frustrations

Frustrations

Strenght

Who has it?

And who is to say what in you is strong and what is not

Effort

What is it?

And who is to say that yours is worth more than mine

End

When is it?

And who is to say that the cycle even stops

Love

Where is it?

And who is to say who deserves it and who does not

Life

Why live it?

And who is to say when we live or die

frozen angel

The statue of an angel, still in time,

her stone eyes fixed upon death.

Her parted lips beckon words never said,

to grace her frozen breath.

Still wings spread eternally

for a sacred flight never taken.

Her welcoming, cold hands

are now sadly godforsaken.

Her only love is a lonely man

who sadly prays at her feet.

She hopes for the day

He will come and pray

and thier lonely souls will meet.

"My angel," he says as he kneels to the ground,

"my angle, please, heed these words I say;"

My life is growing darker, my angel,

each and every day.

I want to bask in the sun, my love,

not wallow in the night.

Please, my angel, show me love,

help me see the light."

She wishes she could help him,

to beesech to god above,

To help his godforsaken life,

to adorn him with her love.

The icy moon set from the sky,

and so began the day.

Something seemed wrong,

Something was gone,

the man had not come to pray.

The angel remained still,

bereft of her only love.

She looked sadly to the sky,

to her only god above.

The days passed slowly for the frozen angel,

her existance became bittersweet.

Not long after, to her delight,

Just before the sallow fall of night,

the man was buried at her feet.

dear foreigner

You picked me from the crowd

And made me queen of the dance floor

I felt loved again in your arms

Passionately and lustfully you kissed me

Those nights on the soft moon lit beach

But you hid it well from me

The fact that you were married

promises of tomorow

I walk alone in this field,

The wind weaves through my unkept hair

As I twist grain stocks into a simple crown

It is silent in this field

Interrupted only by itself

As I tread on its sacred ground

I am alive here in this field,

Where there is no one to please but me

And where what I want is right

I embrace the open field

Breathing in deeply,

It’s a treat to smell air so fresh

This is the Promise of tomorrow

As I step back from my sacred field

I can see the brightness of tomorrow

The promises of the wind in the stocks

The promise of freedom

The promise to experience another day

I long to taste this freedom

But for now,

I will hold onto the promise of tomorrow

For it is today, and today

There is trouble beyond my sacred field

I whisper my goodbyes as I return to the reality of today

Holding onto the promises of tomorrow

english garden

A quiet wind is not but a

Soft breath whispered from your lips,

Quiet now, quiet now.

Come and whisper close,

I can hear the violets in your eyes, the roses,

The thorns are an after thought…

After tea…

A dew drop, tear drop, rain drop,

Angels are weeping for you, for your nonsensical thoughts,

Keep your heart close in your corset,

Not on your sleeve…

Your knees shake beneath your petticoats,

Tie your blustery hair, so honey and bright, with your ribbons,

Your eyes ablaze with wonderment,

Keep your stars ‘neath your lashes.

Your gentle frame drenched

With others’ sorrow is like a cup and saucer,

Blood drenched Queen Anne’s lace.

Come sit near with

Your bedazzled eyes, magnolia skin,

You are an English garden in a London fog,

Keep your imagination,

Quiet like the breath from your lips.

i see you as you are

I am just a passer by

But I see you as you are

You are lonely

Wearing your heaviest mask,

Feeling the weight of your insignificance

As you drag your misguided feet

You have been lead astray

You have chosen many wrong paths

So hang your head down low

But you cannot hide if from me

For I was once there

I extend my heart to you

Dear broken stranger

As I mutter a simple prayer

You are not alone

I am here with you

I am just a passer by

But I see you as you are

Don’t be afraid my secret friend

Look me in the eyes

And see the faith the world has in you

a 100o roses

You stranger there;

standing in my corridor,

who are you?

Which mask do you choose

to wear today?

Do you bear

the face of a fever victim

or a starcrossed lover?

Do you wear

angel wings or death shrouds?

Do you have for me

a thousand red roses

with ten-thousand thorns

or a flask of cyanide?

Are you my life's love

or my life's end?

Ah well, I suppose

it's all the same

in the end.