»
Archives
»
Open Poetry #48
»
Serenity
| Open Poetry #48 |
|
Serenity |
|
|
Michael
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-13
Posts 7666California 
|
Serenity I walk the streets at 3:00 a.m. Ill omens are no stranger. 'Often put myself in harms way, But, really, what's the danger? I will still speak out on a whim, While conscience cringes and groans; Never at a lack of things to say To the puppeteers and street clones. The city has a life of its own - Shadows, they paint the story... And for the wise, in their own eyes, A chance to grasp some glory They'll never reach through streets of stone, But often sell their souls to... As they die 'neath the darkest of skies For a feeling they never knew. And yet peace washes over me, Somehow I am at home here... Always finding a cause to hope, Daily watching it disappear. No, the sharp blades or reality For me are more endearing Than those, (blind noose of a dead man's rope), Gifts of cooperate engineering. And in the pensive, predawn light You might not know it for the norm... But you can see it in their eyes - The emptiness taking form. That something they know can't be right, Driven through the hustle and flow Of a dream world, procured in lies, That disappears as they go. Someday they just might realize, Wrapped within Silence's charm... That energy might've been better spent On a personal overload alarm. Now limp, and jaded, prone to sighs, They see life coming to an end... With no idea what it really meant, Or, indeed, how much was pretend. But of all things that mattered most They must now carry on, alone... Is finding hell, forever held in thrall Of choices they made on their own. So they wander, soul stricken ghost, In search of something more certain... But the only thing certain at all, Is that they've missed their curtain. Still, sleep I here, amongst the dead. Their enigma doesn't reach me. And dream I a scholar's benefice - What prudence couldn't teach me.. With mourning echoes in my head, Sorrow somehow escapes me... Throwing tomorrow to the abyss, For the misery which sates me. And I don't always say the right thing, Still, I always say what is right. A victim of life, I'll draw no reigns - With eyes closed, I still have clear sight. And down to my last breath I'll sing, Simply cause I know I can. Serenity, but a prayer, bound in chains... Helpless to help a hapless man. Michael Anderson Did I waste it? Not so much I couldn't taste it. Bono |
||
| © Copyright 2012 Michael Anderson - All Rights Reserved | |||
|
Margherita Member Seraphic
since 2003-02-08
Posts 22236Eternity |
You are a Master, dear Michael, in going deep inside life's miseries looking for answers. You are not overwhelmed and drawn into the abyss of plight, you always find your way back into the Light. And that feeling of serenity is found and shared like a gem amongst debris. Wonderful write. Margherita |
||
|
JerryPat2 Member Laureate
since 2011-02-06
Posts 16975South Louisiana |
quote: Those two lines just condenced the poem to its rightful place. Chills deep penetrating chills when up my spine as I went through the poem, man. Unless someone has walked the streets at 3 a.m. and played the game of life and death, have no idea what absolute truths you tell here. The street. It generates its own power, a power you must conquer or be conquered. Magnificent poetry, Michael. ~*~ If they give you ruled paper write sideways. ~*~ |
||
|
Startime1955 Senior Member
since 2012-04-22
Posts 1072Alberta, Canada |
WOW!!!! very powerful...I am glad you reaches serenity...*BIG HUGS* *may our dreams ever be magical* |
||
|
|
⇧ top of page ⇧ |
|
| All times are ET (US). All dates are in Year-Month-Day format. | ||
