Words Much Like Poetry

I am one day older .. maybe wiser, maybe not the days are a bit colder ... time has put me on the spot right there at the crossing some say its just a day like any other, who cares for me though, as it may its not the same, i dare say boldly; at this crossing so much time has gone, what have I done with it? no idea, as I stand alone, in this blistering heat, at the center of this crossing I don't see much to live for, I take life day by bloody day! Work and then work some more, For tomorrow, I really can't say. Why am I at this crossing? Here at this four point divide, all my life's actions culminate here, Its time again for me to decide, where next my life to steer, A choice to be made; at this crossing! so these are my options, left, right, back, forth, I contemplate my actions, and whether they're worth, to choose from this crossing strangely I am inclined to the left I feel I am on the wrong parallel maybe my true straight lie...

her hair blew wildly in the wind the tiny cars seemed like ants how could this have happened? too bad no one can hear my rants he promised to be faithful right from that very rainy day he first gave me an eyeful I remember very well, it was a Thursday I didn't mind that he was married or that he had two beautiful kids I was intrigued by the way he carried himself. thus began the affair, hot and steamy I have never been so so happy this dark handsome man so dreamy O how I loved him! after three long months he finally left her I thought this was now it! damn! after fifteen years for him it was over we will now be together! DAMN! ------ tears down her cheeks, her eyes were red, we met a week after, to have something to eat and she was broken, inside; she, she just bled "as you make your bed, you shall sleep in it!" and she turned, and like that she fled! she had lost, HE LOVED ME! I had won, I was the one he wanted, this was love, i didn't care that she was on a mourn, I...

Poetry, not just words, but a state of mind Are we aware of this self expression To paper through pen our thought we bind Are we just seeking to make an impression? Or letting loose our imagination ... Poetry, not just words, but a deep feeling Do we know that it comes from the heart? Carefully chosen words, rife with meaning Its important even before you start ... to let loose your imagination! Poetry, not just words, but a message Of what we want everyone to know creative words, whose meaning we envisage to the poets' mind we must go to merge yours with their imagination. Poetry, not just words, but life itself with a force to uplift and enlighten to give hope for others and yourself for the days you seek to brighten take your pen now, merge your heart and mind and bring forth your feelings and thoughts Remember, its not just words but POETRY!

Staring at the darkening sky My mind was wondering why This had to happen to us .. happen to us ... happen to us ... Without a sign you let out your fury Many are dead now, thousands in injury We beg you please forgive us .. forgive us ... forgive us ... We cry now for the many that are gone buried beneath the earth and stone In sadness and mourning the tears fall .. and fall ... and fall ... So harsh has been your punishment anger your many a lash meant maybe a lesson, maybe another chance .. another chance ... another chance ... Mercy mother earth ... mercy please. Image: UN Photo/Logan Abassi, Haiti earthquake damage, http://www.flickr.com/photos/37913760@N03/ / CC BY 2.0 In memory of those lost in Haiti

A revisit to this brilliant song poetry. This is from the song "Late Goodbye" in our headlights, staring, bleak, beer cans, deer's eyes on the asphalt, underneath, our crushed plans and my lies lonely street signs, powerlines, they keep on flashing, flashing by and we keep driving into the night it's a late goodbye, such a late goodbye and we keep driving into the night it's a late goodbye your breath, hot upon my cheek, and we crossed, that line you made me strong, when I was feeling weak, and we crossed, that one time screaming stop signs, staring wild eyes, keep on flashing, flashing by and we keep driving into the night it's a late goodbye, such a late goodbye and we keep driving into the night it's a late goodbye the devil grins from ear to ear when he sees the hand he's dealt us points at your flaming hair, and then we're playing hide and seek I can't breathe easy here, less our trail's gone cold behind us till' in the john mirror...

haaa ha a ha a ha a haa haaa ha a ha a ha a haa ... up and down the street at Ashmol, just before the midnight toll, her face pale, in her long flowing shroud, this night in the sky is nay a cloud, her deathly eyes cast up to heaven, this year of our Lord, 1737. haaa ha a ha a ha a haa haaa ha a ha a ha a haa ... she hums to her master Luthier Stradiv, a sad dirge of the messiah on Christmas eve, in the moonlight with a graceful stride, dances the widow who was Luthier's bride, tears like a river flow down her cheek, the dark of death lends an eerie streak. haaa ha a ha a ha a haa haaa ha a ha a ha a haa ... in sombre notes is the music into the night, as the messiah strums the " Song of the light " to those who see her, shrouded in grief, and beg the heavens to grant her relief, as she cries for the last time; again ne'er, in Ashmol the messiah's prison lies forever. haaa ha a ha a ha a haa haaa ha a ha a ha a haa .. goes the tune to the messiah's dirge . ---...

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