Monthly Archives: February 2016

The Wise Womans Door

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As she awakes and readies for her day,
She pays no heed to voices that dismay.
Misery loves company; this is others to decide:
Would it make a worthy ear in which their troubles to confide?
She isn’t one to keep the company of fools.
Round and round she’s danced with the liar and his duels.
She sees past the folly that most consider wise.
Just because many love it doesn’t mean she can’t dispise.
What others think she won’t ignore,
But doesn’t open when offense knocks on the door.

The Cycle Onward

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Ending then,
Ending when?
Another day to memory send.
There you see, the path that winds,
Guided slowly by the unkind.
So haste the day that I may find,
A place to rest this tired mind.
One more night and one more only,
Before the troubled and weary stone me;
That eyeless face by moonlight shown me,
I shouldn’t follow but no one told me.
How I got past is not your concern.
Some like to listen and some like to learn,
This is a thing that I have observed,
That there are others who watch the world burn.

Pacified

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In my city by the sea,
To wait for what twilight may bring.
The setting sun, the moonlight sings:
“Come, there are such lights to see.”
Each light hoping for the next,
In response to them I say:
“Is there for me another way?
Or must my waiting be my trek?”
I sit and wait, and stare, and know.
Should I stand and walk the paved?
Guided by light in which I bathe? Perhaps.
I’d much rather be pacified though.

A Dance in the Wind

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A light inside her fading, dying.
It wasn’t for the times of trying.
A candle in the wind stands little chance,
Those that dance with death still dance.
To make the most of this, now she
Reveals something else others rarely see,
A lesson for us if we are to learn.
And not our time like paper burn.
This is what she would have wanted,
Not her own great life here flaunted.
But to share the joy that she has found,
Before she leaves for heavens ground.

Pain We Keep

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In the light of those that were,
Something else is there inferred.
Evidence before us burned,
Dark secrets there interred.
I dreamt the secrets then, were ferried,
To the opposing shore were carried,
With spoken words not yet buried
In our foolishness we tarried,
With the crushing guilt of what remains.
In our silence nothing gained.
There was no joy or peace. Only pain.
Our souls that day saw naught but rain.
This is the bed in which we sleep.
No peaceful dreaming, restful, deep.
No turning tide, no faithful leap,
This is the pain that we must keep.

As the Flowers so are We

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Born unto the floral
Delicate, fragile, fleeting.
Beautiful for a moment.
The next, wilting.
When shall they fall to fire?
When shall they be cut,
And cease to be?
Thrown to the stock,
To feed the fates that bind them.
Powerless to resist.
As the flowers so are we,
Unable to alter the forces that damn us.
Is that so evil?
All must die.
In our finite life,
May quality increase,
Rather than quantity.

The 45th Day of the Year

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Because everything you are
Is everything I need.
And everything I am
Is all to keep you happy.
You love me. For me,
That is enough.
Together forever,
Forever shall we,
In heart hold each other,
Until eternally be.

Dedicated to my wife.