| Sad Poetry |
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Searching through the past to find his great coming, I dwell in my sanctuary among ancient, musty books. Clues and signs were given... Oh, that I might understand! their purpose to my cause- their meaning thinly veiled. The prophesies among human lies, the hope for truth; God grand me wisdom in my weary quest. If only I had listened, if only I had learned! my search would be completed before it became my prison. The light at the end of the tunnel, the peace in the dawn of morn; all blend into gray when compared to a Father's love. As suffering preceeded glory, and dark forgos the dawn; my search comes to an end relflected in one word: Jesus. Delete the tear-wrought messages my selfishness has sent. Forget the poor intentioned letters I did not mean to write. Ignore all my questions and prying for I shall only answer with lies. Pay no attention, nor pity my life; I never intended you to see it. Overlook the torrent of emotions I strived so hard not to send you. Discard the words I wrote: they were completely true beneath lies. Disregard the cyber-self seen only online and go back to my polished (if dull) appearence. I never wanted you here... but i don't want you to go. Watching fires kindled; desiring the warmth, I sit in the cold though the door is near. A few steps away, a little to the right, I am party to the ceremony, at times even the spark. Always on the outside, ever looking in; never taking gifts thrust my way or the initive to recieve. It is there, I can feel it. I only wish I would grab it and believe what I already know. We drew the cloak over our eyes just as you built the wall around yourself. We turned the other way not wanting to see while you blocked us out to save yourself. Why can't you see our pain and let it go? Why can't we see your pain and let it go? The cloak is drawn the wall is built All is lost, until hope appears. To Lindsey whom I have not met Lindsey what have you done? Your mother's crying Your sister's asleep Your father's at work But you just want to leave? Don't go, I love you, You're important to me Your life is a treasure, Don't throw it away. The pond whispers of the flower's tale: how her tears crossed his path. Struggling under the oppressive sun, she opened her young eyes to the destruction of the world. Buildings crashing, people dashing, one small flower in the crack of a sidewalk Leaves crushed by an unseen assailant, a small girl picked this brave flower Carried in the grubby hands of a six year old, the flower dried her tears. Pressed between Merrim and Webster the flower saw daylight dressed in black. Placed on an empty wooden box among somber people, the flower read this epitah: A loving father, Godly husband blessing of a friend -the name was etched in stone- May 1, 1953- September 11, 2001 |
