I panted after diary
when I stood yes
as but a Lad
but you see
boys don't do that
only girls do, you see?
My Journal Called Days End
I jot But a few words,
framing
how day carried me
in scent
diary, journal
name means little
to me
Tis my heart and my
testament
scribbled daily arrayed
I panted after diary
when I stood yes
as but a Lad
but you see
boys don't do that
only girls do, you see?
though I felt high keen
the injustice
my tender heart
to bear
I protested in silence
my dissent a
hushed prayer
I then one day
awaked awoken
afresh and anew
I glittered in passion
as I swayed as
soft dew
I raced back in
times face
standing deliberate
in my way
I crashed through her
boundaries
As a lite passing ray
I found where I'd
left her
my boyhood heart
sitting in grace
I rushed quickly
to embrace her
my lost longing
and grace
united in passion
now bursting tall
in colored blaze
I wept as I sat under
the mantle
lifelong lost
that once draped over
the back
of a Lad long ago
my heart now aglow
in a dark ember gleam
I etched to my diary
my journal,
one the same
I sketched but a
few words
in remembrance of me
but daily she
calls me
yes, my diary
she
so I named it my
diary
my journey
days end
I mark how
my heart walked
in fashion and form
whist I ponder
my diary,
my heart now
set in store
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Reviews of "My Journal Called Days End"
Reviewed by Malachy MacFarlane (Reader)
Reviewed on April 10, 2003
I see you have even left Dani speechless, now THAT seannachie, is not an easy thing to do!
When I read your words I imagine boundless conversations over glasses of malt whiskey; late friends, old tales to new ears and the gentle meanderings of time. Mal.
Wonderful poetry...I like your style...this is really great!
Reviewed by Birdie
Reviewed on April 9, 2003
I enjoyed the read ....thank you for sharing
Reviewed by Dove (Reader)
Reviewed on April 9, 2003
Great write..Rodney, check your message board..
Reviewed by coni lea harris (Reader)
Reviewed on April 8, 2003
a journal is like a friend that will never tell secerts, just make sure the worng person doesn't get hold of it,,,I've learned when I began writing/keeping a jurnal/dairy, things did not seem as dark, and it really does seem you have a personal peaceful feeling, wnhen you burned the midnight oil. Then of course you always have the "dog".
Very creative, not sure if it's more creative, or art whimisical by the hearth, a glowing fire, scenery,,,
WHISPERS OF THE HEART is artist and author J. Allen Wilson's second book of poetry.It can be autographed and shipped within 48 hours of order. NO LONGER AVAILABLE.
This collection of poetry addresses the nature of time, reflections on the natural world, the difficulty of loss,
contemporary social issues and gratitude for life.
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When I read your words I imagine boundless conversations over glasses of malt whiskey; late friends, old tales to new ears and the gentle meanderings of time. Mal.
Very creative, not sure if it's more creative, or art whimisical by the hearth, a glowing fire, scenery,,,
I Salute the Author of "My Journal Called Days End".
Andre Emmanuel Bendavi ben_YEHU