But for the Grace of God
“There, but for the grace of God, goes…”
There is a question that I ask,
And ask again:
What hunger was half-hidden by the mask
That he wore then?
There was a word for me to say
That I said not;
And in the past there was another day
That I forgot:
A dreary, cold, unwholesome day,
Racked overhead,—
As if the world were turning the wrong way,
And the sun dead:
A day that comes back well enough
Now he is gone.
What then? Has memory no other stuff
To seize upon?
Wherever he may wander now
In his despair,
Would he be more contented in the slough
If all were there?
And yet he brought a kind of light
Into the room;
And when he left, a tinge of something bright
Survived the gloom.
Why will he not be where he is,
And not with me?
The hours that are my life are mine, not his,—
Or used to be.
What numerous imps invisible
Has he at hand,
Far-flying and forlorn as what they tell
At his command?
What hold of weirdness or of worth
Can he possess,
That he may speak from anywhere on earth
His loneliness?
Shall I be caught and held again
In the old net?—
He brought a sorry sunbeam with him then,
But it beams yet.
poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
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Related quotes
Guilt
Sad faces, dark dresses, condolences;
Words of wisdom, grievance and conformity,
My chest filled with agony; my head filled with hope;
I wander around in loneliness, in search of ways to cope.
Walked past the yellow tree, a mind filled with memory;
The echoes of thee words that fill the shadows of the hill,
A quick look at the back of me, the cold air masks her sight;
I wander around in loneliness, to answer her last breaths' plight.
The guilt at the helm of it, the gun in my hand;
The death of my loved one, the murderer at large;
My chest filled with agony, my head filled with hope;
I wander around in loneliness, looking for ways to elope.
Suspicious at suspecting eyes, my eyes with teary lies;
I think of how it could have been had she not seen what I have been,
A quick look at the back of me, the cold air masks her sight,
I wander around in loneliness, for my need to survive.
'Go to hell, you filthy beast' her last words that spoke of me,
Our child is six, I'll try and fix, the void you've left for her;
I'll stop the kills, I swear I will, just one more and I am done.
I wander around in loneliness, the gun still in my hand.
poem by Avi Vodkaholica
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A Name And A Face
and so we made love for an infinite moment,
when my hand brushed against your shoulder....
when i answered the question you forgot to ask,
when you brought me my coffee without a word.
while i watched you sleep (you seemed so tiny) ,
when moonlight stroked your hair (you seemed so vast) !
when you asked if i was all right,
as i sat staring into the darkness.
when i whispered something and you laughed,
when you swept the kitchen, and didnt know i was there...
when i brought you your supper, and woke you,
when i watered your plants (you forgot) .
when we walked the dogs in the brisk morning air,
when sunset said farewell to the day.
when beginning became ending became beginning,
when hunger chose a name and a face!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Room Beneath the Rafters
Sometimes when I have dropped asleep,
Draped in soft luxurious gloom,
Across my drowsy mind will creep
The memory of another room,
Where resinous knots in roofboards made
A frescoing of light and shade,
And sighing poplars brushed their leaves
Against the humbly sloping eaves.
Again I fancy in my dreams
I'm lying in my trundle-bed.
I seem to see the bare old beams
And unhewn rafters overhead;
The hornet's shrill falsetto hum
I hear again, and see him come
Forth from his mud-walled hanging house,
Dressed in his black and yellow blouse.
There, summer dawns, in sleep I stirred,
And wove into my fair dream's woof
The chattering of a martin bird,
Or rain-drops pattering on the roof.
Or, half awake, and half in fear,
I saw the spider spinning near
His pretty castle, where the fly
Should come to ruin by and by.
And there I fashioned from my brain
Youth's shining structures in the air,
I did not wholly build in vain,
For some were lasting, firm and fair.
And I am one who lives to say
My life has held more good than gray,
And that the splendor of the real
Surpassed my early dream's ideal.
But still I love to wander back
To that old time and that old place;
To thread my way o'er Memory's track,
And catch the early morning's grace
In that quaint room beneath the rafter,
That echoed to my childish laughter;
To dream again the dreams that grew
More beautiful as they came true.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Modern Love II: It Ended, and the Morrow
It ended, and the morrow brought the task.
Her eyes were guilty gates, that let him in
By shutting all too zealous for their sin:
Each sucked a secret, and each wore a mask.
But, oh, the bitter taste her beauty had!
He sickened as at breath of poison-flowers:
A languid humour stole among the hours,
And if their smiles encountered, he went mad,
And raged deep inward, till the light was brown
Before his vision, and the world, forgot,
Looked wicked as some old dull murder-spot.
A star with lurid beams, she seemed to crown
The pit of infamy: and then again
He fainted on his vengefulness, and strove
To ape the magnanimity of love,
And smote himself, a shuddering heap of pain.
poem by George Meredith
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A Lot
Sitting in a bar alone I thought
Pour me a drink to drown the pain I bought
My mind played a tape in my memory lot
All that has been will not be forgot
Life is hard, had been the plot
Take me home, this life is naught
For what purpose, have wars been fought
And to what end, have I been brought
The past is past, think on it not
The past quietly laid his bed in my memory's parking lot
Joy is rare and pain I've bought, yet here I'm brought
My summer's cold, and winter hot
Days are lonely, nights' the same plot
David was a girl's dream, and now he's walked
To where I know, to whom I know not
But one thing's sure, we were good, now all is lost
Time was mine, and memories caught
But who am I without you in my hut
Just a while I had a smile, to retain it with life I fought
What is this and all this hurt
I look around and always a stupid question blurt
'Are you happy? ', I keenly sought
'What's happiness? ', they asked and blocked
The beauty of eyes are sadness cut
The beauty of ashes are the lessons taught
The war of the mind are the talking thoughts
Phoenixes born, from ashes burnt
'Drink your drink', the barboy lurked
'Are you happy? ', I pierced his eyes for soul distort
He broke and cried, I wondered 'now, what? ! '
Dad left and mom's alone, pregnant with the fourth
No food, no roof, no clothes, no pot
'What is life? ', he sorely besought
I closed my eyes and tried to connect the dots
Not all deserved what they got
Diamonds from pressure, bleeding tempered by God's clot
Phoenix from ashes, hath the maker wrought
When life be tough, err with God
And when death be mean, heaven will be your lot
With glass still full, my eyelids popped
The barboy starred and wondered what
Kind of mind his heart had spot
Up I got
Life is God's
And live I must!
poem by Jenim Dibie
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The Parting Day
I.
SOME busy hands have brought to light,
And laid beneath my eye,
The dress I wore that afternoon
You came to say good-by.
About it still there seems to cling
Some fragrance unexpressed,
The ghostly odor of the rose
I wore upon my breast;
And, subtler than all flower-scent,
The sacred garment holds
The memory of that parting day
Close hidden in its folds.
The rose is dead, and you are gone,
But to the dress I wore
The rose's smell, the thought of you,
Are wed forevermore.
II.
That day you came to say good-by
(A month ago! It seems a year!)
How calm I was! I met your eye,
And in my own you saw no tear.
You heard me laugh and talk and jest,
And lightly grieve that you should go;
You saw the rose upon my breast,
But not the breaking heart below.
And when you came and took my hand,
It scarcely fluttered in your hold.
Alas, you did not understand!
For you were blind, and I was cold.
And now you cannot see my tears,
And now you cannot hear my cry.
A month ago? Nay, years and years
Have aged my heart since that good-by.
poem by Edith Wharton
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Some Busy Hands…
I.
SOME busy hands have brought to light,
And laid beneath my eye,
The dress I wore that afternoon
You came to say good-by.
About it still there seems to cling
Some fragrance unexpressed,
The ghostly odor of the rose
I wore upon my breast;
And, subtler than all flower-scent,
The sacred garment holds
The memory of that parting day
Close hidden in its folds.
The rose is dead, and you are gone,
But to the dress I wore
The rose's smell, the thought of you,
Are wed forevermore.
II.
That day you came to say good-by
(A month ago! It seems a year!)
How calm I was! I met your eye,
And in my own you saw no tear.
You heard me laugh and talk and jest,
And lightly grieve that you should go;
You saw the rose upon my breast,
But not the breaking heart below.
And when you came and took my hand,
It scarcely fluttered in your hold.
Alas, you did not understand!
For you were blind, and I was cold.
And now you cannot see my tears,
And now you cannot hear my cry.
A month ago? Nay, years and years
Have aged my heart since that good-by.
poem by Edith Wharton
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Anzac Square: What The Digger Said
Said the Digger: 'Soon forgot! Soon forgot, the deeds of war.
Better so, may be. . . Why not?
Beauty fades and laurels rot;
Last year's roses are no more.
Fame?' the one-armed Digger said,
'What of glory when you're dead?'
'Stone and brass,' the Digger said. 'Stone and brass: tho' these endure,
Marble flaunting o'er my head
Would be dead, as I'd be dead.
How may any man be sure
That the hearts of men shall hold
Memories of tales once told?
This alone I surely know: earth I am, and earth shall be,
Only Mother Earth can show,
When I go where all men go,
Aught of this that had been me.
Mother Earth, once stained so red,
She must know,' the Digger said.
'Would you raise, in braggart heaps, stone, cold stone, to mark the fame
Of full many a man who sleeps
Where the earth of Anzac keeps
Guard o'er legions lacking name
Plinth and pillar reared to show
Pomp and pride they cannot know?
'They ask no portentous pile, boasting to a heedless sky,
Stirring men a little while,
Subject, then, for sigh or smile,
Not for this do soldiers die,
With our passing let Pride be,
All we ask is Memory:
'Memory of such fair worth as a fighting man may claim,
And a plot of hallowed earth
In the city of our birth:
Earth that bears a hallowed name.
Let it be envisioned there:
Anzac worth in Anzac Square.
'Memory,' the Digger said. 'If so be the city judge
Soldiers worthy, who have bled.
Worthy of her love, the dead,
Shall the city, then, begrudge
One wide acre of her soil
For who saved the whole from spoil?
'Here, it may be, by God's grace, our son's sons may sit at last,
In the People's market place,
Knowing truly, as they trace
Memory of me long past,
'Tis enshrined forever there:
Anzac worth in Anzac Square.'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Child Dying
Unfriendly friendly universe,
I pack your stars into my purse,
And bid you so farewell.
That I can leave you, quite go out,
Go out, go out beyond all doubt,
My father says, is the miracle.
You are so great, and I so small:
I am nothing, you are all:
Being nothing, I can take this way.
Oh I need neither rise nor fall,
For when I do not move at all
I shall be out of all your day.
It's said some memory will remain
In the other place, grass in the rain,
Light on the land, sun on the sea,
A flitting grace, a phantom face,
But the world is out. There is not place
Where it and its ghost can ever be.
Father, father, I dread this air
Blown from the far side of despair
The cold cold corner. What house, what hold,
What hand is there? I look and see
Nothing-filled eternity,
And the great round world grows weak and old.
Hold my hand, oh hold it fast-
I am changing! - until at last
My hand in yours no more will change,
Though yours change on. You here, I there,
So hand in hand, twin-leafed despair -
I did not know death was so strange.
poem by Edwin Muir
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Faith's Review and Expectation (Amazing Grace)
1
1 AMAZING grace! (how sweet the sound!)
2 That sav'd a wretch like me!
3 I once was lost, but now am found;
4 Was blind, but now I see.
2
5 'Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,
6 And grace my fears reliev'd;
7 How precious did that grace appear,
8 The hour I first believ'd!
3
9 Thro' many dangers, toils, and snares,
10 I have already come;
11 'Tis grace has brought me safe thus far,
12 And grace will lead me home.
4
13 The Lord has promis'd good to me,
14 His word my hope secures;
15 He will my shield and portion be,
16 As long as life endures.
5
17 Yes, when this flesh and heart shall fail,
18 And mortal life shall cease;
19 I shall possess, within the veil,
20 A life of joy and peace.
6
21 This earth shall soon dissolve like snow,
22 The sun forbear to shine;
23 But God, who call'd me here below,
24 Will be for ever mine.
poem by John Newton
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In Memoriam Matris
IN my hot youth I rashly penned
A Sonnet of the After-life.
It was the time of stress and strife
Through which the ardent soul must wend.
It was the Spring-time of my days,
When Doubt, like an inspired sage,
With creeds did eager warfare wage,
And looked with scorn on ancient ways.
But gazing back across the years
That separate my youth from me,
These words and thoughts now seem to be
All dim, as through a mist of tears.
For then I saw, with eager eyes,
A coming world where joy would reign,
And evil pass away, and pain,
When man was rid of priestly ties.
While now I turn a backward gaze
On visions fled, and vanished hours,
On dead dry leaves and perished flow'rs,
That make the story of my days.
And midway on that dreary track
I see a grave-stone, standing white —
Far off. I see it in the night;
It says, “Thy mother comes not back.”
We brought her from the Austral land,
To this the land that gave her birth;
We laid her cold, in English earth,
My sire and I — and now we stand,
Like aliens, on a dreary shore,
Though once he fondly called it “Home.”
Now, old and mateless, he would roam
Back to that southern land once more.
For there her spirit seems to be,
There lie her babes beneath the sod;
And there, but for the hand of God,
Her grandchild would have climbed her knee.
* * * * *
These verses of the heedless Past,
They echo not my saddened thought,
— I held that after death came nought:
The earth was not then on her cast.
Denial now is dumb within,
Without I can but grope my way,
And trust that in some brighter day
Man's soul shall live — absolved of sin.
poem by Arthur Patchett Martin
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Night of Dreary
Night of Dreary
By: Adam M. Snow
The moon beams upon roses of blood;
to those who sought the everlasting flood.
It is this night that I sought and wander;
for everything I've done, I've stopped to ponder.
Will I awaken or will I die?
This is the night that I cry.
Tis be my night of dreary wonder;
all and all why did I blunder?
In the dark I must lie;
for all things must truly die.
So let the voices echo in the night;
telling me whether or not I should fight.
It is this night that I sought and wander;
for everything I've done, I've stopped to ponder.
Will I awaken or will I die?
This is the night that I cry.
Why, oh why did I left my body so cold;
all alone with no sight to behold?
Who am I now for I am someone who is lost?
For nevermore is my soul cold like frost.
Twas upon this night of dreary;
that my essence was cold and weary.
I see the shadows coming for me;
though I not know what the curse may be.
Could it be that this is the end;
that there's nothing left for me to fend?
It is this night that I sought and wander;
for everything I've done, I've stopped to ponder.
Will I awaken or will I die?
This is the night that I cry.
poem by Adam M. Snow
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The Sun
The sun comes forth; each mountain height
Glows with a tinge of rosy light,
And flowers, that slumbered through the night,
Their dewy leaves unfold;
A flood of splendor bursts on high,
And ocean's breast reflects a sky
Of crimson and of gold.
Oh! thou art glorious, orb of day!
Exulting nations hail thy ray,
Creation swells a choral lay,
To welcome thy return;
From thee all nature draws her hues,
Thy beams the insect's wings suffuse,
And in the diamond burn.
Yet must thou fade; when earth and heaven
By fire and tempest shall be riven,
Thou, from thy sphere of radiance driven,
Oh Sun! must fall at last;
Another heaven, another earth,
Far other glory shall have birth,
When all we see is past.
But He, who gave the word of might,
'Let there be light' and there was light,
Who bade thee chase the gloom of night,
And beam, the world to bless;
For ever bright, for ever pure,
Alone unchanging shall endure,
The Sun of Righteousness!
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Hold An Old Friends Hand
(donna weiss)
Another year and Im still here
The grass just will not grow on this old hill
Still I just cant let it go,
I dont believe its cause Im cold
Or partial to the crazy life Im caught in
Sometimes I fell the hand of time
Moving like its body was broke
And its then I miss your sighs
And the tender words you spoke
Hey, thats okay - come on around and get yourself together
Wont you come on around and hold an old friends hand
Babe, I promise not to throw you
You dont have to stay, I just want to hold you
Wont you come on around
And hold an old friends hand
Another year is dead and gone
The sun dont want to shine on this old hill
Or anything thats mine
I dont believe it hurts to grow
Even when the crop you sow is a failure
Sometimes I wish I had no pride
Id go off and sell my soul
But how do you say goodbye
To the only truth youve known
Hey, thats okay - come on around and get yourself together
Wont you come on around and hold an old friends hand
Baby baby, I promise not to throw you
You dont have to stay, I just want to hold you
Wont you come on around
And hold an old friends hand
Oh babe, honey everybody makes mistakes
We feel a lot of life that way
Dont you think by now I know that?
Look whats brought us both back
Now - while the leaves still dance on the wind
While the moon and the clouds come spinning
Will you whisper my name again?
Again and again and again
Hey, thats okay - come on around and get yourself together
Wont you come on around and hold an old friends hand
Around and around with you Ive been
Flat on the ground and up again
Nobody know for sure just when
Everything changes
song performed by by Tiffany
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Man and Woman
[ According to Maori mythology, the god Tiki created Man by taking a piece of clay and moistening it with his own blood. Woman was the offspring of a sunbeam and a sylvan echo .]
THUS God made Man to cope with destiny:
Taking the common clay, God moistened it
With His red blood; and so for ever lit
That sombre grossness with divinity.
So Man for ever finds him in the mesh
Of clogging earth; and though divine hopes thrill
And flush his leaping heart, it faints, for still
His dreams are pinioned in the gyves of flesh.
Yet ever God's blood in him courses free,
And, penetrated with eternal hope,
Up Evolution's long, uneven slope
Man lifts him from his sodden ancestry!
And though his eyes the far goal cannot see,
And half the terrors of the dark he knows,
Yet with an inward fire his courage glows;
He bears the torch of immortality.
But Woman from a memory had birth,
Into the forest's dignity of shade
A sudden sunbeam groped—a soft hand laid
In silent benediction on the earth.
Then filtered through the green a song forlorn
Of some forgotten bird. Lo! in a mist
Of love the sunbeam and the echo kissed,
And Woman—sunlit memory—was born.
So light and melody to her belong—
The sunlight in the dying echo blurred!
So Woman came—a vision and a word
From the unknown—a sunbeam and a song!
So ever through the forest of the years
Shall Man pursue and still pursue the gleam
That wavers and is gone; and through his dream
The fainting echo of a song he hears.
And when at last his weary feet are led
Into the sacred glade, and she stands there,
He takes her close—all song and sunlit hair:
The gleam has faded and the song has fled!
And though with blinded eyes he cannot see,
She haunts him like a word that he knows not—
That is not quite remembered, nor forgot—
Some thought that hovers near a memory.
As out from Heaven she leans, on earth there falls
The sunbeam of her hair, golden and fine;
And drops an echo of a voice divine—
A voice that ever vainly calls and calls!
And though she spill a splendour and a fire
Upon the dark, her glory is unknown;
Behind the screen of self she dwells alone
She cannot come as close as her desire.
So ever like a pale moon drowned in mist
Her face is vague—a barrier intervenes;
And ever from her loneliness she leans,
With waiting eyes, all-wistful to be kissed!
poem by Arthur Henry Adams
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Old Mrs Truber
Always be yourself, Mrs Truber said,
Don’t be what you’re not. You sat
And studied her as she sat opposite
Stirring her cup of tea, took in her
Greying hair, her lined features, the
Way her bony fingers held the spoon
That stirred. People try to be like others
And find themselves out of their depth
And drown in the waters of lies and deceit,
She added, bringing her light blue eyes
On you. You began to speak, but the words
Were stuck in your throat. She smiled and
Tapped your hand. We are what we are,
She said, but often we are tempted to become
Actors wearing a different mask, trying to
Be a different person. You nodded slowly
And thought how beautiful she must have
Been once. Her eyes sparkled as she spoke,
And as she brushed her hand through her grey
Hair, you thought you caught a glimpse of her
Youthful self peering out of eyes like a child
Staring from windows in a locked up room.
You sipped your tea and watched as she brought
Her hands together as if in prayer. You closed
Your eyes, but when you opened them again,
The room was empty and she wasn’t there.
poem by Terry Collett
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Here To Stay
Here To Stay
Who is this man
That follows me
This blue eyed boy
Who wants to be
This worthy cause
Of human kind
This pawn set up by time
Like a bright light on the horizon
Shining so bright, he'll get you flying
He'll drive you away, he'll drive you insane
But then he'll remove all of your pain
Like a bright light on the horizon
Shining so bright, he'll get you flying
He'll get you flying, he'll get you flying
He'll get you flying, flying, flying
This open book
Yet to be read
This second look
This leap ahead
The hope I held inside
With you, was kept alive
Like a bright light on the horizon
Shining so bright, he'll get you flying
He'll drive you away, he'll drive you insane
But then he'll remove all of your pain
Like a bright light on the horizon
Shining so bright, He'll get you flying
He'll get you flying, He'll get you flying
He'll get you flying, flying, flying
We're here to stay
We're here to stay
We're here to stay
We're here to stay
We're here to stay
We're here to stay
We're here to stay
We're here to stay
Like a bright light on the horizon
Shining so bright, he'll get you flying
He'll get you flying, he'll get you flying
He'll get you flying, flying, flying
song performed by by New Order
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Psalm 136
God's wonders of creation, providence, redemption of Israel, and salvation of his people.
Give thanks to God the sovereign Lord;
His mercies still endure;
And be the King of kings adored;
His truth is ever sure.
What wonders hath his wisdom done!
How mighty is his hand!
Heav'n, earth, and sea, he framed alone;
How wide is his command
The sun supplies the day with light;
How bright his counsels shine!
The moon and stars adorn the night;
His works are all divine.
[He struck the sons of Egypt dead;
How dreadful is his rod!
And thence with joy his people led;
How gracious is our God!
He cleft the swelling sea in two;
His arm is great in might;
And gave the tribes a passage through;
His power and grace unite.
But Pharaoh's army there he drowned;
How glorious are his ways!
And brought his saints through desert ground;
Eternal be his praise!
Great monarchs fell beneath his hand;
Victorious is his sword;
While Isr'el took the promised land;
And faithful is his word.]
He saw the nations dead in sin;
He felt his pity move:
How sad the state the world was in!
How boundless was his love!
He sent to save us from our woe;
His goodness never fails;
From death, and hell, and every foe;
And still his grace prevails.
Give thanks to God the heav'nly King;
His mercies still endure:
Let the whole earth his praises sing;
His truth is ever sure.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Peace on Earth
He took a frayed hat from his head,
And “Peace on Earth” was what he said.
“A morsel out of what you’re worth,
And there we have it: Peace on Earth.
Not much, although a little more
Than what there was on earth before
I’m as you see, I’m Ichabod,—
But never mind the ways I’ve trod;
I’m sober now, so help me God.”
I could not pass the fellow by.
“Do you believe in God?” said I;
“And is there to be Peace on Earth?”
“Tonight we celebrate the birth,”
He said, “of One who died for men;
The Son of God, we say. What then?
Your God, or mine? I’d make you laugh
Were I to tell you even half
That I have learned of mine today
Where yours would hardly seem to stay.
Could He but follow in and out
Some anthropoids I know about,
The god to whom you may have prayed
Might see a world He never made.”
“Your words are flowing full,” said I;
“But yet they give me no reply;
Your fountain might as well be dry.”
“A wiser One than you, my friend,
Would wait and hear me to the end;
And for his eyes a light would shine
Through this unpleasant shell of mine
That in your fancy makes of me
A Christmas curiosity.
All right, I might be worse than that;
And you might now be lying flat;
I might have done it from behind,
And taken what there was to find.
Don’t worry, for I’m not that kind.
‘Do I believe in God?’ Is that
The price tonight of a new hat?
Has he commanded that his name
Be written everywhere the same?
Have all who live in every place
Identified his hidden face?
Who knows but he may like as well
My story as one you may tell?
And if he show me there be Peace
On Earth, as there be fields and trees
Outside a jail-yard, am I wrong
If now I sing him a new song?
Your world is in yourself, my friend,
For your endurance to the end;
And all the Peace there is on Earth
Is faith in what your world is worth,
And saying, without any lies,
Your world could not be otherwise.”
“One might say that and then be shot,”
I told him; and he said: “Why not?”
I ceased, and gave him rather more
Than he was counting of my store.
“And since I have it, thanks to you,
Don’t ask me what I mean to do,”
Said he. “Believe that even I
Would rather tell the truth than lie—
On Christmas Eve. No matter why.”
His unshaved, educated face,
His inextinguishable grace.
And his hard smile, are with me still,
Deplore the vision as I will;
For whatsoever he be at,
So droll a derelict as that
Should have at least another hat.
poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Castle In The Sand
I held on tightly to my child
Tightly i held on
The waves were crashing overhead
But still i did hold on.
The waters drove us up the street
Past where friends and i would meet
Dashing down their houses
And leaving not much there
But i held yes i held on
And on my lips there was a prayer
That these torrents would not make me weak
That somehow i would find
Some calm some peace some easiness
And the earthquake left behind
I held on god i held on
To that tender little hand
She was now my sole ambition
And my castle in the sand.
I caught my breath
A hundred times
A hundred times or more
All that i was grasping was
Her clothes and nothing more.
poem by David Keig
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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