five more days

17 March 2013

five more days

 

Sunday means Monday morning’s near,

a fact that no one likes to hear.

Another week begins again,

we sigh, "so much for the weekend,

but it’s only five more days dear!"

 

(aabba)

Train

17 March 2013

Train

 

morning fog hides the 8:15,

but I can hear the ghostly moan.

I do not know where it has been,

I only see it in between

a lonely nomad with no home.

 

(abaab)

Masterpiece

17 March 2013

Masterpiece

 

but in the morning, you’ll still be

beautiful, some things never change

’cause you’ll be you, and I’ll be me,

an empty canvas in a frame

still looking for our masterpiece.

 

(ababa)

Quintilla

17 March 2013

Quintilla

 

"What’s a quintilla?" you might ask,

four variations, patterned rhyme,

only five eight syllable lines.

Another short form to unmask,

one more tool to use any time.

 

(abbab)

For anyone who sees

17 March 2013

For anyone who sees

 

The intangible meaning of beauty,

an outer shell disguising inner strength,

a hardness, incongruent with softness,

capacity for both coldness and warmth,

an almost inherent desire to give,

barely begins to define a woman.

 

Sometimes I wonder why God made woman.

Perhaps loneliness needs more than beauty?

Maybe life only has so much to give

before the emptiness drains all our strength

and the heart grows too cold for any warmth,

too hard to be touched by any softness?

 

Even stone is eroded by softness,

water, wind, or the love of a woman.

I have been touched by that familiar warmth,

captivated by an inner beauty,

strengthened unselfishly, such quiet strength,

and taught by example what it means to give.

 

I’ll never understand the grace to give,

maybe I just lack that kind of softness.

Can I balance both such weakness and strength,

or perhaps is that why God made woman?

I’ve never been fooled by shallow beauty

without the depth of compassion and warmth.

 

Being alone, I miss her touch, the warmth,

the fulfillment togetherness can give.

Knowing, being known is its own beauty

when life is hard, her comforting softness

was my safe haven. Tell me why woman

I’m so weak and alone without your strength?

 

I have learned to discover my own strength,

but I will always miss the joy and warmth

of sharing my life, being with a woman.

Sadly, I doubt I have much left to give

besides a heart that remembers softness,

and cares more about the inner beauty.

 

Honesty’s my strength, one thing I can give.

A heart full of warmth, tenderness, softness,

for any woman who sees my beauty.

 

(source unknown, was sent to me)