Thy Resting Place
Thy fleeting breath still lingers on my brain
And haunts this tired and troubled soul I own.
I still smell candle's scent as fresh as rain;
She lingers still on mem'ry halls that are on loan;
Sweet memories that are so bittersweet,
Without her presence life seems incomplete.
Thy time slowed, dripping as the candle's wax,
With painful steps and growing all too slow;
Thy sisters tended thee with burden's tax,
In knowing just how dim and weak thy health did grow.
E'en when the hour of thy parting drew nigh,
They gathered 'round thee to bid thee goodbye.
Thy form is missed and now thou take thy rest,
Beneath the rugged Oaks and Poplar's shade.
Now sleepest thou beside thy Mother's breast,
Each in their narrow, lowly cell forever laid;
Inside the small but private Churchyard lay
Their souls are God's whilst bodies become clay.
When walking through this humble resting place,
My mind drifts to the day that I shall cease
And then this humble spot my own bed trace;
'Til then my soul shall still continue to increase.
O God prepare a place in that bright land,
And when death claims me, take me by Thy hand!
And haunts this tired and troubled soul I own.
I still smell candle's scent as fresh as rain;
She lingers still on mem'ry halls that are on loan;
Sweet memories that are so bittersweet,
Without her presence life seems incomplete.
Thy time slowed, dripping as the candle's wax,
With painful steps and growing all too slow;
Thy sisters tended thee with burden's tax,
In knowing just how dim and weak thy health did grow.
E'en when the hour of thy parting drew nigh,
They gathered 'round thee to bid thee goodbye.
Thy form is missed and now thou take thy rest,
Beneath the rugged Oaks and Poplar's shade.
Now sleepest thou beside thy Mother's breast,
Each in their narrow, lowly cell forever laid;
Inside the small but private Churchyard lay
Their souls are God's whilst bodies become clay.
When walking through this humble resting place,
My mind drifts to the day that I shall cease
And then this humble spot my own bed trace;
'Til then my soul shall still continue to increase.
O God prepare a place in that bright land,
And when death claims me, take me by Thy hand!
I don't write to be better
than everyone else.
I write to become better
than my worst day.
I don't write to see you
smile or frown.
You can't stick your head
out of the computer
to show me anyway.
I write to remember that
I have emotion.
Its not my intention
to be liked at all.
Yeah I'd like to
be loved if its possible.
I write to find metaphors
and critiques that's real.
If you want to be better
than me go ahead.
I'd rather be crazy than
the one to be lead.
If you are passing my
poems framed on
the wall please remember;
I'd rather you
be better than me.
I don't write to be followed.
So don't feel like
you need to push my buttons.
I write for passion
to stalk my soul.
I don't expect to get
anything back from you.
I am obligated to get
everything back from me.
I'd rather you just forget
about me today.
I assure you I remembered
enough about me.
There is a beck that flows nearby,
Where Faeries dance with Elves and Gnomes;
In hollow logs and mushroom homes,
They sing and chant under the sky.
The Children in the Village near,
Seldom stop whilst on their way;
To School or during recess play,
Never see them, save for two dear.
Two sisters during Summer break,
Go down the beck and call them out;
Sometimes they have to stop and pout,
If not spotted, weep, goodness sake.
When they come they play a tune,
And dance about the mossy stones;
In sweet notes, in divers tones,
And brighten up the beck's sand dune.
Effortlessly the young girls play,
And promise never tell a soul;
But still keep the secret in whole,
Enjoy the Fae Folk all the day.
So only two have seen this sight,
And rejoice with their gleeful song;
Of all the Summers hot and long,
And Faery Dust of golden light.
Their songs always echo within,
And never cease to miss their play;
Down the beck on a Summer's day,
The two sisters join them and spin.
They float upwards into the sky,
On silken tiny wings they skit;
And whirl about as they do flit,
Enchanting sights as they pass by.
Ev'ning comes and the girls do leave,
The Faeries with their golden lamp;
They come up to the window clamp,
Kiss their cheeks and stay 'neath the eave.
O the Faeries at the beck old,
Dance and make two sisters so glad;
They are the best of friends one had,
They shall always the mem'ry hold!
than everyone else.
I write to become better
than my worst day.
I don't write to see you
smile or frown.
You can't stick your head
out of the computer
to show me anyway.
I write to remember that
I have emotion.
Its not my intention
to be liked at all.
Yeah I'd like to
be loved if its possible.
I write to find metaphors
and critiques that's real.
If you want to be better
than me go ahead.
I'd rather be crazy than
the one to be lead.
If you are passing my
poems framed on
the wall please remember;
I'd rather you
be better than me.
I don't write to be followed.
So don't feel like
you need to push my buttons.
I write for passion
to stalk my soul.
I don't expect to get
anything back from you.
I am obligated to get
everything back from me.
I'd rather you just forget
about me today.
I assure you I remembered
enough about me.
Ashes to ashes and dust to dust
Call this assurance if you must;
But when it's time to say Farewell
To one you love, it's just plain hell.
There are no words, no healing balm,
To fill the void, to ease the calm;
And not a thing that one can say
Will drive the quick hot tears away.
We look upon the empty chair
And seek the one no longer there;
And so heartbreaking is the pain
We question if we'll meet again.
How grim indeed, if death should be
The Bitter End--- Eternity;
Just some vague dream conseived by Man
And not a part of any plan.
But God has taken such great care
To note the sparrow in the air;
His Love alone can cover all
And Mark a simple Sparrows' fall.
And if he cares for the birds that fly,
then he must hear My Anguished cry;
"Dear God, I yield my grief to Thee
For Thou alone can comfort me."
Call this assurance if you must;
But when it's time to say Farewell
To one you love, it's just plain hell.
There are no words, no healing balm,
To fill the void, to ease the calm;
And not a thing that one can say
Will drive the quick hot tears away.
We look upon the empty chair
And seek the one no longer there;
And so heartbreaking is the pain
We question if we'll meet again.
How grim indeed, if death should be
The Bitter End--- Eternity;
Just some vague dream conseived by Man
And not a part of any plan.
But God has taken such great care
To note the sparrow in the air;
His Love alone can cover all
And Mark a simple Sparrows' fall.
And if he cares for the birds that fly,
then he must hear My Anguished cry;
"Dear God, I yield my grief to Thee
For Thou alone can comfort me."
There is a beck that flows nearby,
Where Faeries dance with Elves and Gnomes;
In hollow logs and mushroom homes,
They sing and chant under the sky.
The Children in the Village near,
Seldom stop whilst on their way;
To School or during recess play,
Never see them, save for two dear.
Two sisters during Summer break,
Go down the beck and call them out;
Sometimes they have to stop and pout,
If not spotted, weep, goodness sake.
When they come they play a tune,
And dance about the mossy stones;
In sweet notes, in divers tones,
And brighten up the beck's sand dune.
Effortlessly the young girls play,
And promise never tell a soul;
But still keep the secret in whole,
Enjoy the Fae Folk all the day.
So only two have seen this sight,
And rejoice with their gleeful song;
Of all the Summers hot and long,
And Faery Dust of golden light.
Their songs always echo within,
And never cease to miss their play;
Down the beck on a Summer's day,
The two sisters join them and spin.
They float upwards into the sky,
On silken tiny wings they skit;
And whirl about as they do flit,
Enchanting sights as they pass by.
Ev'ning comes and the girls do leave,
The Faeries with their golden lamp;
They come up to the window clamp,
Kiss their cheeks and stay 'neath the eave.
O the Faeries at the beck old,
Dance and make two sisters so glad;
They are the best of friends one had,
They shall always the mem'ry hold!
in the meadows
not far from home
in the dusk and twilight
i heard the night-jars
in the clearing of
the neighbour's lane
the meadows there
were full of fireflies
i thought 'how beautiful'
as there were thousands
just like christmas tree lights
as far as i could see
it was an evening i will
cherish forever
to put it simply to you
it was so ethereal
not far from home
in the dusk and twilight
i heard the night-jars
in the clearing of
the neighbour's lane
the meadows there
were full of fireflies
i thought 'how beautiful'
as there were thousands
just like christmas tree lights
as far as i could see
it was an evening i will
cherish forever
to put it simply to you
it was so ethereal
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