Poems that I've written over the years...

Memories

The tide recedes
But leaves behind
Bright seashells on the sand.

The sun goes down
But gentle warmth
Still lingers on the land.

The music stops
And yet it echoes
On in sweet refrains.

For every joy that passes,
Something beautiful
Remains.

Wave Upon the Sand

You held me in the palm of your hand
But keeping you was like
Trying to keep a wave upon the sand.
You never even knew.
I never gave a clue.
Will she ever be,
As good as I am to you?
Can she take my place,
Or will you end up a prisoner
In an open space?
Will she give you all you need,
Or will you forever long to be freed?
Yet, in the palm of your hand,
I'll never understand
How that I can keep you,
The Wave Upon the Sand...

The Final Series (Rapture)

Soon the days will grow harder
As we come to the
Conclusion.
And we know not when we'll leave
This worldly
Illusion.
We know we are forever
Living in the
Confusion,
Yet, not believing or caring
Of all of their
Delusions.
As our suffering reachings the
Finale,
We may find ourselves lost,
In a dark, abandoned
Alley.
Completely lost to the world
With no one to hear our
Cries.
Except the One whose
Beloved Son was
Crucified.
He'll be our comfort in the storm
And always keep us
Warm.
When there's no steps to take,
And our life is at
Stake,
He will deliver us all
From that which makes us
Fall.
When we're tired and wary,
He will be there to carry
Us through all the pain,
Suffering and shame.
Now we've gone for the cycle
Our line-up is
Through.
The Final Series is coming.
It's coming for you.

Only 17

I'm 17.

But yesterday I died.
I was having fun with my friends at a party and the next minute, I was gone. I was driving too fast to be home the time mom said, and all I remember was hearing the sound of metal clashing and my screams unheard by men. I saw pieces of my body laying around the wreckage, yet I felt no pain. Some people came and took me to a place that was hot and stuffy. They stuck me in a drawer and, just like that, they left me.
Today I saw my parents, who came to identify my body. All I remember is the hurt and guilt in mom's eyes as, through tears, she recognized me. She kept saying it was her fault, she should have been more lenient with the time. I tried to scream-"No, mom, no! I shouldn't have been driving so fast! Don't blame yourself for my mistake-you had nothing to do with this. You're not guilty-I'm okay!"
And dad just stood staring, all his pride ripped from his chest-"This can't be happening! What did I do wrong? Only 17!"
They can't hear me anymore.
Now they're putting me back in that drawer, along with my dreams, plans and future.
"Please don't take me away-I'm sorry! No! Don't put me back in there!"
I'm sorry.

I'm 17, and yesterday I died.
I guess they'll bury me tomorrow...

The Remote

You see it.
Just out of your reach.
Staring blankly at you,
Though it never actually sees.

You think about the effort,
The time it would take,
And the pain it would bring.
Yet the compulsion is great.

Teasing you,
You're going insane,
It's just out of reach.
Yet in this thinking, what will you gain?

You take one last look.
It gives you one last stare,
You give it one last thought, but,
Instead fall asleep, deciding it just isn't fair...