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| Woken Had I been asleep for all of this time? I had watched the hands of the clock account for the Last two years and thus I am to believe I have stayed aware of what is now past. But only now do I see the sunrise; The shapes amongst the clouds; Visions of what were once grayed By the power of aged normalcy. Drowned by a blindness Driven by an unbrideled desire To be looked upon as necessary, I had forgotten how to be me. With your knock, I opened the door To a new world where my truth shines And the promise of friendship Lights a path of optimism where I walk. I hold, closely, the means to look beyond What is and will always be right now. Just as this life will not see all of the tomorrows, My blissful spirit will never cease. |
| To Blame I would wish for my loneliness to open up doors I could hear the locks open, but the knobs never turn. I hold myself to blame for the hopes I seek to see Become reality--I guess I'll never learn. You were the room when I first saw your smile. You were my paradise when I first heard your voice. I hold myself to blame for the dreams I dream But I do not dream like this by choice. By night's end you had given me your number And my heart had leapt to my sleeve. I am to blame for thinking ahead of this night. My thoughts of us I will just have to leave. When our paths have the chance to cross again, I will, no doubt, be lustfully in love once more. I am to blame if my wishes won't work. But please, won't you open a door? |
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| All poems contained on this page are originals and are copyrighted to me. Please enjoy them as I enjoy writing them. Feel free to leave any comments to me by clicking on the word Comments at the bottom of the page. Thank you, Andrew. |
| Answers What was it I did not say? Tell me again how my silence was a lie. Was it a scapegoat to a new life? Just a vessel to see my heart die? In the beginning you were all smiles. And in the end, you saw it your way. Perception, was your version worth it? My thoughts molded into your clay? Could it have all been your experiment? A study in cause and effect? I turned out to be different than you thought And became a lab rat for you to dissect. My life was not tailored to fit your script. Was it a case of our love being cursed? Looking back, I try to make sense of it all. Funny how, through nothing, I turned out the worst. I could easily move on in this world And in many ways I know that I will. There you were walking out of our home Believing in your fabrications still. |
| The Prison for the Unloved Solitude, The musty room with no view. A warm glass of water in the corner. I pace between the columns of white That encompass my domain. Thoughts of her survive While my soul fades away into grey. Can it ever be the same? Could it ever be as good? My steps fall shorter and softer Onto the chilled, damp, pitted concrete. Is that her voice? Is that her scent? My mind flutters in hallucinations Back when rainbows painted the now darkened sky And birds sang of hope, not despair. Will it ever be the same? Would it ever be as good? Wishing to quench the feelings of guilt, The water burns my throat with the sins Comprised in love's past. Begging to hear the silence Beyond these shrinking walls But all I hear is the pain of mistakes. It will never be the same. It will never be as good. |
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| Home is Where the Heart Isn't His career is made as a devoted lawman, Who started his service walking the beat. His untarnished ethics brought honor and promotions To a detective bringing justice to the street. At home was a perfect family-- Two children from a beautiful wife. One little league son and one soccer-star daughter, Part of his package of bliss in life. He's a veteran detective--constantly on the job With a bride veteran to sleeping alone. What once was wondered by a young girl, A little boy now asks, "When will daddy be home?" Behind a crowded plate, the lawman rests Although his mind is not always present. He sees his children when time permits. The lack of time he resents. His stress on the job and absence from home Leaves a bleeding heart with his spouse. She finds it hard to love a man Who is rarely found at her house. Finding family time in an unjust world Would rocket his self esteem. Longing to put his job on hold to love his kids Remains as his impossible dream. His profession is noble. His devotion to unselfish service she respects. But she's given up on restoring harmony With the three hearts at home he neglects. |
| The Heartland Alone. I find myself like this every day. There is faith in finding her--the missing piece. After all, this is the Heartland they say. In my search for new friends, People tell me I may try to hard. When it seems I am a part of a winning hand, I find myself the discard. At times I have wished to walk away From this game where I have lost hope. But holding a seldom-owned inner belief I will never quit--just continue to cope. I know everything will turn out fine. And it cannot be long until life is grand. It will not be long because love will find me. After all, this is the Heartland. |
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