En.Citatepedia^®.ro

I Am Nothing.... (A Body)

i am nothing but the moth,
drawn to the flame.
no more than a body,
borrowed by god!
no more than the tear,
that no one else saw.
no less than the hunger,
that you feel.
i am nothing but the cross,
and the hurt Judas felt.
the day Buddha died,
and the day you were born!
the broken down shelter,
made of branches and leaves.
the mother holding the sick child,
through the unending night.
the rose that bloomed,
out of season unnoticed.
the last prayer of the prisoner,
walking to his execution.
i am nothing more than you,
and often less...
i am the stone that bruised your foot,
the thorn in your conscience.
i am the shadow you sleep with,
when you're left alone.
i am the hand that takes yours,
when you are afraid.
i am nothing...

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Am.... (Hand Of Silence)

i am the fire raging out of control,
the blade of the shadow on poverty's neck.
the broken sound when no one can hear,
the cold feel of the gallows,
the wings of the dead bird.
i am the raccoon trapped,
and the fury of loss.
i am the waiting that kills,
moment by moment.
i am the hand too tired to touch,
the baby just born that no one wants.
i am the ribs showing on the starving child,
the refugee fleeing with nowhere to go.
the smell of despair at the county dump,
the apartment without curtains or furniture.
i am the soldier killed who hesitated with conscience.
i am the prisoner afraid of both detention and freedom.
the young gay teenager who hangs himself,
the pregnant girl who takes too many pills.
i am the protester beaten and left on the sidewalk,
the old man alone without food or heat.
i am the touch of Jesus in the addict's eyes,
the street bum sleeping in the alley.
i am the farmer whose farm was taken,
the family left without a home.
the 40 year worker in the unemployment line,
the young girl taken and sold as a whore.
i am the Buddhist monk who sets himself on fire,
the rebel imprisoned for speaking the truth.
i am the millions of young who cant afford school,
the millions of workers who cant afford insurance.
i am the immigrant deported,
whose family has no chance.
the young mother caught stealing food.
i am the morals hidden by despair and anger,
the conscience of the poor holding the gun.
i am the color of skin covered with blood,
the face of god in strays of all kinds.
i am the Buddha weeping,
the body of suffering....
the hand of silence covering the grave.

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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We Are Not Strangers

we are not strangers,
you and i!
we have walked through history together.
and the dust on our feet,
be it from Atlantis or Peru,
glimmers in the starlight when we make love.
i made the ink you penned with,
you cut the trees for my pages.
perhaps i was a turtle, or a wild stallion,
and you were a mermaid, or a moth.
or perhaps i was branches gathered,
and you were the very fire.
or i was a prisoner of war,
and you the officer in charge.
or i was the plague, and you the cure.
the black man they hanged,
as you hid and wept.
perhaps i was the cross Jesus carried,
and you were Magdelene watching from afar.
or perhaps i was the star that fell,
and turned the oceans into land.
and you were the first trees born,
in the kingdom that darkness birthed.
or maybe i'm just an old hobo,
and you the shelter of branches.
no, we are not strangers,
we have been intimate for ages!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Thorn

We both lie silently still in the dead of the night
Although we both lie close together
We feel miles apart inside
Was it somethin' I said or somethin' I did
Did my words not come out right
Tho' I tried not to hurt you
Tho' I tried
But I guess that's why they say
Every rose has its thorn
Just like every night has its dawn
Just like every cowboy sings a sad, sad song
Every rose has its thorn
Yeah it does
I listen to your favorite song playin' on the radio
Hear the DJ say love's a game of
Easy come and easy go
But I wonder does he know
Has it ever felt like this
And I know that you'd be here right now
If I could have let you know somehow I guess
Every rose has its thorn
Just like every night has its dawn
Just like every cowboy sings a sad, sad song
Every rose has its thorn
Though it's been a while now
I can still feel so much pain
Like the knife that cuts you
The wound heals, but the scar, that scar remains
I know I could have saved our love that night
If I'd known what to say
Instead if making love
We both made our separate ways
Now I hear you've found somebody new
And that I never meant that much to you
To hear that tears me up inside
And to see you cuts me like a knife, I guess
Every rose has its thorn
Just like every night has its dawn
Just like every cowboy sings a sad, sad song
Every rose has its thorn

song performed by by Unseen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Every Rose Has Its Thorn

[Originally by Poison]
We both lie silently still in the dead of the night
Although we both lie close together
We feel miles apart inside
Was it somethin' I said or somethin' I did
Did my words not come out right
Tho' I tried not to hurt you
Tho' I tried
But I guess that's why they say
Every rose has its thorn
Just like every night has its dawn
Just like every cowboy sings a sad, sad song
Every rose has its thorn
Yea it does
I listen to your favorite song playin' on the radio
Hear the DJ say love's a game of
Easy come and easy go
But I wonder does he know
Has it ever felt like this
And I know that you'd be here right now
If I could have let you know somehow I guess
Every rose has its thorn
Just like every night has its dawn
Just like every cowboy sings a sad, sad song
Every rose has its thorn
Though it's been a while now
I can still feel so much pain
Like the knife that cuts you
The wound heals, but the scar, that scar remains
Every rose has its thorn
Just like every night has its dawn
Just like every cowboy sings a sad, sad song
Every rose has its thorn
So I hear you've found somebody new
And that I never meant that much to you
To hear that tears me up inside
And to see you cuts me like a knife, I guess
Every rose has its thorn
Just like every night has its dawn
Just like every cowboy sings a sad, sad song
Every rose has its thorn

song performed by by Unseen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Death Sonnet I

From the icy niche where men placed you
I lower your body to the sunny, poor earth.
They didn't know I too must sleep in it
and dream on the same pillow.

I place you in the sunny ground, with a
mother's sweet care for her napping child,
and the earth will be a soft cradle
when it receives your hurt childlike body.

I scatter bits of earth and rose dust,
and in the moon's airy and blue powder
what is left of you is a prisoner.

I leave singing my lovely revenge.
No hand will reach into the obscure depth
to argue with me over your handful of bones.

poem by Gabriela Mistral
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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With Rose In Hand

Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.

Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.

Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.

Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.

Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.

Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.

Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.

1

Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.

Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.

Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.

Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.

Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.

Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.

Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.

1

Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.

Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.

Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.

Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.

Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.

Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.

Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.

1

poem by Meg Harrison
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Nativity

1914-18

The Babe was laid in the Manger
Between the gentle kine --
All safe from cold and danger --
"But it was not so with mine,
(With mine! With mine!)
"Is it well with the child, is it well?"
The waiting mother prayed.
"For I know not how he fell,
And I know not where he is laid."

A Star stood forth in Heaven;
The Watchers ran to see
The Sign of the Promise given --
"But there comes no sign to me.
(To me! To me!)
"My child died in the dark.
Is it well with the child, is it well?
There was none to tend him or mark,
And I know not how he fell."

The Cross was raised on high;
The Mother grieved beside --
"But the Mother saw Him die
And took Him when He died.
(He died! He died!)
"Seemly and undefiled
His burial-place was made --
Is it well, is it well with the child?
For I know not where he is laid."

On the dawning of Easter Day
Comes Mary Magdalene;
But the Stone was rolled away,
And the Body was not within --
(Within! Within!)
"Ah, who will answer my word?
The broken mother prayed.
"They have taken away my Lord,
And I know not where He is laid."

. . . . .

"The Star stands forth in Heaven.
The watchers watch in vain
For Sign of the Promise given
Of peace on Earth again --
(Again! Again!)
"But I know for Whom he fell" --
The steadfast mother smiled,
"Is it well with the child -- is it well?
It is well -- it is well with the child!"

poem by Rudyard Kipling
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We Walk As One!

for all those who are hurting...
souls troubled, in turmoil.
for those in need,
those left alone...
for all those with nowhere to turn.

for all those hungry, body or spirit,
for those who are beaten,
bruised, and scarred...
for those on the street,
and those addicted....

for the prisoner, the victim,
the soldier far from home.
for the lover left empty,
for the dreamer who's lost hope,
for every tear shed in the darkness...

i feel you, i am by your side,
i am the wind whispering to you,
i am the night shadows that embrace.
i am the prayer prayed for you, by you,
and the answer coming in time...

i live inside you,
in the breath you breathe...
you are me, and i am you,
and this path we walk...
we walk as one!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Man Aint Made Of Stone

(gary burr/robin lerner/franne golde)
I was supposed to be the rock that you could stand on
Stronger than an old oak tree
But all you ever wanted was the one thing
I never let you see -
The tender side of me
I tried to be a mountain, solid and strong
All it took was your leaving to know I was wrong
A man aint made of stone
A man aint made of steel
The way I feel right now
I thought Id never feel
Sometimes all it takes
Is facing the night alone
And thats when you know
A man aint made of stone
In this world of mine
There was no room for weakness
I covered every crack in the wall
But there aint no way that I can keep this secret
Cos when you go like jerico I fall
You thought I wouldnt shatter
Would I even care?
But theres more to what Im made of
Than this broken heart can bare
A man aint made of stone
A man aint made of steel
The way I feel right now
I thought Id never feel
Sometimes all it takes
Is facing the night alone
And thats when you know
A man aint made of stone
Sometimes all it takes
Is facing the night alone
And thats when you know
A man aint made of stone
Thats when you know
A man aint made of stone

song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Only One Horrible Thorn

I like to cry and throw a fit
Even the dark day I was born
I am a sad and drooping rose
With only one horrible thorn

I did not like people around
I would sit, curse at them and scorn
I am a sad and drooping rose
With only one horrible thorn

My heart could never feel the love
Deep inside I felt sad and torn
I am a sad and drooping rose
With only one horrible thorn

People still tried to get close to me
I would open my mouth and warn
I am a sad and drooping rose
With only one horrible thorn

I will never show a smile
This is an oath that I have sworn
I am a sad and drooping rose
With only one horrible thorn

But the day will come, I will die
Then haunt people after they mourn
I am a sad and drooping rose
With only one horrible thorn

poem by Paul Celano
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Flame

I'll never be far from home
Talkin' on the telephone
You told me it's over, you made up your mind,
I'm part of the life that you're leaving behind
I'm left holding the torch
And the heat from the flame,
Only ease me a pain
Don't you know how much it hurts,
You took all i had and you threw it away
I'm left holding the flame, yes i am
Holding the flame once again
I'm left holding the flame, yes i am
Holding the flame once again
Nomatter what you say, it hurts
You didn't had to make it worse
It wouldn't be better as you told me yourself,
Instead that you left to somebody else
Maybe i could understand
You'd been staying with another man
Day isn't long and nights can be lonely
I wasn't there and you needed to hold me
I'm left holding the torch
And the heat from the flame,
Only ease me a pain
Don't you know how much it hurts,
You took all i had and you threw it away
I'm left holding the flame, yes i am
Holding the flame once again
I'm left holding the flame, yes i am
Holding the flame once again
I'll never be far from home
Talkin' on the telephone
You told me it's over, you made up your mind.
I'm part of the life that you're leaving behind.
I'm left holding the torch
And the heat from the flame,
Only ease me a pain
Don't you know how much it hurts,
You took all i had and you threw it away
I'm left holding the flame, yes i am
Holding the flame once again
I'm left holding the flame, yes i am
Holding the flame once again
I'm left holding the flame, yes i am
Holding the flame once again
I'm left holding the flame, yes i am
Holding the flame once again
I'm left holding the flame, yes i am

song performed by by Fine Young Cannibals
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Mother's Love

What is a Mother's love? Only a Mother will know,
When a Child is sick with fever, and the pulse is slow;
A Mother will not sleep or rest, till the child is well,
This is what my Mother did, she cared, I could tell.

What is a Mother's love? As it's only a Mother can feel,
When a Child is so bad, she makes her Mother feel like a heel;
Like the Mother will keep her patience till she wants to cry,
But in the end, when; the child is sorry, then she will sigh.

What is a Mother's love? Only a Mother can say with Love,
My Mother never did give up, it's the Same as God above;
When we Hurt our Mother, show Angers, a grieve them too,
We need to say sorry, and also to God this is true.

God and Mother's are almost the same, Forgiving and Receiving,
God just patiently waits for us, to be well behaving;
And say sorry for our sin, He' ll never give up on us,
So is a Mother's Love, she shows love, she'll never fuss.

poem by Margaret Haig
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Just Friends

Just Friends
By: Jean Pullman

We were together because we felt it was right
I dreamt of you every night
Then you said that we were no more
You made feel like crying on the floor
And then said

CHORUS
Maybe we should be just friends
Because I feel barely anything there
Maybe we should be just friends
Because you were scared
Maybe we should be just friend
So I couldn’t hurt you too
Maybe we should be just friends
I know you see that I am meant for you
But you said
Were just friends

I ran from school and went to park
Where I sat on a swing aching from broken heart
Because you said I love you yesterday
And then you simply walked away
You did what every other guy did
I blamed myself for being so stupid
I wanted to go deaf when you said

CHORUS
Afraid to love
You’re always running away
Afraid to love
You think I’ll be the same
Afraid to love
From being hurt deep within
Afraid to love
You won’t let anyone else in
Afraid to love
I’m gonna show you that I’m real
And you’ll feel
No need to be afraid of love

So my goal is to get you back
I will make you feel like you’ve had a heart attaché
When you see me walking through the door
I know you want to make me yours
And we will be way more then
Just friends
Oh yeah
Just friends
Gonna be more then just friends

poem by Jean Pullman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Salt Plunged

Seizing the fire after hidden sorrow
predicted the synchronized slaughter of
the river, bodies were being ditched
secretly. The sparkle of waves was murderous.

Blue wings of tall dangers dodged
between war and hatred. The golden
face of a child was smeared with blood.
You carry a moth to be burned on a flame.

The black rose hangs in balance,
against the red cross. A sea of white ants
was entering into a microchip to eat the
months of prayer. Nation’s crimes were

pinned for troops to turn the gold
into dust. Catch my hand if you grieve
for the lost mother carrying the child
of century for burial.

poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The child tastes the tear

The tear is made of salt
The tear is made of water
The tear is made of the sea
But you cannot swim in it
The tear can leak down the cheek
The tear is like a good rhyme
The child wipes away the tear
The wipe is made of the hand
The hand is made by…who
The child thinks of the hand
The hand can shake a hand
The hand can slap a cheek
The hand can wipe the tear away
The hand and tear are made
The child is thinking
I am made too

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Buddha Born, Buddha Dying!

the buddha in me
looks like the buddha in you,
smells like, tastes like,
feels like, talks like....

i feel your need,
for you are part of mine.
you taught me about love,
when you were hurting.

the buddha in me,
reaches out to the buddha in you.
we inhale and exhale,
and night becomes day.

the buddha in you,
the question and the answer.
each a part of the other,
one must be for both to be.

the buddha in me, the buddha in you...
light born of darkness,
darkness comforts light.
the buddha born, the buddha dying,

no difference, no loss,
the journey goes on.

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pink Rose

Somewhere
Upon my doorstep
A pink rose
Lay dying,
Although I never meant to hurt anyone,
All I could do was to pluck it from its branch
Not to give it to you –
Or to anyone,
Moreover,
Though-
It now lies haphazardly, and awkwardly
Alone in the grass in a graveyard
Withering –
All of its life has been usurped,
And-
All that is left alive is one thorn
Upon its stem,
Sticking into my side.
I cry out in pain,
But death never makes me weep, only laugh-
I know your father died some year’s ago-
Pink roses were laid upon his gravesite-
Everyone mourned, except for myself;
I placed my hand over may mouth and giggled.
I pick flowers, most often roses,
Wherever I walk,
Knowing they cannot live, when broken form their branches.
I laughed at your father’s funeral last year,
And picked a hundred pink roses form his rose garden,
I believe,
I am so sorry,
I was just being me,
I never meant to hurt anyone.

Claudia Krizay

poem by Claudia Krizay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If Not All

mountain...
hawk,
tree,
newborn child,

dying old man,
fire in a clearing,
moonlight reflected through a window....

the prisoner,
a vagrant man,
the immigrant crossing the border....

the young woman giving birth,
starlight on wet grasses,
the prisoner walking
to his own execution....

an agnostic,
a heretic,
and a pilgrim....

a child of god,
a child of darkness....

which am i?
if not all!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Teardrops and valentines

I awoke last night
In broken heart city
I had a dream last night
But didn’t dream it was true

Cause it just wasn’t right
And it sure wasn’t pretty
I dreamt the door opened
And a shadow went through

There was a note on my pillow
Beneath a single red rose
And somehow I knew then
That it was the shadow of you

You left a truck-load of hurt
Parkin’ on my heart…
You took my valentine day
And you tore it all apart

So it wasn’t just a dream
It was the real thing this time
And all I have left now, is a rose and a note
And a tear-stained, …farewell valentine

poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Sky (Belongs To All)

i saw Jesus
in a drunk tank
in Oklahoma,
after i watched
a man die...
found Buddha
in the stillness
on a cool basement floor...
felt the Tao,
on a mountainside,
listening to water
running over rocks.
i found myself,
again this morning,
in the line outside
the homeless shelter.
all of this, and more,
in families torn apart by war,
in the addict who does what he has to,
in the poor, and hungry,
the sick, and the dispossessed.
in the broken, and the angry...
in the hopeless with trembling mouths.
in the child born without a future,
in the man who closed the door!

each way has its own wings,
but the sky belongs to all!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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