Tag: poem

The End is Near

I see you have reached the desperation
Of a fool whose options are running out,
So you strengthen your contamination
While weakening what you are all about.
This does not mean we can let our guard down
For you’ll return with a new mutation,
But even that will have lesser renown
When facing the anger of this nation.
You may keep our smiles behind a thick mask,
And we may continue to jab our arms,
Making the routine no longer a task;
We will not fear your diminishing harms.
Though history will be filled with shed tears,
We will get over these bitter, old fears.

The Tomb of Kings

The lives that they lived were the lives of kings
Though the blood in their veins was not royal.
The comfort and happiness that wealth brings
Is not always based upon life’s toil,
And the select few who strut these cities
Did not break their backs to build their roadways;
Instead, they pointed to the groves of trees,
Deciding that there the buildings would raise.
They would sit back with their glass of red wine,
Sighing while watching all of the legs run.
They’d brag at how their money made things fine
After the hard labor’s work was done.
But all this greatness was soon forgotten
When they were sealed in a tomb to rot in.

Commandaria

The seeds had been found in an earthen jar,
Buried for saving, centuries ago.
Even the wearing of time could not mar
The vineyards that would eventually grow.
From this ancient grape a new production
Brought back to the world the sweetest nectar,
Recalling an old epic seduction
Of Odysseus’s long adventure.
Legend even tells of lion hearted
Royalty praising the drink’s great value.
From Earth, the recipe never parted
As stories of it glory only grew.
It is the reason for this aria
That we will sing for Commandaria.

Changing Seasons

Not only the changing of the seasons
Are buried during the Earth’s rotation
Numerous times again around the sun.
The tide will also take our creation,
And cover it with the beach’s fine sand
To compress it into a hardened stone.
History will take this forgotten land
To turn it to a place where plants have grown.
It will take a man with a fine-haired brush
And the patience of the centuries lost
To push away the silence of time’s hush,
Reminding us of a past that we tossed.
The mosaic that once laid on the floor,
We can now admire like once before.

Flexibility

We used to be so sure what would happen
The next hour, tomorrow, or the next day,
But now the routine that has always been
May not always come as it always may.
I’ve learned from the events of the recent past
That I need to keep a flexible mind,
For reliability will not last;
I’ll have to forge a new path through the grind.
I’ll focus on happiness as my goal,
Making the most of the situation.
I won’t be able to plug ev’ry hole,
And will need to lower expectations.
We will make it through the epidemic
To return to the days of the picnic.

Rain Day

I know that the day has only begun,
But the clouds that have gathered, spitting rain,
Indicates that what we’ve planned is now done.
The puddles that have collected will stain
The drowned pavement with life’s expectations
And we will have to huddle within doors,
Complaining about these tribulations.
But do not think of this change as a chore;
Instead, look to what it has to offer.
The day’s deeds can wait for another time.
Go and open the neglected coffer,
And remember what you once found sublime.
It impairs your ability to play,
But don’t let the weather ruin your day.

The Other Side of the Mountain

We can’t avoid the arriving decline
As we become another great in time.
We thought our history would be divine,
And we would always be within our prime,
But life only provides a certain height
From which our ambition will deliver.
From that summit we face our greatest plight,
Knowing from that point we’re left to quiver.
For our prowess, we can never maintain,
And the only direction is back down.
We will look back at our spot with much pain,
Knowing that this is the end of our renown.
It is time to turn away from this fight,
Leaving Nero to smolder at his sight.

The Rising Waters

As the rains continue to keep pouring,
We cannot help, but watch the river rise.
The clouds do not wish to go exploring
As it settles, covering up the skies.
The edges of puddles kiss each other,
Showing us that they have collective might.
They eventually merge with their brother
As they climb the hill to a greater height.
The birds find their roost on the top branches,
Avoiding the gurgling rush below;
They do not care how the trickle drenches
The hungry storm’s ever increasing flow.
The time given to us is running short,
And from this land, we will have to abort.

Ode to Mary

Mary never married; she’s and old maid,
Wasting her life creating a career.
She did not require a man to get paid,
And was in charge of where her life would steer.
No woman has ever lived a worse fate
Than one who did not raise a family.
This living will never go out of date
Than a husband to supply the money
While she stays at home to tidy up the place.
She will never know the joy of children
Because she decided on the rat race,
Instead of the role of common women.
Please make sure to shed a tear for Mary
Tolling life away in a library.

Snow Day

Start the year under the cover of snow,
Giving us the pretense of innocence.
We really have no place we need to go,
So let the storm outside rage more intense.
From the safety of my frosted window
I’ll watch the growing accumulation.
It is my favorite afternoon show,
Better than the lies on television.
I love to listen to the cold wind blow
As I take another sip of coffee.
Winter has yet become my greatest foe,
But wait until April, and we will see.
I believe I have given my reason
Of why I enjoy this change of season.