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Writer's Gift

by Walter Jones (Age: 72)
copyright 04-06-2013

Age Rating: 18 +



Passion drips past her pain
Ghosts of lovers call her name
Body of gifts lay packages unopened
Doors closed to the view she whimpers
Love has come in self-exposed daydreams
Hearts of time leave here in anguish screaming
Last of sight is the world taking apiece of her to give

On Sunday lord in the open air
With my heart lost in care
Day filled to the full
Already planned loving soul

I hold my child
See her mother's

In the past I have seen her face in hers
Of deceiving we all know the truth
We trod forth covering old earth

Golden dream world of expectations laid
Of faith left on an altar price is paid
Hope seeing past the morning sun

Only a place of truth in the birth of another one
To lay as open as we may on the places that we stayed
Our heads bowed low for all eh mistakes we have made

Caught all in the traps we call life
Of cupids thoughts we plod on
Arrows in comfort accepted and held

Stacked them neatly
In our

Larger than life I walk the river and pull the drowning sound
Take my daughter from the giver of wonder and beauty all around
Pass the wedge of knowledge never a circle place to be all escape
Marker of her age uses her talents well saves a broken body and mind from a new hell
Eyes filled with sorrow heart it is warm not cold we live our life stages that is how we manage to grow old

Visitor Reads: 321
Total Reads: 330

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        04-07-2013     theredrose        

Gosh! This is powerful stuff! I really liked it and have marked it for at least two more re-reads.
I am almost lost for words actually. To select any part would diminish the rest.
I have a real preference for metaphysical poetry and this piece was almost a bridge for me showing many features of modern metaphysical concepts. Wonderful.

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