Writing

"We make out of the quarrel with others, rhetoric, but of the quarrel with ourselves, poetry." ~ W.B. Yeats

Those of us who write, write for ourselves as a release. Often times no one ever sees the things we write. But then you start to realize that others may share some of the same feelings that you do. Everyone feels sad sometimes, everyone feels happy other times. Poems are a caption of those times and those emotions. I try to write work that people can read, then pick out a time when they felt the way the poem describes.

This page represents a divergency of topics, and will be updated regularly. Hopefully one or two will exude a reflective emotion from you.

What Madness is Life

Social Dance

Daily we traverse a marathon
of obstacles
in a job that holds little meaning. On the way we pass gangs of
insane thespians performing an
endless opera of violence.
We worry about our hair and
smile while conveniently ignoring
faceless souls that ask for change.
I close my eyes in a wash
of confusing worldly injustice to
wonder the purpose of this
rueful struggle.
When I open them I see my
son with his innocent smile
and tousled hair.
Like a son he burns away the
fog to make my purpose clear.

Frightened to show others who we really are,
We duck behind a clone of
what we want the world to see.
Inside we hide the emotions and ugly scars,
Outside the social dance continues
while no partner leads.
Can we let our true personality win,
Or is it held beneath the weight
of wanted persona?
How can we show society what lies within,
If we blur the line so much
we ourselves have no idea?

Wings Come in Pairs

Startled awake to a deep black,
Chest pounds, eyes search.
Whirlpool of terror sucks you in,
Blood and heart lurch.

The cold aloneness grips you tight,
Lungs clinch, breath gasps.
"You are a slave to my embrace",
Fear's sharp voice rasps.

A warm body lies by your side,
Hands reach, souls meld.
Feel the heat rush through your body,
Yearn to be held.

Shadows

Whispered words turn the black to night,
Arms hold, squeeze more.
Your sky opens with stars of hope,
Wings lift and soar.

It slides its way
into my body
as easily as I step into a shadow.
People clamor around me
and I chatter and smile,
but the only person
with me is me.
With my face pressed
against life's window,
the sun's warm rays
bounce off my face.
But never warm me
deeper than my skin.
I wish the dull ache
was as gentle
as the shivers that
warn me of the shadow
I've stepped into.

Strength

Strength is an illusion
as one and one make one
I see the power of young men
but feel the heart of an ancient.
I see the wrinkles just this side
of a crooked grin and light green eyes.
Like walls of a castle under siege,
the gates stay closed but the rafters lean.
A straight back and unwavered stare
hide the shiver, shudder and wear.
All the fruit looks nice at first,
but lacks the juice that quenches thirst.
It's hard to need a steady hand
when all your life you've made a stand.
Help can lift the weakest high,
close your eyes it'll pass you bye.

Life Thief

Once when I looked in the
mirror I saw me looking back.
Bright eyes bracing a world
where every hill was a challenge.

A determined step drove
a confident stride,
taking a victory lap
in the human race.

Clouds shadow the sun
and two missed steps
send an invisible devil
to course through my veins.

It steels my body
and the life I once owned.
The hills now seem
far too high to climb.

The burning light housed
in my eyes no more
than the pale hue
of my initiative.

In the mirror I now see
what this devil has stolen.
I am far to young
to be this old.

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