Two Sides

A Smile.

Beautiful.

Full of love.

Not a care for

The world and its

Rules. Like the soft,

Gentle summer breeze on

The leaves of the dry oak;

Like the morning sun over the

Fresh patches of snow; like a hum

From the lips of a mother, singing a

Lullaby. That is her symbol of prosperity.

Stuck on her eyes, a drop, singing a

Different song. Caged, like a hum:

Dull. Trying to rise over the

Red winter, like a dry oak,

Standing by a breeze on

A chilly day. A soft

Cry, stifled. It's

Never cared for.

Full of pain.

Sad truth.

A Tear.

Just Like Death

A day before you succeed


Or you fail, is just like death.


Not that I have ever died


Nor have I ever the need


But if it were possible


To breathe and die at the same


Time, this would be close indeed.






A day before you succeed


Or you fail, is just like death.


Stuck in my throat, a dry tongue


Like a homeless man, in need


Of shelter, scrambles for air


Disabled, like a little bird


Flutters. Desperate, indeed.






A day before you succeed


Or you fail, is just like death.


Cold hands, colder feet, like ice


Clinging to you with the need


Of a new born, yearning for


Warmth. Hold it, or let it go


A difficult choice, indeed.






A day before you succeed


Or you fail, is just like death.


A wild dream that will not end


The knowledge of what you need


And what you might not receive


Scampering for direction


A furious frenzy, indeed.






A day before you succeed


Or you fail, is just like death.


Like gushing waves in the sea


Reach out to the shore in need


Out of desire, desperate


To feel the gray, rocky banks


Hopeful, hopeless. Pain indeed.






A day before you succeed


Or you fail, is just like death.


Much like an ugly defeat,


Only worse. An aching need


Of achievement and distress


Of misfortune, amplified.


A tribulation, indeed.






A day before you succeed


Or you fail, is just like death.


Forgotten at its outcome;


A day I will ever need-


A test of my endurance.


It sweetens my downfall and


Strengthens my progress. Indeed.

That Is What They Think

Adorned with beauty

Of nature, youth and wealth

She walks through the night

In a manner of stealth.



Glowing cheeks, glowing

Eyes of silver and gold

Like a fugitive

Neither shy, neither bold.



Like tender petals

Her fingers holding on

Close to her bosom

The little one; new born.



Walking, trotting on

A determined face, stern

With fury, perhaps

That she cannot discern.



Beside the river

She stands, thinking aloud,

"Should I, should I not?"

A whisper; not too loud.



If the world forgave

As the Lord does, there would

Be less to forget

Less to fear, less to brood.



In tears, she bends forth

Leaving the sign of sin

On the river bank

Her sleeping, dreaming son.



To wealth, to beauty

She runs, taking shelter

Covering, quickly

The hurt and the swelter.



Thus will be buried

A deed of shame, for shame

To save what exists

The nascent will take blame.



The world will see her

When the sunshine comes on

And noone will know

There was a boy, new born.



A beautiful life

Of which joys she can drink

She looks so happy

But that is what they think.

Alone

Walking, not knowing where
Stumbling over the surprised stones
My opaque eyes look into the dark
And stare.
Groping for the ground
Fumbling for the cracks I have to fix
My arms stretched out in front
And my legs, bound.
Flinching in fear at a far call
Streaming sweat on my shivering silhouette
My path betrays me again
And I fall.
Reaching out, I rise, in rue
Wanting though to wait awhile
My heart aching, pleading to stop
And bid adieu.

But he bides somewhere, beyond the dark and stones
Far away, in a land too foreign to fathom
I shall trudge towards him, again and again
Alone.