Life is pain and then you die.
Why should I bother to even try?
Days pass by quickly,uncaring.
They do not ask how I am fairing.
It makes no difference, this or that.
It won”t take much to see where I’m at,
In the ocean cold.
Slowly sinking, grasping soul.
Treading water just prolongs,
My end, the bottom, where I belong.
But life is joy before you die!
And joy and love! Still we cry.
Something so fickle and sweet as life
Becomes fermented and stale with time.
One should not wish it to be forever
That it should continue, ending never.
We all end up at the bottom it’s true
Before then I’ll be with you,
Spending the happy hours,
Loving, laughing, avoiding sour
Looks and words that would stain
Our souls if from within they came.
Let the day pass by so quickly!
I’ll not be one who, sickly,
Sits and waits and wastes the time,
What little we have, like a slime,
Trapped on the edge of the ocean, not in it,
Not loving life, but afraid of it.
Life is pain and darkness frightening,
The end comes quickly before the ripening.
In this small time, I’ll make the most
Never fearing the inevitable ghost.
No sorrow in death. It is and it must.
Then we live on, after first turning to dust.
Posted in Life and death
Tagged cry, darkness, death, dust, forever, ghost, joy, life, love, ocean, pain, poetry, soul, time, waste
Once forgotten all is laid
To rest and in the grave.
He profits nothing from the past
There’s nothing there of what lasts.
If it cannot get him through the day
It might as well be locked away.
To be sure there’s beauty there,
Joy and freedom, all but rare,
And mixed up in times shifting sands.
Irretrievable! They’re left to this desolate land!
He awakens the next day none the wiser.
Or is he now he won’t dredge the desert to find her?
I’ll leave that question to philosophers who will,
Debate his morality while sitting on a hill.
Posted in Time
Tagged desert, forgotten, grave, hill, joy, memory, mind, philosopher, poetry, profit, sand, time
In came the wind today.
It took her heart so far away,
She didn’t fight, she let it fly.
So many reasons, she could’ve cried.
As before the wind, grass would yield,
She was the same and saw no appeal,
To impersonate an oak, and meet the same end
As the grass, but with a more violent bend.
Then having fallen and no one heard,
She says lamenting:
“Joy is made sorrow and the lonely burn.
All is made nothing. Our lives so short.
Where is the Watchman, sitting high in His fort?”
In her silence, on the wind, an answer she hears.
“This is why your heart disappeared:
You had no patience for the storm,
You knew not its true form.
All is made nothing, and sorrow to joy,
But again there is something! There is more I employ.
Stand rise again! You will conquer I ensure,
The storm is nothing, you have the strength to endure.
The only oaks that fall to the wind, all have rotten roots
Grasses may not fall, but they accomplish nothing expect for becoming soot.”
She arose and stood again, knowing fully where to stand.
Then on the narrow path, for her first few steps,
She held the Masters hand.
Posted in Rise Above
Tagged joy, lonely, Master, path, poetry, rise, sorrow, storm, tower, Watchman, wind
A hope in the darkness shines
There’s the black with light behind.
We have pain, but also given joy.
An upward mindset now employed,
With something to look forward to
When this is all that we can do.
A hope, even as small as this,
Is enough to return to bliss.
When a length of time is spent in dispair,
It’s enough to know such hope is there.
The second piece written to one of my wifes paintings. Prints for sale at http://www.relentlesslovecreations.com
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.
He woke up to a new day.
Upon the discovery of this new dawn,
He tried and found nothing wrong.
Some judged him. This pessimistic way.
They could not see he was happy all along.
In trying and finding that nothing was wrong,
He discovered a peace he loved to belong.
There was the wrong, he chose not to see it.
He tried to show others the way to believe it,
Some joined him in happy, while others did not.
The ones that didn’t, their joy they forgot.
I made the sky myself, to fall.
The way in its demise and all,
When night was the first to call.
She danced with the rain, her shawl.
Death and demise are not the same.
As the dying clouds bled rain,
What over me but joy came?
To watch her twirling beneath the rain.
Her dance ended; gave birth to flowers.
I could’ve watched her hour after hour,
But it was now time to give the wind power,
To sweep them away for the light that would scour,
And from the sky clear the clouds, grey.
Then they surrendered to the sun that day,
Mother nature in her bed sleeps away,
After her work, after her play.
There on her pillow of earth,
Among the flowers to which she gave birth,
In the sunlight such feelings of mirth,
Dreaming of rain, she considers its worth.