A demon came to sit on me awhile Speaking body language like it was French But only in curses stealing my smile Pulling me out of the game for the trench With only the escape of poetry Giving rise to my highly-mannered style Because I am screaming though silently
Those who suffer most become the most kind Helping us across the timebending Nile Then on to ford the Jordan of the mind Their dreams like corpses floating in the mud I cringe to cross with a shudder to find The river was of human seed and blood I know who carried me and whom to thank
Dark river demon I beg you to leave Just as I beg the sun to rise and shine Suffering is that which makes me believe That of all places one of them is mine Beyond this river bloody dark and dank That I exist as much as anyone A blossom from the barrel of a gun
'A blossom from the barrel of a gun'. This is a beautiful poem Steven - many feelings to this one - and i relate very much with this line, thank you, Nicky xx
I'm so sorry for your loss, Steven. I wrote "The Final Journey" the night before my father's funeral. It's a tough time but you have expressed your pain well. Remember the good times and try to smile.
Welcome!
The poems in this beautifully bound book are a result of over twenty years of observations. Observations of the world around us and on the telecommunications network. All of the hate, love, heroism, disasters, and those who help.
Beautif
A further collection of poems, many from years in the Middle East, but also the California San Francisco and Central Coast areas (Santa Cruz, Carmel, Big Sur, Berkeley, etc.).
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So true. Great write.
God Bless,
Lew
Steven, I'm so sorry for your loss...words fail me. If you need to talk, message board me...
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla. :(