..... just a little poem

Stillborn

Entering in spite of Rowes and Wades
No hose and sink, unwanted yet chosen
No lessons learned, but spiritually alert
I think, I wonder, somewhere it was understood.

See, Love is supposed to work
Unconditional love, the love of a child
How the hell, did we get so old, jaded and so cold?
It's not designed to be this way
I think deep down, we know.

This world, our lives, so much to grasp
Who played this false, stacked the deck?
When was it stolen away in the night?
Leaving a bloodless corpse in its stead.

Crowds in life, and in our homes, so many
It's hard to find ones self alone, isolated
By familiar faces, once warm arms, hands, lips
It is by this visage that one becomes abandoned
Hearth, heart and home now become the other.

I think the old toast, so old now, was prophecy
For in it hearth has turned to
'Lofty timbers, the halls around are bare,
echoing to our laughter, as though the dead were there'.

I believe it was not to be this way
Is it? The why's that it is, brings no comfort
I never dreamt life could be death
To rot without release, an end
Clinging, with no promise, no hope.

No trust in God anymore
And no one cares, that He trusts in us
Is He a fool, or does he know how to love
His clergy all the other, now
His flocks flee the shepards
The shepards carry knives.

No.

History repeats
What were the options at the start?
Was it really an escape, or delay, forestalled
I wonder...

I think, sometimes
Salvation means abortion.

To remain is to be
Stillborn.

(c)~"Me"


This is a poem leftover from the original site. It must just be a gothic thing, the reason we like poetry and/or write poetry, and in such a manner. Whaddaya do? I do write poems often - when I sit quietly and relfect back on many things, stuff just sort of spills out that seems contrary to my normally comedic nature. The poem below is the only one I've ever posted-anywhere. I don't normally share or offer to share them. Not even with the Mrs., and she never bothers or wants to really check my site out anyway. So years ago, I posted this one. I still am stunned at the positive responses I've gotten from it. I'd not planned to add it to the site for fear of seeming vain. But then I got another e-mail wanting to ask me about it. Thank you, Felicia, for your kind remarks. The graphic I made to go with it, like the poem, just sort of "came out", but seemed in it's way to belong alongside it....
Stillborn Entering in spite of Rowes and Wades No hose and sink, unwanted yet chosen No lessons learned, but spiritually alert I think, I wonder, somewhere it was understood. See, Love is supposed to work Unconditional love, the love of a child How the hell, did we get so old, jaded and so cold? It's not designed to be this way I think deep down, we know. This world, our lives, so much to grasp Who played this false, stacked the deck? When was it stolen away in the night? Leaving a bloodless corpse in its stead. Crowds in life, and in our homes, so many It's hard to find ones self alone, isolated By familiar faces, once warm arms, hands, lips It is by this visage that one becomes abandoned Hearth, heart and home now become the other. I think the old toast, so old now, was prophecy For in it hearth has turned to 'Lofty timbers, the halls around are bare, echoing to our laughter, as though the dead were there'. I believe it was not to be this way Is it? The why's that it is, brings no comfort I never dreamt life could be death To rot without release, an end Clinging, with no promise, no hope. No trust in God anymore And no one cares, that He trusts in us Is He a fool, or does he know how to love His clergy all the other, now His flocks flee the shepards The shepards carry knives. No. History repeats What were the options at the start? Was it really an escape, or delay, forestalled I wonder... I think, sometimes Salvation means abortion. To remain is to be Stillborn. (c)~"Me"