Words Much Like Poetry

Andromeda, Gustave Doré Part of the collection Dues for the Repose: From Words Much Like Poetry  by Wamuhu Mwaura "   Near Joppa, guarded by a monster of the Earthshaker’s lending , I left her chained without hope—for Perseus is long dead , abandoned to oblivion by the fickle beliefs of men —  " [ Kindle Edition for instant reading. ]

which should I lend credence? the song in my head or the beating of the heart, for the path to choose in quest for answers, the puzzle of life is just a cryptic jumble, with no pieces fitting together I have lost my thread I cannot find my way back the grail I seek, eludes me in this labyrinth I know the words they sing in the head, with stubborn persistence but the tongue is tied to silence will the eye behold heaven, the angel of surreal dreams? will the hand touch silk, the warmth of delayed company? the die is not yet cast the forecast cannot come forth the cup is half full, it leaks equally with every pouring in the stillness of day, an expectation shall brew there will either be a storm, or a rainbow bathed in a gentle hush

the stony bump has me reeling back to reality ... I stare at the path as it disappears behind me ... as I turn and look forth ... I see myself again; holding the reins to the tireless horses ... I am driver and passenger both ... the dark path behind ... echoes the even darker path ahead ... I sit alone—where I go, I know not, but I vaguely remember whence I came ... the only sound is the rhythmic trot of hooves ... like the tick of time pulling me towards an inevitable fate ... shadows of the past pass by so fast ... I throw my hand out in an effort to reach back, against a shadowy tree I graze my finger, in an effort to make my thoughts linger ... another stony bump ... I am thrown back to the wooden seat ... forced to look ahead and endure the everlasting trot ... from the Tireless Horses --------------------------------------------------- New From: Trapped in time series by M. Davies

This poem was written for my mother, to be read at a graduation for school counselors. It was meant to reiterate the importance of the seminars they had attended, and their purpose towards those who are young and may be lost. today is born a part, of a whole to help fill in the hole, in our humanity a hope to the dusk and darkness of them among us a seed to be planted, among them a seed of hope, to bring to life the reason for being a hand held out, to those in despair a whisper, one of hope so that they may rise with the dawn, shed their despair, and start living again having found that delicate thread they had lost, in the cruel labyrinth, that is life and therefore, we may smile as we know we are: the part the hope the seed and the hand at the dawn of life

upon this highway of assumed privilege I walk , not yet fully realized, the miracle of my existence grace accorded me from birth , a richness in poverty bequeathed. I watch as earth wealth souls hurry past me and stumble, they look to me with eternal pain my feet are bare and cracked, I curse my lack of treasure and never notice the velvet path laid for me I watch vanity filled souls stagger past and fall into endless chasms, yet I curse my lack of charm and attraction I long for these empty fatal pleasures. my vision is veiled, I fail to see those who walk upright are crippled, their souls imperiled they ride a juggernaut to impending doom one from which painful lashes and love have held me from the path is snatched from beneath when an epiphany opens my eyes to the world and realize I must now build my own path lest I stumble to the sidewalks of lackluster I realize I must rescue the fallen in my path and rekindle their passion for living share in the sheer joy of lack, and its mi...