BUDS OF HOPE

 

 

BUDS OF HOPE

In midst of despair and sorrow
rise buds of hope for the morrow.
Still standing upright and strong
against all that can go wrong.

These are extreme times of confusion and change,
media expanding over a broader range. 
We are attacked by sounds in each direction,
leaving no time for thinking and reflection.

These flowers know what’s real,
they go by what they feel.
Away from the hustle and bustle,
they grow wild without any tussle.

A day to clear my cluttered mind is all I need,
to recharge my battery is what I should heed.
I’ll recharge in a quiet place like this,
a zest for life is what I dearly miss.

BENEATH THE CYPRESS TREE

Cypress Lawn Memorial Park GarettPhotography

 

Evil waits for you and me

beneath the tall cypress tree.

It comes in the dark of night,

won’t leave without a good fright.

The mausoleum is dark.

We only came on a lark.

Time for us to run and go.

The wind says, “I don’t think so.”

 

THE DEAD GAME

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THE DEPTHS OF DESPAIR

 

 

Anguish is my sole friend.

Tentacles wrap me close

with its wiry arms of despair.

The day holds no easement for my pain.

The sun shines too bright from its tall pedestal.

The night brings forth the proud moon

that rides the sky with its chariot of horses.

Its glow lights the hearts of the forgotten.

Its reflection soothes the troubled soul.

One more minute before I join the others.

The ones who search for the white reflection

in the cold depths below.