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Here's a few poems I wrote while reading the Man from La Mancha.
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Ink as Blood
Words …
Are Cheap!
But bear witness a strength
That few can deny,
Challenge,
Defend against,
Or rise valiantly above.
If chosen well.
Look to the lists
I will be there
To tilt,
To joust,
To fence.
Not with lance or sword,
But with phrase and verse.
Only a truthful pen can challenge
Sharp sword or pointed lance
And survive.
I am a survivor!
My words are my weapon.
My comfort.
My challenge
And my destiny!
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Lamented Lies
Cut out from this heart
What lies I have told
And what little is left
Is what beats for my lady.
Lie upon lie
Told upon tale
To hide and to heal
A wound so grievous
That it bleeds the blood of gods.
What is left?
A shell of what once was
And can be no more.
What is right?
Is what is left and true!
Speak words not false
But weighted with the heart and soul
And reflect in a mirror of truth.
I lie no more.
I lament for time lost
And days gone by.
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Of Giants and Dragons
Great deeds await me
Though I run afoul of my own making.
Giants to slay and dragons to tame.
I ride the sky with my heart aflame.
Even though my soul is left bare and lame.
By deeds done and undone.
The giant is my own pride.
The dragon my own madness.
Slain and tamed
Such as they are
I await in silent prayer
For the one soul that can save me from myself.
Rise up oh beauteous
Phoenix
Baptized of fire
And light my love so that
I may live again.
My Quill, My Sword
My Quill
My Sword
Remains sheathed
For it withers
When I try to write.
Drained of blood
And ink
It’ll write no more
But for the wretch I am.
Limp and useless
Sword or quill
Awaits the gentle touch of
One who would give
It purpose again.
Allowing it to rise up
And do battle,
Impail
Prevail
In wars, as yet, unfought.
And verses, as yet, unwrit.
Ghost in Darkness
I awake in a start
A tremor on my lips
Bead upon my brow
To face a specter, demon, and ghost
Preying upon me in my room.
“Oh Demon of my heart,”
I implore of the ghost,
“Give word of solace or
Make me dead.
For I see your lips move
But no words come forth.”
Darkness answers.
Coal is the eyes of this monster.
Grey is it’s treacherous hide.
I break.
And fearful begin to cry.
In light I see
T’is only me.
My specter, my demon, my ghost.
My reflection in the mirror.
Of Frail Flesh are we
Oh, what weak and frail flesh
Of which we are made.
In a moment of touch and
Failing of good judgment
I cast aside the future
For a momentary tryst.
A lust
A passion
A falsehood
No mighty oak is grown
On the roots of weeds.
Such was my failing to
Comfort and control my deeds.
I partook of the moment
And failed the future.
That if I could do o’er
I fear I would do again …
And again.
So sweet the sin
That sinners taste
To make them
Sin more, still.
OH MY GOD I'M STARTING TO TALK LIKE GROUCHY ALL THE TIME!!!
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