PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

whoever heard or whatever became

the breath of the wind whispering a name

quietly, upon the depths of necessity;

i spoke, yet a speaking was not returned,

though spirit inside me earnestly yearned

after a voice calling out of simplicity.

there is hope even in torrential rain,

a humble reprieve i cannot explain,

as an infant rested upon his mother's breast;

knowing full well the extent of my worth,

treasure, inheritance, earned at my birth,

valued above rubies, no cursing, i am blessed.

there was anxiety, yes, there was pain,

trembling inside of me, flowing in vain,

yet the flowing has ended, the trembling at ease;

my dreams have been a pleasant memory,

out of the night into waking i see

neither word of darkness nor death that has ceased.

till winter ended, becoming a spring, 

the song inside of me refused to sing, 

for mockingbirds of autumn migrated south;

there on the beaches the birds made a home,

founding a dwelling where never alone

was the pen of the poet living in my mouth. 

no care were my inklings, only dismay

which dwelled in the winter of yesterday,

embracing the anger, holding on every shame;

coiling inside an ugly depression, 

burning in envy, closing expression;

no walking, no running, my feet were lame.

a cripple in bed, i found in my heart

a cause worth writing for, grace to impart, 

and dew drops gathered, puddling upon the grass;

as winter approaches, my heart will see

whether words of spring still dwell within me;

my hope, my foundation: the winter will soon pass.