|Poems of the Month March '05
Our family and friends knew that we were crazy by taking a chance with love.
Never did they imagine the plan came from above.
You brought me peace, hope and artistry,
Our life together was not a mystery.
Were our daily treasures.
My every breath thanked God for your soul.
Being old together was our goal.
July 28, 2004
My heart hit the floor.
My man. My precious handsome man.
Seven weeks later you told me of the angels.
You were never really mine.
Only now do I know that.
Thank you, Allen T.,
For the honor of sharing your life with me.
I will look for the angels someday and know that your wings will hold
Forever and Eternity.
Mary Ellen Ziegler © 2005
PRISONERS of a Mirror
They object about your lifestyle. Saying you have a problem.
Telling you that you are a bad parent, spouse and individual.
They don't know you. They don't live your life.
Do they know about your struggles. Do they understand itís not easy doing it all alone.
They don't hear your cries, or your pleas for just some sanity.
I hear those voices too. I wish that things would be easier.
I didn't ask for the pain or the obstacles.
I bet they don't want to lock themselves in a bathroom.
Letting themselves cry for hours just to regain some stability.
Do they punch the walls, not feeling any pain?
Do they wish to run away from it all, knowing they can't?
You long for what we all want. You don't ask for empathy.
You just ask for some space, letting you breathe.
They want to choke you with their opinions.
They want to choke you with the rules of the world.
You want to be free, breaking lose, yet you're only a prisoner.
This is not what you asked for. Who knew things would end up this way.
Yet you swallow your pride and you bite your tongue, only to be
ridiculed day after day for your efforts.
Those bastards, who do they think they are?
They don't pay your bills, they don't change the diapers,
yet, they feel they have the right.
To hell with those people, to hell with what society thinks.
You're a beautiful person. Strong willed with endless amounts of patience.
Lucky me, I don't have to deal with that shit.
I'm just a reflection in the mirror.
by Julie Le © 2005
moment to moment
Is this just a moment...?
or a moment to be...?
are the waves to the surf really still,
only percieved by me...?
what of the moment past,
that led to this presence...?
it seemed to push me out to sea...
could i stand on sand that has gravity...?
what of these words i write that seem
to manifest from within...?
for-told?, is the scribe of this pen?
be it then, these define truth...
or, is the truth defined by my pen...?
moment to moment i answer for the the eternal question.
by John Gomes © 2005