As a poet, I haven't shared much of my work with people. I never really had the platform, plus, I always felt that they were very personal. So naturally I kept them to myself. Lately, I have been coming out of that shell. Just recently I was blessed to become part of a publication that allows writers to grow and publish their work. This opportunity has helped me to realize that I do have a voice, and my talents are being wasted by keeping my work to myself. This week I would like to share three poems that I have written at various times. They are a little piece of me, and I am happy to share them with all of you.
My Winter
My winter invites me in.
It's cold, wiry fingers gripping at me
With hesitant comfort.
The cold is but a remembrance of a pain
That got away.
I embrace it with all the fervor of a flower in Spring,
Yet it slips from my grasp and shatters my core.
All I have become and all I'll be is but a distant cry
From a cold room in winter's arsenal.
The everlasting freeze of my eternal being has thwarted
The warmth that could have been.
My heart shuts tight for fear of love.
The coldness stays within.
I Write
I write…
When the moon is high, and heavens open,
And masses reign in their sweet slumber.
My psyche travels through time reflecting mortal thoughts
That I gather within.
I sit with myself, still as calm water;
Searching for a communion with the sacred colloquy of my heart’s intent.
Words…My one true amalgamation with the glory of God.
The tools in which I build my Heaven and Earth
With power of pen, and wisdom of time’s decline,
I spill myself upon parchment, fulfilling the dreams of
a life content.
Oh Jerusalem
Oh Jerusalem, your bones show the stress of history’s weight
Upon your shoulders God hath sat, while you carried his weight patiently.
Steadfast you stood while the fires of religion scorned burned your very foundations.
Tirelessly you have persevered, your mysteries still hidden amidst the Lost Temple, And within her hallowed walls lies your heart,
Still beating deep within the holiest of holies from whence you came.
God knows your agony, but alas! He also knows your strength.
Your glory is infinite amongst all the Gods of the ages, and your hills have drunk the blood of prophets.
The sweet words of apostles have adorned your streets, and you received your baptism with tears of Pharaohs and Kings alike,
Who misjudged the divine power within your confines.
And you wept as blood was shed, and strangers claimed your power time and time again,
Never realizing you can’t be conquered by mortal hands, yet you always bow humbly to all the Gods staking their claims to your bounty.
And your heart still beats deep below Temple bowels, the sands of time basking in your infinite wisdom, and grasping your roots of all creation.
