Slave

January 6, 2013

Never let them get to you
let your passion burn.
Even though they shackle you,
it’s what you choose to feel that’s true;
keep your mind away from them
and deep inside, you shall have freedom.

Keep on keeping on,
dance your dance,
sing your song,
move your merry self along.

But resolve grows thin and short
and time is tough and long.

You let them take your soul
so you belong
and never look them in the eye
never yours to reason why
just do as you are told
getting busy growing old.

Get on getting on,
play your game,
sharpen your tongue,
move your wicked self along.

Oh how time has weakened you,
when you were once so strong.

Time to Grow

May 10, 2012

Sand

March 21, 2012

I am the sand in your hourglass,
the sway of your pendulum;
I am the shadow on your sundial,
your past, your yesterday, your then.
I am your forgotten dreams,
your hazy memories,
the friends you left behind
and your estranged family.
I am the times you laughed,
the times you cried,
your loves and your fights.
I am your first kiss
and your last breath.
I am death.

xix. Old

April 8, 2011

I, Old Man,
rock like a fishing boat on stormy seas.
By way of steadying myself,
I walk
with a cane
and sit
at every opportunity
like a baby just learning to walk.
The time
passes
at far too fast a pace.

 

 

Inspired by this discussion thread on @PoetsHereAndNow‘s poetry forum.

xiv. I Believe

March 23, 2011

I believe in a thing called Time,
I believe in a past I can’t repeat,
I believe in a future I’m
not of the power to cheat.

I believe in a thing called Life,
I believe in here and now,
I believe that we’re alive,
to change the world somehow.

I believe in a thing called I,
I believe in mind and soul,
I believe that one should try,
To maintain self control.

I believe in a thing called Love,
I believe in you and me,
I believe Love is enough,
for two to live life happily.

 

 

Inspired by The Darkness’s ‘I Believe in a Thing Called Love’.

xxxviii. Time

March 1, 2011

Time came crawling in the room,
It found him lying there in bed.
Speaking to him from the dark:
“I’m here for you”, Time said.

As Time drew nearer to a close,
He felt a creeping desperation,
Silently he prayed for more,
A chance to find salvation.

But Time responded curtly, “No,
I’m here for you.”
He begged that Time slow down,
But knew his was through.

He wished he’d been more wise with Time,
He wished he used it well,
He wished he’d treated people better,
Wishes drowned by tolling bell.

And as the chiming grew,
So loud he could not think,
He felt his body weaken,
Felt his spirit sink.

He felt his soul take one long dive,
Into a never ending fall.
“I’m here for you,” Time said,
“Just as I’ll come for all.”

vii. The Lake

January 7, 2011

The young man’s idle thoughts begin to drift,
As he lies snoozing in the Summer breeze.
His daydream brings him to a lake, adrift,
Through calm cool waters underneath the trees.

It’s such a long time since he came down here,
And yet his memory remains unchanged.
He used to sit and write songs on the pier,
Before he and his love became estranged.

Before they fell apart, the lake was theirs.
It felt to them like an entire world.
Down at the lake they forgot their despairs.
Down at the lake a million dreams unfurled.

The still green reservoir seemed so remote,
As if God made it for them to explore.
She sat beside him in the wooden boat;
His oars sent ripples out toward the shore.

They’d lie together on their private strand,
With branches stretched above like nature’s eaves.
They’d stay that way for hours, hand in hand,
Just listening to wind dance through the leaves.

The icy water lapping at their toes,
They’d hold each other close and plan their lives,
Back then not once did they suppose,
That what they had would maybe not survive.

But now those days are long since left behind,
And days, weeks, months, so many years have passed.
It’s true that sometimes she crosses his mind;
He never did quite let go of that past.

 

His memories of her are weak at best;
He never really sees her face these days.
At most he conjures up her silhouette,
The details lost to Time’s uncaring haze.

Sometimes at night he’ll glimpse her chocolate eyes,
Or wake to flashes of her moistened lips;
He’ll swear he hears the echo of her sighs,
Or feels her body pressed against his hips.

But morning casts a shadow over her,
A curtain through which she can not be reached,
What memories he’s found begin to blur,
Like photographs the spiteful sun has bleached.

But there is one thing he remembers well,
One memory that time will never take,
One thing forgetfulness can not dispel
He knows that he will always have the lake.

He never dares to go there anymore,
Incase it is not as it used to be;
It needs to stay just like it was before –
He only walks its banks in memory.