own,
He sets off on some path unknown.
On this journey forever alone,
To find some place to rest his bones.
Now far beyond the winter snow,
He then follows a summer moons’ glow
Wishing that to him it would show,
Somewhere that he could call his home.
I love her and she loves me,
She loves me and I don’t know why.
Forever beside me I wish her to be.
When I’m beside her I can touch the sky.
I’m just me; there is nothing special to see,
But she’s so beautiful I could just cry.
She isn’t perfect, but she’s perfect for me;
Just to keep her safe in a moment I’d die.
I’ve never thought that something special I’d be.
With her I am, though without, I cant fly.
I could never deserve the love she has for me.
And yet she loves me, and I don’t know why.
Another about and inspired by my wife Melissa. In fact most of the poems I’ve written that have to do with love are about her.
“She isn’t perfect, but she’s perfect for me.” This line but summarizes my feelings for her. We all have our faults we’re only human and we all make mistakes, but she is such a perfect fit for me. She understands where I’ve been, she supports me in all I do, she is the best mother a child could hope for and the best wife any man could hope to find, and I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life with anyone else. She makes me whole, happy and we complete each other. The title: And I Don’t Know Why, I used to ask myself this a lot because I saw her as being someone who deserved so much better than me, but now all I can be is happy that she agreed to marry me.
Posted in Love
Tagged love, poetry
Last night I woke from dreaming,
A dream it was so seeming-
ly disturbing and desperately in need of prayer
And when to my love I said good morning,
She told me of her dreaming,
ly disturbing dream, desperately in need of prayer,
Of which I was part.
From this question I can’t depart.
Was I the reason?
This dream was so seeming-
ly disturbing and desperately in need of prayer?
Oh what unrest it has left me!
It mocks me, this answer I cannot see!
But now it matters not.
This prayer, that so desperately needed to be prayed,
Freed me from this question,
And to rest my worries laid.
And of this dreaming of a dream so seeming-
ly disturbing and desperately in need of prayer,
It was some attempt to upset us, clearly.
It would have succeeded, had we not prayed so dearly.
And to these dreams we shall cease,
To within our minds give them lease.
No longer will we be found dreaming,
Such awful things that are so seeming-
ly disturbing and desperately in need of prayer.