| Now this, this doesn't really fit in with the rest of my site. Supposedly, this is where I put up poetry. Something I should explain about my poetry. It's horrible. And I'm okay with that. When I write poems (and I use that word loosely) it is not to be artistic, but to express myself, to help me get out difficult feelings. Because of this, they are almost always rather rough and faltering, but that's okay, I'll leave this field to the Shel Silversteins of the world. Putting my poems up here is not so much to show them, but as a sort of therapy. Every one had some catalyst for its creation, and by posting them where theoretically anyone could see them, I in some small way hope to let a bit of that go. So, all apologies aside, and with no explanations given, if you have a problem with this, I honestly don't care, this is not a forum for approval. |
| An acorn falls, And rolls to its resting place. Time goes by, And it sprouts, spreading a tiny stem. The plant grows, reaching to the sky, And yearning for the sun. Time goes by, And the sapling begins to toughen. The elements wear, and the bark slowly hardens, Yet still it stretches to the heavens. Time goes by, And branches grow, leaves form, And when spring comes, it blooms. But not every branch holds blossoms. Some are barren, stretching in solitude, Others are sick, from pest or plague, Yet another is broken, shattered before its time. But there are floweres on a few, And those branches are splendid, bedecked with beauty. Time goes by, And the tree, once a tender sprout, is now a giant oak. It has seen many years, and is reaching its last one. In a final act, an acorn is shed, And so the cycle is ensured. Then the noble tree gives up its last breath of life, Thus finally reaching the light it had strived for. |
| Her problems are many, her solutions few, She seems to worry constantly. I wish I could help, that there was something to do, Yet I fear for her heart and approach hesitantly. I know that I have no claim to her, Though I yearn to say it were so. Of her affection for me I am at best unsure, And so I fear to let my adoration show. If only I could offer my protection, To one who is so strong. I cannot help her, to me she is perfection, And thoughts of her beauty make my nights so long. When around her, I'm in a state of awestruck wonder, Her very presence is enough to knock my mind asunder. |
| Many say there are seven wonders to the world, These people have obviously never met Her. Her beauty excedes mere monuments of stone, That it surpasses any statue, I am quite sure. How can one compare a pyramid or mauseleum To her delicate and heavenly features? Those are structures for mourning and death, While just a glimpse of her face gives life to this humble creature. The hanging gardens are filled with flora, Though the most gorgeous of flowers is plain next to her enchanting eyes. The crashing waves at Rhodes are surely a wonderous sound, But hearing her voice sends my spirits soaring through the skies. She is like a shining light house, And her radiant presence draws me in. All I want is to be near her, But I do not know where to begin. |
| How does one define his friends? This is the question my heart contends. Does a friend never care what you're doing that night? Does a friend think you're always trying to start a fight? Are friends too busy when you have a question? Do friends doubt your best intention? Does a friend not offer a comforting embrace when it's plain to see the pain on your face? Do friends have to leave when you're in need of aid? Do friends' cruel words cut like a blade? Does a friend ignore you on your birthday? Does a friend never listen to what you say? Do friends laugh at you when you are funny, but fail to return the favor when your days aren't sunny? Do friends not notice the nice things you do? Does a friend run away when it's just you two? Do friends stop talking when you walk by? Does a friend go an entire day without saying hi? I wish that I could find just a few, Friends who were truly true. |
| I'm sorry there are no more dragons to slay, No castles to storm, No quests to complete. My damsel is not in distress. How can I prove myself, How can I show my feelings? For lack of monumental deeds, Pray, heed the little things: Do you notice when I give up my seat, Or let you have my spot in line? When I plead with authority over your smallest whim, When I search the school for one blue pen? What I have, I give to you, freely. Your hint of need is an order to me. I realize I have no sword to wield for you, And you don't need my protection from the monsters. But please, all that I ask, Is to be able to prove my devotion through these simple tasks. |
| Who is it that determines "fair," With a sense of justice so deprived As to grant unto one a wonderous reward, For which Another has so long strived? This Other found perfection in the prize, And went to any length to deserve it. Yet all His efforts were in vain, As He was judged for such treasure: unfit. How then, can one unaware of this wonder Stumble into her glorious grace? his luck succeeded where the Other's work failed, And by chance, won, when he did not know the race. |
| Forgetting is salvation, forgetting sets you free. Those things you never want to think again, those things you never want to see. They slip through your mind, and fall through its cracks. Never to haunt your dreams at night, never again to take you back. Feelings that you had so long ago will leave and not return. The faces you have loved and lost, the people that you have spurned. Forgetfulness can be such a blessing, so why won't forgetfulness let me forget, how you have forgotten me? |