Pitfalls in Life and Little White Lies
On cobblestone streets, beneath buttermilk skies,
it's the pitfalls in life and little white lies-
Restrained by dreams, and the fantasies of the muse-
Spiraling out of control; Deadened by excuse
Stairways to Heaven; Sinkholes to Hell,
Angels with wings or Satan's black spell-
The muse it whispers in voices low-
Poets cry out from somewhere below
Lava flows; Peaceful waters flood,
Souls swept away, in rivers of blood-
The muted speaks; The deaf they hear-
and the muse gives name to his every fear
Whimpers and whines; Scrolling pains,
slicing to the bone through swollen veins-
Rejoice; Regress; Reinstate your cause-
Live in the moment; Feel the world pause
Moans and groans; The poet died,
The muse thrives on visions supplied-
Tomorrow's words invisible and denied-
for the dreams of the poet; suffocated and dried
On cobblestone streets, beneath buttermilk skies,
it's the pitfalls in life and little white lies
© Lisa Hilbers
5/11/05
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Take care,
Sherry
You are a master with flow, with unforced, deeply felt rhythm and rhyme. In fact, your ability to rhyme is more like singing. I so admire how you can bring such subject matter to poetry, yet temper it with beauty, which is the essence of your writings. What a marvel you are. katy xox
Love Tinka
(((HUGS))) and much love, your friend in burleson, karen lynn. :D
Exceptional emotion in this searing write--you've captured how I've felt as of late in ways I can't describe as well as you did. BRAVA!
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla. *tears*
Jack
Felix