Poetry-Thing Thursday: Last Page Requiem

One last page on which to pen my thoughts.
One final word to be had.
A single series of lines,
letters, and words to be written,
before yet another clean slate.

I must reflect,
on what has come since,
the first of my ink touched these pages,
and there I find myself now.

Time and dedication;
the soul of all great things.
The sum of man’s endeavors,
can be found to contain these.

Am I any different?
Might any of us be?
After all we,
as me,
are Human.
Our muse, imagination,
our benefactor, perspiration.

The total of sweat, blood, tears,
is the product of divinity–
not the kind of myths,
nor Gods or deities,
instead that of hope and passion,
the welled ink of creation.

So on this last page, a requiem,
for all that’s come and gone,
in order to depart from the past,
and continue on into an even greater future.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: A Horizon Ruined

A horizon ruined.
Fires ashen, blue and
red, white hot.

Nuclear winter,
snow-blackened cinder,
burns the souls of the not.

Man’s insanity,
manifests before me,
guns and bombs scream at their treat.

birds of the dead,
prey upon the willing defeat.

No more air,
Earth’s frayed hair,
both decayed in madness.

And so I sit,
struggling with it,
for all I know is sadness.

What I have seen,
A thought only gleaned,
wolves in sheep’s clothing.

A literal moment,
atomic component,
>and with no foreboding.

A feeling was rushed,
by someone whom crushed,
a button without thought.

Now we are doomed,
forever entombed,
by what a few’s greed sought.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Encompassed in Rain

It’s begun to rain,
the first drops of change,
and here I sit,
ever in chains.

Then, something new
calls out to claim
closer now I am,
to the source of pain.

Without regret
I dodge shame.
Though I never forget,
myself, I do remain.

While the thunder rolls,
out across the plain.
The drops are larger,
of fresh refrain.

Here I can become,
that beyond name.
So here I sit,
encompassed in rain.

All things succumb,
In gentle May repose
All with rule of thumb,
the meek shall ever row.

For them I say this:
never falter on the path,
nor lose sight of the math,
return in time to that past;
the deepening rain,
and literature of last.