Poetry from 2011 (Part 1)

03/10/13

Here is some poetry I wrote from January – June 2011. The themes here range from religion, regret, control to maturing and self-acceptance.

It’s Up To You

Every night at sunset

I fall onto my knees

Ask for love from the heavens

With eyes that cannot see

But if I look directly

Into the saintly light

It cleanses and it touches

Once blackened now is white

And God, looking down blankly

Remembering my sins

Reaches out to touch me

With no beauty left within

His hands caress my body

Instill a little faith

Says I’ll be forgiven

If I give to him my grave

He believes I will surrender

And hand over my life

But joy and love move further

From that day when I will die

Praying for the future

My powerlessness grows

He flashed scenes of repetition

A life I’ve always known

One cannot change the pathways

His intricate designs

They intend to teach lessons

So, where the Hell are mine?

Never To Wake

I don’t listen to the racket

All the noises try to penetrate

I fight it off

My hands are tied

I’m occupied

By blissful ignorance

I’m never to wake

I don’t pay attention to the words

Every conversation is unnecessary

I ignore them

Life is peaceful

When in slumber

I’m voluntarily deaf

Never to wake

Never

Older

She embraces her grey

where other eccentricities once thrived.

Possesses a middle-aged timbre,

yet her refrains are unaffected.

Flashes of youth and nonchalance

can be found amidst the grey,

inside the deepest of wrinkles,

within her slowing pace and

the clicking of her walking cane.

The love flies all about her,

as seasons collapse into one another.

What perfect order she’s found,

now that age has killed anxiety.

Pierre’s Reprise

His door is always open, red as a woman’s blush

With his number rusted over, if spoken it is hushed

All the men in the world could never tame his soul

In the winter he is looking, come summer, he is gone

Pleasures found in the act of loving for a price

Will taint his opportunities, to be of health in life

Men pass by like minutes, the calm brews him a storm

He turns to each direction, expecting love and warmth

Others see the fine line outside the area of grey

Between hearts that never stop and souls that fade away

The Arm

The arm curls at its joint

The wrist tucks under

And picks you up

It extends and stretches

You’re upside down

Forming an arch when relaxed

The arm rests itself

Fuel has been exhausted

And heat has been expelled

It purrs until nighttime

Stowed into the soil

Unraveling the ground,

every layer of stale caramel

and dirty, dusty chocolate,

turns it over in the morning,

curling, tucking, stretching.