My poetry, page 3
Man
Man? Yes, was fine, one time my son
His glorious cities one by one
Stretching their arms of steel and glass
Up and up until they passed
Beyond the heights where eagles flew
Some were old and some wer new,
But they were glorious.
Yes, my son, man had things
Boats and trains, propellered wings
Craft that did a million things.
A wonderous home, a spacious land
Left to the hands of evil men
That once again, yes once again
Made war.
His wonderious cities up in smoke
The many glories of which he spoke
Ended then that sunny day
In quite the same old tragic way
of which mankind has been accursed
To do the worst, to do the worst,
and die.
Perhaps we'll rise again sometime
To see the sky, to sing the rhyme
Of love and beauty once again
Within the lives of mortal men.
But pray, my son, that through it all
Man will never have to fall
Again to war.
Q2
Death to feelings
Emotions blundering in an alien land
Let me watch my shadow fall at sunset.
Times
Where, in death, the silent drifting walls
of empty sorrows echo in the night
My soul bleeds fourth a multitude of errors
beyond whose empty fortunes sway
Awake now to the time of sorrow
and see the death mask glistening bright
Insects feeding on the morrow
Award the casket to the night.
Where is Love?
Where is love?
Gone-
as nightingales fly
before the winter.
Mourn
Darkness dreams,
the night moves on
and none shall mourn my passing.
Poetry Pages
(1)--(2)--(3)--(4)--(5)
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