COPYRIGHT NOTICE
Works put on the Internet are considered "published" and therefore qualify
for copyright protection. A work put on the Internet is not considered
public domain simply because it was posted on the Internet and free for
anyone to download and copy. You need permission from the site owner to
publish any materials, including photographs, music, and artwork from the
site before posting it on other sites. So PLEASE DO NOT STEAL ARTICLES,
POETRY OR ARTWORK! Thank you.
Survival of The Fittest
Even a tree
must struggle to survive,
tossed and torn
in the wind and rain,
yet it grows stronger
and begins to thrive,
becoming greener
for all its pain.
Light of Love
In Spring flowers and morning dew,
In falling stars and rain
I see the light of God shine through
and what a sweet refrain.
In baby's smile and mother's voice,
In darkness of the night,
I see the light of God shine through
and it fills me with delight.
In suffering and happiness,
In comfort and despair,
I see the light of God shine through
To let me know he's there.
In solitude or in a crowd,
In hopelessness I know,
God's light will always shine for me,
for he promised it was so..
Life-force
If my fingers become
gnarled with pain and my
body withers away,
if you do not recognize
the music that I sing
and the words that emerge
seem a hollow refrain,
even then
do not take away
my ability
to write poetry.
For if I can not muse,
if I can not use this gift
you may as well take away
my soul.
Turning Point
For years, my life
was a dreadful song
and I danced an agonizing
dance of self-destruction.
Now I realize
that I deserve serenity.
Now I choose a different song,
dance to a different beat
and the music,
the sweet, sweet music
replenishes my soul
and I can dance
and I can dance.
Poems From My Wounded Spirit-May Be Triggering
Musical Lobotomy
If I could purge
that part of my brain
which stores pain,
I would replace it
with a gentle refrain;
Bach, Beethoven
or simply rain.
Perpetual Cleansing
It is time once more
to scrub every exposed pore,
every wretched, weeping wound.
Steam rises like a magical potion,
surrounds me like a sanitizing rain
that purifies all that was stained.
Salty tears trickle upon tiled floor,
fuse with fetid pieces of the past
until my soul is clean once more.
Still, tomorrow
I will begin the ritual
all over again.
Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die, life is a broken winged bird that cannot fly.
~Langston Hughes~