Subtle tones of humidity in the air.
Neck tension catching on fire.
The window’s telling stories.
The rain’s playing hide and seek with the sun.

And everything stinks like false priorities.

To the majority at least.

Everybody’s one last excuse before being buried alive.

The guilty following the carnival
To the big black house of redemption.

As the rest of us reduce our
Spirituality to Video Games and TV

In search of the same fulfillment.

Sunday.

The knives still stuck in all our backs.
We follow blindly.

One day to remember
What we do not have.
What we can’t achieve.

Recruiting others.

Only the children,
In their abandonment,
Have left the masses
To honor the universe
And it’s secrets.

So when we fiction
Our way to next Sunday
We might leave a friction
Up to fate.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Sunday.

1 quote 4 that!

‘Be Yourself’

I could write the many things i wish to say,

Here, now, just to enchant your mind

And then, to delete all i wrote, in the next day,

Just to show you that was nothing written yesterday,

And you was blind…

I could write the many things i like to do,

In quick phrases, to satisfy your curiosity, today,

But later, i will erase all the words i wrote you,

And all you’ll see will be a clear background, gray…

I could write a lot of words, describing myself,

Just to show how interesting person i can be,

But right after that i won’t say anything,

And i will leave and let u solve that mystery…

I could write u a collection of books with my life,

Just to show the beauty of Life,

But right after that, i will burn those books,

Cos the complex words are nothing to me,

But only the simplest ones,

Full of truth, cold as ice,

Will be those musical tones,

That i always wish to hear,

So, then, these ones are written but not deleted;

These truths, now, were stated.

@Th3Mirr0r

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Poems – part 1.

Around my head they bob and weave
As all around me I perceive
The rustling leaves the trickling stream
The scented air and the sunlit scene
To look around the woodland glade
As the trials of life are allowed to fade
To think of nought but what I see
A falling leaf, a quivering tree

Many years ago it was all like this
We had the time we were at peace
But all that changed with this new age
Time sped up with each turning page
I yearn to be in yesterday
It now seems oh so far away
When we all had time for everyone
And looked forward to the rising sun

To set a pace we’d all enjoy
Each man and woman, girl and boy
To love thy neighbour as thyself
To lend a hand not keep to oneself
But the wheel of life rolls on and on
As we all head for the setting sun
So I take my chances so I don’t miss
My times of solitude and bliss

G. L. Ellison

ã 06/11/1995

This poem was written in the style of Graeme Edges’ “Dream” from the LP of the Moody Blues On the Threshold of a Dream I hope you like it!

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Reminisence.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Sun rise… sun set…..

Lord Jesus Christ,
let me feel
thy precious, holy spirit
from head to heel.
Lead me through the paths
of which I may go.
Please, Lord, you lead the way
so that I may follow.

Lord Jesus Christ,
send blessings from above,
and send peace through my household
by sending the holy dove.
Guide me through this world
and keep sin from me away,
so I may better serve you
through each and everyday.

Lord Jesus Christ,
I ask you once again
to forgive me for my sins
ans deliver me from pain.
I love you,God, my father,
and still can’t understand why
that you took the place of THIS sinner
and bore the cross to die.

Lord Jesus Christ,
help me to understand
that I am here for a reason
and that’s why you made me who I am.
Chastise me, Oh loving God,
when you feel the time is right,
and when I’ve lost my way back home
shine me a heavenly light.

Lord Jesus Christ,
I pray unto thee
to search my heart thoroughly
as I give you the key.
I end this prayer with love
and tears streaming down my face.
Lord, thank you for the cross,
and your sweet Amazing Grace.

Amen.

Written by: Miranda Patterson (A.K.A Heart 4 Poetry)
December 30,2009.

Author Notes: These are my true feelings about my Lord God and Saviour, and if you have not met him yet, now is the right time. Call upon his name and he shall surley answer thee. Although I am in my teenage years, I know that what I feel is real and you can feel it too if you just Call upon his name.
God Bless you!

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at My Personal Prayer Poem.

(From when optimism shined, and felt no need for second sight);

And contain it in the formula, that I’m preparing now,

I can climb the trees in modern woods, and never break a bough.

Should I snatch a scrap of Paris, clasping firmly with my grip

(So the fancy streets and shining lights would validate the trip);

And include that with more images collated in this art,

Then the collage of experiences needs no counterpart.

When I borrow just a tune from one musician’s repertoire

(Such that self-expression of another touches my radar);

And it’s added to the inspirations daydreams might compile,

I can move on, with a melody to motivate my smile.

I might revel in a chapter of the nicest story told

(Where the narrative has reached its peak, and calls for semibold);

And incorporate that into memories, gathered up, to date.

Its invigorating influence might prompt what I’ll create.

If I use a pinch of this, a dab of that, and shape the clay,

(I’ll unite my favourites into what I’m mixing up today).

Such a cocktail of connections would mean I’d be nine tenths there.

But that ten percent is vital; since it’s: knowing that you’d care.

Und du hörst das Wort ich sage; aber du verstehst mir nicht.

Ob in English oder Deutsch, ich doch vertraue mein Gedicht.

Gehst du Osten, Westen, Norden, Süden (Flugzeug oder Floss),

Wirdst du finden was du suchst, wenn du besuchst an meinem Schloss?††

Translations:

† Collective in the Castle

††And you hear the word I say, but you don’t understand me.

Whether in English or German, I still believe my poem.

If you go East, West North or South (by plane or raft),

Will you find what you’re seeking, if you visit my castle?

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Pieces of Where and When (Sammelwort in dem Schloss†).

im a poet

when i was young and in my prime the world was new and so unkind in this world we all shall pass, working and working trying to by some cheap gas to travel the country side far and near, to  go visit relatives and people  we hold dear.
through the interstates and road’s we shall go twsiting and turning to where  we don;t know , life is about travel or  maybe staying at home, might be with someone else or could be alone.
how many days shall we toil  in the mess just to pay bill’s or buy a new dress maybe some slipper’s  or  just a new car. why do we do it ? why not just say no! and walk where we all need to go, why not just ride a bike or roller skates or just hitch a ride to go where we may.
if you stop to look, and listen a bit, you would see that your money is all spent buying and paying for things you never see and ending up broke  just like me.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at .

or how the PRAIRIE wind…..goes singing by!

I will not pause an hour again to build
A castle….in the far dim land of DREAM-
Or how the wind flows ever whispering by-
Or bright with GOLDEN LEAVES
THE OLD TREES LEAN!

I think there is an ANGEL very near-
Who tells me how to weave each word….and line:
Then we together sing this SILLYSONG-
Or play it on this Old Violin of mine!

I can not climb again the prairie hills-
Or walk for miles, or dow some dusty lane-
So let me KEEP this only land I know….
Of stars, and gleeming sky……
AND…..FAR OFF RAIN!

Thats as fine a poem as I can write… I didn’t write it, the ANGEL DID….as I say in my song. If its good enough for her, its GOOD ENOUGH FOR ANYBODY…..even John F. Kennedy, only HE is dead. Woner how long it will be before they SHOOT BOBBY?

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Sillysong.

AND, RUN THE BOYS IN BLUE!

He used to follow the race tracks-
You would always see him there-
An he had one good Pal, and true,
THEY CALLED HER THE DENTON MARE!

They were a SET OF COWBOYS!
Had WHISKEY on the brain-
On there way back to TEXAS they robbed
THE UNION PACIFIC TRAIN!

On their way back from Texas-
They……ROBBED THE U.P. TRAIN!

A couple PALS go shot that night-
(Just so the fight was fair)
But……Sam rode into DENTON,
A GALLOPING HIS MARE!

At last the brave sam met his end-
And…that was the end of HIM-
He was shot down to pay a debt
BY A CROOKED MAN NAMED “JIM”!

This is true Jim hd borrowed a lot of GOLD from Sam and took this mean way of paying it back, by shooting sam!

Some think he’s gone to Heaven…..
Theres none of us can say-
But if he’s gone to the OTHER PLACE
I’ll meet him there some day!

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Cowby Poem Sam Bass.