You and Me

Pointless, endless, helpless hopes,
And dreams so dead and dying.
This life has turned out as a joke,
And now has left me crying.

Christmas trees so sparkling,
Meals on empty tables.
Memories brought back to me,
Dangled by a cable.

Used as bait to tantalize,
My memories are somehow sad.
I look away, try to forget,
But can’t forget the times we had.

So happy were we, way back then,
When life was simple, pure, and perfect.
Times have changed, been rearranged,
Now life is as we left it.

Lost, uncared for, and unkempt
Were we when we died so young.
Together were we in that moment,
Then gone were we with songs unsung.

We will not be together now,
But alone we now will be.
Perhaps we could have been something,
Together, you and me.

No Need To Atone For Dreams

Love is written on her lips,
Blood dripping from her fingertips,
She quietly, and with grace, slips
Into her world of witty quips,
Where whispered words are butterflies,
And none of her can be denied
By the evil, angry mind
Of Society.
Troubles gone, her heart un-torn,
Her mind, and thoughts, and soul, reborn.
Forgetting the hate
Of Society’s harsh way,
She feels it slipping from her heart,
She never again will be apart
Or shut behind the seams, atone
For her troubled dreams, alone.

No Fear

Brightly lit
And brilliantly colored
Windy landscapes
Capture the imagination.
Parties of clouds
Linger around,
Even the grey
Face no degradation.
Twisted tree roots
Mottle the ground,
Rendering the paths bound.
Fates and fortunes
Fall together
Into an unending state.
Chaos reigns,
As death we feign,
While some disdain,
Bring forth the rain,
I have no fear.


Lost in darkness, sea and sky.
Now my memories have died.
Now I know I may have lied
When I told them I’d come home.
I know my fate, and, like a stone,
It crushes through my flesh and bone.
I know my faults, and I will own
I’ve lost my thoughts, and with them, my soul.
It drifts away with things untold,
Fastened by threads I’m left to pull,
Until, letting go, I may behold
And may meet my Maker, bold,
For my small hands in His He holds,
In His city, with streets of gold.

And Dreaming Of Her

He was
Surrounded by dreariness,
And filled with weariness
Of the deepest kind.
Clover and lamb’s ear
Gathered for his dear,
His dearest thought and memory
From a far-off dream’s sweet clime.
Sweet cold well-water flows
And then he finally knows
And realizes the full length of his dream.
She was only a vision
From wishful thinking.
Sea-stairs are creaking,
Mercifully sinking.
Now he’s gone to this world,
Wandering in monologues of
A lost attitude.

©The Wild Poesy, 2012-2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.


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