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Posts Tagged ‘Life’

Sorrow

In the deepest recess

Where shadows hide,

The faded memories.

What tales are told

And reconstructed,

Tinged with sorrow.

Good-byes never said,

Nor ever wanted.

Both for living and dead.

That place that haunts us.

 

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Years of My Youth

They call it a crisis, middle age

But I see no crisis, just history.

The years to go equal those past

And now, with knowledge

We know it can’t forever last.

.

There have been heartbreaks, pain

And the years have begun to etch

Permanently upon the edges of my face.

But I can still look back, with just little sadness

At the years of my youth,

When the sun filled my heart with gladness.

.

The days of the impossible

Because there was no limit to my heart.

Chasing butterflies and other creatures

Or listening to the distant lark.

Laying in the grass and having not a care.

Waiting for the night, fireflies

And the moon’s luminous glare.

.

Yes, the days of dreams and possibilities

That once colored the years of my youth.

And though those dreams still live,

Nestled deep in my heart.

I find they are a little farther away

And years have grown us apart.

.

No, my friends, I tell you true,

I am not in crisis because I have aged

Though I am sure it looks it to you.

I merely think back longingly

At all that has come to pass.

The generations I have missed

And the dreams, yes, the dreams,

That have passed by a little too fast.

 

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On Feathered Wings

On feathered wings,

The old year sails

Into the darkness of history.

And I stare at the cold sky

Star twinkling.

The majestic awe of insignificance.

The change where no change has happened,

Except perchance my own time.

Another few grains through

An hourglass.

And I know mine grow shorter.

But my hope remains

Like time itself,

Eternal.

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Open Windows

There are no secrets here

And you can look right through.

Transparency for all to see.

No agenda lurks behind in gloom,

No second guessing.

What you see is what you get.

There will be no games.

There is no agenda.

Just the barren truth,

Because it is free.

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Because I am of the past

I dream of quiet pastoral scenes,

With a sense of nobility and satisfaction.

Because I am of the past,

I long for quiet hours of politeness,

A sense of purpose and respect.

Because I am of the past,

I prefer the rustic country

Where my forefathers dug the dirt,

And the faint echoes of history live.

Because I am of the past,

They tell me I hate progress

But the truth is progress is what I seek.

Because I am of the past,

They assume I am inept, slow, or backwards,

But I see more than they know.

Because I am of the past,

I will live from the lessons learned,

Not rush to repeat the mistakes.

For the past teaches,

And the wise learn.

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Looking Back

Cobwebs clutter the old window sill,

And the door sits slightly ajar.

The window glass, long since lost

And the porch spindles are worn and scarred.

Old leaded paint has peeled,

Once white, has now turned mostly grey.

But I still hear the laughter

And feel the sunshine where I played.

At Grandma’s knee in the rocking chair,

Or tugging on the worn apron strings.

Catching fireflies on summer evenings

Or singing songs about forgotten things.

The old cook stove is long since gone,

But I still smell the crisp apple pie.

Or the gouge in the old stair rail

From the time I thought I’d fly.

So I stopped by today,

To remember.

No, I didn’t have a good reason why.

And I know its true,

You can’t go home again…

But that doesn’t mean I won’t try.

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Walking in the moonlight

On shores so distant to my heart,

Where daffodils and daisies bloomed

And I was free of worries.

Where when the morning broke

The shore filled with a light scented breeze,

And where the shadows never clung

Now just idle memories.

For the night now sails the sea

And the shore has washed away.

No flowers bloom amongst old haunts.

Except, perchance, on a lonesome grave.

 

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