Only in the Dark

Endless Dreaming.
Let the curtain fall before the end.
Save me from embarrassment,
The witnesses to failing self.
Hiding in the open my dreaming reveals.
Written in to shape my face,
like an ink pen carving creases,
my dreaming.
My endless dreaming end already.

Seasons

Of seasons long ago,

unbeknownst to me.

I long to see

                With field of aching

after long hours of raking.

                The apricot tree, eating

the fruit thereof for need.

Chariots and carriage pulled

by the chestnut horse, and

Plowed following in track.

                Hog high fences rot

and that’s all I need to believe

                In these people of an older time,

I long to be one of them.

Working up the sum

to pay for family with produce.

                Living with and on the land

                Not the foolish man upon the sand.

A foundation of stone and built upon Him.

Without the pressures of politics,

yet still carrying some.

                The time of peace and plenty is yet to come.

As I look unto the son to come again

With fire upon his wings.

And the bounteous angels sing

Their praises to their God and King.

This is the day yet come

I long to see.

Its peace and longing shall always be

A treasured thought imbedded in my head

until I am laid down and dead.

Of Death I Wonder

-Sorry It has been a while, midterms and school work have slowed me down. Hope you like this poem!-

Life grips at my wounded youth,

tearing me back and forth.

My soul treading lightly

at the precipice of heaven.

Subject to the wiles of Death.

Death carries me, like a

New mother and I her babe,

Home to heights before unreachable,

Unattainable by man alone.

Birds chitter their soft chirps.

My guides, my sentinels.

Their music a melody

to wandering ears.

I loved life,

Now I wonder.

What is greater?

Death drops my weary body.

I tumble down the trodden path.

Back to life and reality,

With Men tugging at me.

Wrenching me back.

My shirt is ripped,

Torn asunder,

I simply sag

unable to lift myself.

I am alive, but

Picturing what was ahead

Upon the path of death.

I am aware now and back.

I see Black.

A bag too little to be needed.

I cry, reaching for him.

He is gone.

My son.

He’s carried up

the same path

with birds and

wonderful melodies.

I know my ‘little one’ found

His home,

farther than I traveled.

I must wait to know,

but in my heart I already do.

First Attempted Hiku

Cherry blossoms drop.

The biggest leaf will fall too.

Who can see it all?

The little bird sings.

The meanest of the dogs bark.

Who can hear it all?

The planets will spin,

The cresent moons orbiting.

Can we feel it all?

Objects big and small,

Monumental and tiny.

Can we comprehend?

The world goes around,

We stand still, never moving.

Could it be our felt?

Speculating laws,

Nature’s laws are in action,

And will never change.

Nature doesn't judge,

and it will never plays games.

It’s strict, unchanging.

Nature gives freedom.

Trees can change their color. Red.

But it all returns.

Nature governs all.

I must wonder, does it rest.

I may never know.

Who is nature’s God?

He must rule high in heaven,

and is kind to us.

Peace

Peace is found

amidst achievement, 

Self-succeeding, 

but not the kind

to get gain, because

then that’s the focus.

No, the kind when

surprise comes after

Self-success, then

you'll find peace.

In the confines

of your competence

you'll see potential,

to achieve, to be

Great, Greatness,

but still that’s

not peace, because

then you are the focus.

Only when coupled

with giving, the

lesson taught to

the young, can there

be peace. 
A peace that lasts.

In the giving of

Greatness and results,

you'll see peace,

of a kind that

can not fade.

Mother's Raiment

For times when dreams are

All but false realities,

How does freedom come?

In the silent whispering of kind hearts?

A mother’s kind, a mother’s love.

Mothers ought to go

Straight to heaven,

If they are true.

A mother’s love.

Through insufferable conflict,

She still loves,

Holy and wholly.

Then, in what Raiment

Does she travel?

She is not dressed

In perfect gown,

But in anything

Lying around.

Her glory not

To be found.

Unless you hear

A child play.

Then, oh who

Is to say, she

Has no cause,

No purpose?

To this I say.

She is clothed

In eternal raiment.

Glory, for her honor

And kindness shared.

She has built a

Mansion not so near,

But far away.

Her life here, not to be

All glam and glory,

But I have a feeling her life after

Might be more holy.

Brighter than most could dream to see.

She will eternally live with me!

Self Imposed Wall

We are good at

Rejecting emotion

And hiding in it.

We are but a mirror

Reflecting what we receive.

The world rejects us.

It hurts.

In place, barriers erected

Surrounding our heart.

Nothing in, nothing out.

Can I love or is

It in opposition to

My inner command?

Brick upon brick.

Nothing in, and

Nothing out.

That’s how it will be.

Built up, built down.

Just never broke down!

How can I Love,

When I can’t

Love myself?

Away! Away!

Be Away!

I push so hard,

You won’t

See what I see.

It can’t be.

Can’t be.

No hope.

No Love.

No Faith.

 No real emotion.

All is faked,

But doubt.

My emotions

Are in uproar

Behind the restricted

Dominion of

My self-IMPOSED wall.

I am the Dictator

Killer of my

Dreams and hopes.

-I duck my head

Near mirrors and

Cringe upon my seeing me.-

WHO AM I?

Can you see?

I can’t and

It’s drowning me.

Although I can’t

See through the

Opalescent Transcendence

I see you

And you seem to

See me!

Who are you?

You have become

My hope,

My faith.

My Love

And real emotion

Belongs to thee.

You helped me see me.

You gently hold

Me and break

Down my wall.

And when you see,

You smile back at me.

My Healer,

My God

And King.

I now see me.

My heart, full

For what you’ve

Done.

My Love.

My God.

My King.

Of Little Dreamers

Hope is fleeting

Especially in dreams.

They come, they go.

Sometimes never to come again.

What causes us to dream?

Or wake?

Especially when the dream is nicer.

Little babies dream like us.

Maybe even the same dreams.

They must,

Because they smile while asleep.

Fighting Death

In the darkest of her widowed light.

The shadows plunge with all their might

At her child sick in heart

To strike his brow and drag him off.

The shadows laugh as they go saying

“It is late. It is fate. Never to be changed.”

Harsh in sound and demonic in style they end.

She chases into that laughter

Casting down the devil and his knights.

Her childs hers and hers alone.

Not fate. Not anything, will change her will.

She'll have her son - forever, always.

The Red Planes

In the air, oh so far away

Little red planes had flown our way.

When they were close we could see

the little dark crosses on their wings.                    

If we knew then what we know now

we would have hid quicker, better

but as life has it, we stood.

Waiting.

When the planes were close, we knew

LIFE was all. But close at hand.

Craters caused from little bombs

as black as death and murderers.

Crumpled farms and crumpled walls.

Our little village in the hills

not even safe.

-Children trembled in their future nights.

Under rubble lied belongings.

Piled higher than the wreck.

Buried there were dreams and hopes,

some to be recovered,

but never peace of mind.

Children still played,

but not as rambunctiously.

Taking such innocence in life

not just from the wounded,

but those who have caused harm.

Trained in youth to wound

and then coerced to kill!

Life is but a fragile thing.

It can be shattered, broken,

it can collapse in all at once

to suffocate and take away.

Breathe!

Childhood has long gone,

no longer do the flowers smell.

No longer can our feet feel grass.

Painless, painful.

How to be redeemed?

From depths to far

so very much unknown.

To feel once more like before.

When loud noises are heard

the adults go running.

They hide before their children,

so they might live and still be with them.

The only worry is, 
what if their children don’t make it?

Who would they live for then?

When the little red planes left,

after dropping their bombs,

they left heavier.

Carrying dreams,

hopes and aspiration.

Leaving behind 
the weightless
remnants of fear.
That is what war is, 
endless loosing.