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Ceyx And Alcione lV

Poor Alcione was sick with grief and couldn't sleep or eat, which was partly ok because she felt she was getting fat. But the insomnia was tough. Night after night she lay awake, praying. She fasted, lit candles and burned certain leaves that she bought off a witch. In those days they didn't have email or even telephones, which was fine in many ways. The queen of the Gods, Juno, heard her. Unable to bear it any longer (Ceyx being dead) she said to her secretary:

'Iris, this has got to stop. The poor girl. Quick, a dream. Tell her the truth-her husband sleeps with the fishes. And be quick, please.'

'Yes, M'am, ' replied Iris, sulkily. She was young and very pretty and had better things to do with her time than run messages for Juno, but she didn't complain and started off for the house of Alcione with a starfish-shaped dream in her pocketbook.

'Why me, ' she sighed, under her breath, as she left. On the way she stopped in Arizona to pick up Sleep, who having spent the last ten years dozing on his right side, had recently shifted to his left.

That night Alcione had-what else-a dream. She dreamed she was lying on the dark sea floor, the weight of all the waves oppressing her chest. When she woke she spotted Sleep at the foot of the bed. He had taken the shape of her drowned husband. He didn't look so good. Seawater oozed from every pore, like a sponge. Algaes and sea-lilies tangled in his hair. An eel coiled its heavy lenghs around his shoulders and neck. He was completely naked, having shed his clothes when the ship began to sink. He stood in a rapidly growing puddle of brine and when he first opened his mouth to speak, out came a stream of minnows. Her heart was seized with pity and terror. Over her prostrate form he leaned and said:

'My dearest Alcione, my own, I am dead and beyond your unavailing tears. I will never come back. In my triall I thought only of you. The last word of my lips was your name.

With that she knew he was dead. The next day....

poem by Morgan Michaels
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Ceyx And Alcione V

'So, my husband, you are dead, ' she whispered before sleep finally came, 'then, so am I.'

The next day she told her family about the dream. She didn't look well. Her hair was uncharacteristically uncombed, her clothes in disarray. They listened respectfully but glanced at each other meaningfully. Mad, poor girl.

'Mad with grief, ' they nodded.'No surprise, after what she's been through.' They did nothing, but resolved to keep an eye on her.

The next day Alcione went for a long walk. She soon came to the port the boat bearing her husband to Delphi had left from. Staring numbly out to sea, she watched the waves rise and fall, beating a ceaseless path shoreward. Then she spotted a loggy form she first thought was a large fish, then a dolphin. It slid upside the crest of one wave then down into the trough of another, working its way slowly her way. After a bit she recognized the fish-nibbled, blue jello-clad form of Ceyx. Horrified but enchanted, she watched, shielding her eyes from the sun.

'My husband, ' she sobbed, leaping into the waves and covering the form with her form. 'You have kept your promise. You have come back.'

The people (who only saw a log) were mystified, and no less so by what happened next-which proved the existence of the Gods to even the most committed skeptic. Seen by all, the fingers of her hands became long feathers. Likewise, her arms became wings. As her body lightened, she felt it borne up by the breeze. The rolling form of her husband underwent a similar change, sprouting feathers and wings. It, too, livening, was lifted, and together they found themselves coasting over the waves toward the sun, which was still morning low, seabirds together. Forever.

Her voice became a mere, shrill cry, but not before she uttered these ultimate words:

'Winds, be still, and forever be still, these late summer days, in observance of our love.'

And they were. For seven whole days at summer's end. And they still are.

poem by Morgan Michaels
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Unable To Sleep

didn't sleep well last night
I didn't dream last night
Losing all the battles
Losing all my fight

I didn't sleep well last night
Barely closed my eyes
tossed and turned and paced
until sunrise

I didn't dream last night
Any time I tried
I cried inside
and wanted to run and hide

I didn't sleep well last night
My world seems confused
Like a dead-end in a maze
like an ocean without a sky

All my friends are far away
the hands I hold are imagined
my life in shades of blue and grey
A life derailed and gone astray

I didn't dream last night
All my dreams feel broken
Hardly uttered or spoken
my tears have run dry

I didn't sleep at all last night
caught up in dispair
for all the things not right
not all black and white

I didn't dream last night
my heart is ablaze
with sadness and fright
No way to make things right

I didn't sleep at all last night
My ship must have sailed away
All I can do is pray
but I've forgotten why

2008 © James T. Adair

poem by James T. Adair
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Ceyx and Alcione I

Ceyx (pronounced SAY-ex) was a bright darkness upon the earth, being the son of a star. His father, who nobody had ever seen by day, had been king of a distant realm. But he was visible in the night sky from which he shone brilliantly, clear to anyone who looked. True, he had been thrown out of his kingdom for discretionary reasons by the God-King because he was ambitious and loved things rather than ideas. To what extant this defect came to inhabit his son Ceyx is vague-maybe it did and maybe it didn't. You would not like to meet him in a dark alley, though, by the looks of him, for a paradoxical darkness enveloped him, born from so bright a source, that you might think would make the going tough.
His thick eyebrows arched darkly over fine, onyx-black eyes that burned like the star they were born from, fringed with leaf-like lashes that all but bore dates. His mouth was full and his teeth looked better than they were. His head was well-sculpted and his chin was, like glass, richly cleft. A length of neck bore his head up smartly. The head itself was covered with shiney, straight black hair, that fell over his sloping forehead in bangs, unless he had recently cut it. Only his nose was a little large.
He was married to a king's daughter named Alcione, (pronounced Hal-SEE-oh-nee) , whose father was named Aeolus (pronounced HAY-oh-luss) . He happened to be king of the winds, no easy job. His was to command the whistling winds from his citadel off the coast of Sicily-why there, God only knows, but the space was available, so he took it.
Alcione, his daughter, ....

poem by Morgan Michaels
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The House Of Dust: Part 02: 08: The Box With Silver Handles

Well,—it was two days after my husband died—
Two days! And the earth still raw above him.
And I was sweeping the carpet in their hall.
In number four—the room with the red wall-paper—
Some chorus girls and men were singing that song
'They'll soon be lighting candles
Round a box with silver handles'—and hearing them sing it
I started to cry. Just then he came along
And stopped on the stairs and turned and looked at me,
And took the cigar from his mouth and sort of smiled
And said, 'Say, what's the matter?' and then came down
Where I was leaning against the wall,
And touched my shoulder, and put his arm around me . . .
And I was so sad, thinking about it,—
Thinking that it was raining, and a cold night,
With Jim so unaccustomed to being dead,—
That I was happy to have him sympathize,
To feel his arm, and leaned against him and cried.
And before I knew it, he got me into a room
Where a table was set, and no one there,
And sat me down on a sofa, and held me close,
And talked to me, telling me not to cry,
That it was all right, he'd look after me,—
But not to cry, my eyes were getting red,
Which didn't make me pretty. And he was so nice,
That when he turned my face between his hands,
And looked at me, with those blue eyes of his,
And smiled, and leaned, and kissed me—
Somehow I couldn't tell him not to do it,
Somehow I didn't mind, I let him kiss me,
And closed my eyes! . . . Well, that was how it started.
For when my heart was eased with crying, and grief
Had passed and left me quiet, somehow it seemed
As if it wasn't honest to change my mind,
To send him away, or say I hadn't meant it—
And, anyway, it seemed so hard to explain!
And so we sat and talked, not talking much,
But meaning as much in silence as in words,
There in that empty room with palms about us,
That private dining-room . . . And as we sat there
I felt my future changing, day by day,
With unknown streets opening left and right,
New streets with farther lights, new taller houses,
Doors swinging into hallways filled with light,
Half-opened luminous windows, with white curtains
Streaming out in the night, and sudden music,—
And thinking of this, and through it half remembering
A quick and horrible death, my husband's eyes,
The broken-plastered walls, my boy asleep,—
It seemed as if my brain would break in two.
My voice began to tremble . . . and when I stood,
And told him I must go, and said good-night—
I couldn't see the end. How would it end?
Would he return to-morrow? Or would he not?
And did I want him to—or would I rather
Look for another job?—He took my shoulders
Between his hands, and looked down into my eyes,
And smiled, and said good-night. If he had kissed me,
That would have—well, I don't know; but he didn't . .
And so I went downstairs, then, half elated,
Hoping to close the door before that party
In number four should sing that song again—
'They'll soon be lighting candles round a box with silver handles'—
And sure enough, I did. I faced the darkness.
And my eyes were filled with tears. And I was happy.

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Ceyx And Alcione lll

So she worried-really worried-when Ceyx announced at breakfast one morning his intention of going on a sea voyage. It made no difference that he was going to Delphi on business. She worried because she loved him dearly, and, better than him, knew the power of the winds, before which taverns collapsed and chairs, cats, small children flew through the air like birds.
'No! '
'Honey, I must! I will! Delphi is definitely on my agenda. Frankly, it could make a big difference in our life style'.
'Absolutely not. I have a bad feeling about this one, trust me'.
'I'm going'.
'Then I'm going, too.'
'Forget it.'
Yes, no, etcetera...back and forth-it would make your head spin.
Finally she said 'ok.go'
The day of departure dawned. The ship was ready. Ceyx boarded and turned to bid his wife goodbye. She could barely look at him. Did she know what was to come? Maybe yes, maybe no.
'Don't worry, honey, it's only for a while. I'll come back to you- promise.
Maybe yes, maybe no. And the ship disappeared over the horizon, its sails filled with gentle winds. But this was before the days of radar,
weather forecasts and hurricane warnings, so the sailors could scarcely anticipate foul weather such as befell them next morning. Sure enough, a storm blew up, worse than any Alcione could imagine, spinning and capsizing the ship in a furor of ill-winds. In a short time the ship was in pieces and its hands walking the undersea currents. Ceyx himself was pulled under. His last word, as the wave crashed over his head was 'Alcione'. His fate was the dread of all mortals-to remain unburied in the sight of the gods, without even so much as an oar planted in the sand to mark the spot where the ship's carcass was cast ashore.

poem by Morgan Michaels
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I Dreamed.

I dreamed a dream and in that dream,
I dreamed that I had dreamed a dream,
Of hope and fairytales come true,
I dreamed a dream and thought of truth,
I dreamed a dream of life and love,
Of fate and angels and God above,
I dreamed a dream of good wishes and friends,
I dreamed a dream I dreaded to end,
But then I woke into my dream,
I dreamed I woke in a world obscene,
I dreamed a dream of violence and hate,
And once again I dreamed of fate,
I dreamed a dream of terror and fear,
I dreamed that each word went unheard,
And so children never spoke a word,
I dreamed a dream of demons and beasts,
I dreamed a dream that ended at last,
I woke in my bed and wondered if,
I dreamed a dream of dreams or if,
I dreamed a dream of truth that night,
And if so I wondered which was truth,
And which was merely a dream.

poem by Emma Wright
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~Insomnia~

No sight
Insomnia
I dream
I'm awake
I sleep
Mingle between both
Insomnia
Blurry
Fuzzy
Awake all night
I'm not alone
Insomnia
No sleep
I'm tired
Dusk is death
Dawn is suicide
Insomnia
Less sleep
I'm awake more
Time slips
Lake of sleep
Insomnia
Rain of dreams
Lucid yet unclear
I reach
Grasp nothing
Insomnia
Awake
Asleep
Both
Same time
Insomnia

poem by Andrew John Morra
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The Night I Cried

The night i cried
You weren't anymore there
Tears were heavy
No one asked me to share.

The night i cried
I cried whole night
Thinking of u my love
tears didn't stop a while.

The night i cried
I didn't want to cry
But i cried all night
still didn't know why.

The night i cried
I didn't wipe out my tears
I let them flow away
With the pain i preserved for years.

The night i cried
I silently sang something
That made me miss you more
Even more than i ever did.

The night i cried
My eyes couldn't sleep
My mind was going on asking me
Why i went so deep....

poem by Meera Santoshi
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Two in the Head

Zenobia Jackson told Officer Murphy
that her husband, Rufus,73 years old,
was 'a wonderful man when he was awake'
but he had been jerking 'something terrible'
during his sleep and kept waking her up.

He'd swing his arms, she said,
like all those martial arts men on television.
But when the bouts were over, he'd kiss her
on the forehead and go to bed.
'He was just a doll, ' she said,
'when he was awake.'

In the last month, however,
Rufus had fallen out of bed three times
'fighting' in his dreams.
In the morning he'd explain
he had been dreaming
that he was in a fight at work.
Sometimes he dreamt
he was shooting at burglars
breaking into their house
in the old neighborhood.
That's why they had to move

and that's why he bought a gun,
a little pistol he kept under his pillow.
He even taught her how to shoot one night
when no one else was on the tennis courts
in Sherman Park. She was pretty good, he said,
because most women can't aim.

But last night, she said, Rufus was dreaming again
and he swung his arms like he was chopping
sugar cane in Louisiana before they moved North.
He caught her with an elbow to the eye
and another to the nose just as she was ducking.

Long ago, she'd stopped trying to wake him
because of the pistol under his pillow.
He had reached for it once after she had shaken him.
She screamed and that woke him up
and he wasn't too happy about it.
He said he couldn't sleep the rest of the night.
And he wasn't lying because she was awake all night, too,
listening to him grumble and curse.

A week ago she had taken Rufus to a sleep clinic
where he had stayed overnight and the doctor said
he was suffering from sleep apnea. But she had never heard
of sleep apnea causing someone to thrash and kick like Rufus.
She sang with a lady in the choir at church
whose husband had sleep apnea
but all he ever did 'was snore too loud, '
no thrashing about.

'So that's how it happened, '
Zenobia told Officer Murphy
who was very busy taking notes.
Rufus had reached under the pillow
for the pistol and she had to stop him.
No one else was around to help her.
'Two in the head, ' she said,
'and he be dead.'

poem by Donal Mahoney
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Sleeper

Sleep that half dead,
sleep the body not the head.

Sleep that bad said,
Poor owns that bed,
Dreams are found on that herd.

Sleep while awake,
Sleep that dead not closed eye fake.

Sleep that weak,
Tommorow u gona take.
Eat that sleep and enjoy its steak.

Sleep still stands,
None to overtake.
Sleep that height dare for cake.

Sleep that stress and have the bless,
Sleep to confess as she do to embrance,
Sleep for paid cash as he do to love false.

Sleep that sleep as no one sleep ever deep.

Sleep that better as no other sleeper.

Wear that sweater as did Brother Peter,
Sleep that firm to dream that greater,
Sleep not slopy arrise all the weaker.

poem by Abdallah Mpogole
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How Time Passed

I told you not to go, but you went anyway
You screamed I love you and I screamed it back
You said I’ll be back before I wake up
Right then and there I started to worry
Staying up all night crying my self to sleep
I heard a cry in the night, but it was just my child
Then a thought struck me he never said good bye
Why wouldn’t you say good night to your son?
In the middle of the night I prayed to god
“Please bring back my husband safely to his family.”
The sun finally rose and my husband hadn’t come home
I drove to his ex house, his mom, friends, and hide out
He was gone and no evidence was around
Fear was in my eyes as I looked at my child
I called all the investigators and police to find my love
They couldn’t find him and I started to cry
That same day I saw you on the news you lost your memory
I rushed down there and gave you a kiss and you said honey is dinner ready
I cried and laugh thinking god you’re still alive
I knew you didn’t disappear or leave us behind

poem by Keturah Bailey
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I Cant Sleep

(kathy louvin/mark collie)
I cant sleep
For dreaming about you
When youre gone
Theres nothing I can do
But lie awake alone
And dream the whole night through
I cant sleep
For dreaming about you
I close my weary eyes
And see your face
I hold my pillow tight
And dream of your embrace
I know that I could use the rest
But my lonely heart cries out for your caress
I cant sleep
For dreaming about you
When youre gone
Theres nothing I can do
But lie awake alone
And dream the whole night through
I cant sleep
For dreaming about you
They say that absence makes a love grow stronger
But I dont believe my empty arms can hold out any longer
I cant sleep
For dreaming about you
When youre gone
Theres nothing I can do
But lie awake alone
And dream the whole night through
I cant sleep
For dreaming about you
I cant sleep
For dreaming about you

song performed by by Martina Mcbride
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sleep Forever

Down I lie
Sleeping all day
Still asleep for years
Surrounded by tears
Of friends, relations and further
But still sleep, sleep and sleep forever.

My eyes all closed extremely shut
My body is dry, straight and flat
As I lie in wooden house
Helpless like a dead mouse
Alone with no any other
As I sleep, sleep and sleep forever.

In my best black suit
My voice on mute
Waiting for the judgement
In a new environment
Coping with underground weather
As I sleep, sleep and sleep forever.

I've left all my worth
And ignored all my breath
Tell that I slept to each and every head
For that's a polite word to me as the dead
To come back I'll never
It's a sleep, sleep and sleep forever.

poem by Walani Ndhlovu
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In A Dream

In A Dream
Written by: Wilfred Mellers, Sunday, December 2,2012

You came to me in a dream
I held you tight lasting the night
You began to fade away
I didn't want to wake to face the day
Holding on tight my eyes began to tear
For all I want is to hold you near
Now sleep wont come back to my eyes
Waters flow to drown the skies

Promises to you I can't keep
So all I want to do is go back to sleep
No use counting sheep
So now I just sit here and I weep
My heart won't give me a break
That's why I sit here wide-awake
I know it's quite extreme
But the only way I can be with you is in a dream

Nothing is never as it seams
In my soul my heart it screams
My life I can't remake
You I wont ever forsake
Suffering now from a huge headache
That's why I don't want to stay awake
I don't want to see another daybreak
Not another moment I can take

From reality I want to escape
In my dream my existence I shape
Missing you is more than I can bear
Please dreams take me back there
Actuality is endless nightmares
For in my dreams reality disappears
You are in my bloodstream
My only way to be with you is in a dream

poem by Wilfred Mellers
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Dreaming A Dream

Dreaming a Dream
Sison
August 27,2004
4: 13am

late at night I woke up from a dream.
Of a girl I have never met.
It seemed real when she screamed
And her body detailed with sweat.

She was lying on the floor
One leg chained to a post.
She was crawling for the door
But her strength seemed lost.

Didn't know what to think.
This weird eerie dream of mine.
I stand up, went to the sink
Drunk some water to feel fine.

As soon as I laid down to bed,
I fell into a subconscious depth.
From a trance of the mind's rest,
Again to the same dream, I went.

Inside a dark empty room.
I saw her crying again.
Felt sad for all the gloom,
of the girl's agony and pain.

Slowly, I approached the poor girl
to release her from her chains
But every step I take she trembles.
Scared, agitated and in shame.

When I finally got near her.
She curled her body tightly
then wept clutching her hair.
She begged for mercy...(such pity)

As I unchain her captive legs.
She gave a sigh of relief.
A smile glowed from her sightless face
and embraced me in my disbelief.

We locked in a kiss that she led.
And I saw her teary face.
It was then I started to beg.
Not to wake up from this place.

For the girl I saw was HER! ! !
The star I've been wanting to meet.
A heroine of a movie theater
And a model of glamor and fame.

I opened my eyes 'cuz I realized
That I'm just dreaming a dream.
Closed it again and I visualized
the dream of my daydreams...

poem by Albert Arsenio Sison
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Taking Time

i tried to ask myself what are days for
they always equate it with walking and the nights
always with sleep. Some have taken the courage
to redefine the colors.
black need not be dark, and white need
not be waking,
sleep would be pink at times
and twilight blue.
i do most of the thinking at night
when everyone hides in the darkness of their sleep.
there are colors and sounds and scents.
and i begin to love the variations,
the aberrations have become adventures
and no one in the house knows
no one understands what is happening to my
eyelids, my mouth does not speak
and my eyes,
having seen much, have desired days
to be the place for the dead,
the white mausoleums, the scents of the flowers
for the weary.
i sleep and dream at noontime and
nobody is there anymore to
mind. I am alone and i have began to love
this moment.
my day is dark. my night is light.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Messenger

She rose up in the early dawn,
And white and silently she moved
About the house. Four men had gone
To battle for the land they loved,
And she, the mother and the wife,
Waited for tidings from the strife.
How still the house seemed! and her tread
Was like the footsteps of the dead.

The long day passed; the dark night came.
She had not seen a human face.
Some voice spoke suddenly her name.
How loud it echoed in that place,
Where, day on day, no sound was heard
But her own footsteps. 'Bring you word,'
She cried to whom she could not see,
'Word from the battle-plain to me?'

A soldier entered at the door,
And stood within the dim firelight;
'I bring you tidings of the four,'
He said, 'who left you for the fight.'
'God bless you, friend,' she cried, 'speak on!
For I can bear it. One is gone?'
'Ay, one is gone!' he said. 'Which one?'
'Dear lady, he, your eldest son.'

A deathly pallor shot across
Her withered face; she did not weep.
She said: 'It is a grievous loss,
But God gives His belovèd sleep.
What of the living-of the three?
And when can they come back to me?'
The soldier turned away his head:
'Lady, your husband, too, is dead.'

She put her hand upon her brow;
A wild, sharp pain was in her eyes.
'My husband! Oh, God, help me now!'
The soldier heard her shuddering sighs.
The task was harder than he thought.
'Your youngest son, dear madam, fought
Close at his father's side; both fell
Dead, by the bursting of a shell.'

She moved her lips and seemed to moan.
Her face had paled to ashen gray:
'Then one is left me-one alone,'
She said, 'of four who marched away.
Oh, overruling, All-wise God,
How can I pass beneath Thy rod!'
The soldier walked across the floor,
Paused at the window, at the door,

Wiped the cold dew-drops from his cheek
And sought the mourner's side again.
'Once more, dear lady, I must speak:
Your last remaining son was slain
Just at the closing of the fight,
'Twas he who sent me here to-night.'
'God knows,' the man said afterward,
'The fight itself was not so hard.'

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Bereft

FOR nine drear nights my darling has been dead;
And ah, dear God! I cannot dream of her!
Now I shall see her always lying white—
A frozen flower beneath a snow of flowers,
Drowned in a sea of fragrance. I shall hear
In every silence of the coming years
Only the muffled horror from the room
Where I had left my little child asleep—
And found a nameless thing shut in and sealed…
And I shall never feel her breath that kissed
Me closer than her lips did; for the thick,
Dead perfume of slow-drooping flowers has drawn
A veil across my memory.…She is dead;
For nine drear nights I have not dreamed of her.
When, all a tangle of wee clambering limbs,
And little gusts of laughter and of tears,
Sun-flecked and shadow-stricken every hour,
She played about me, I could lie all night
And dream of her. She came in wondrous ways,
Hiding behind the dark to startle me;
Then leaping down the vistas of the night,
And yielding all her wistful soul to me
With kisses tenderer and words more sweet
Than that mad, random vehemence of love
She lavished on me through her laughing day.

And now she has been dead nine dreary nights,
And ah, dear God! I cannot dream of her!
Her idle hoop is hung against the wall,
And in the dusk her cherished garments seem
As if still warmed with all her eager life.
And here the childish story that she wrote
Herself, and never finished;—how one day
With puzzled pucker of her brow she stopped
Mid-sentence! as if God had gravely held
A finger up to hush her, and she knew
She was to keep His secrets;—soon, so soon,
Perhaps He whispered low, she would know all.
And now she has been dead nine long sad nights;
And ah, dear God! I cannot dream of her!
So I shall see her always lying white—
A frozen flower beneath a snow of flowers,
Drowned in a sea of fragrance. Now it seems
As if the memories I hold of her
Have shrivelled with the lilies that she loved
And lay with on her little narrow bed.
And now she will not murmur through my dreams
Those faint, strange words that mean so much in dreams,
And wither with the morn. I lie awake
And whisper to my hopes, “To-night I'll hear
Her petulant hands knock at my dreams' shut gate;

And oh, the gladness when I let her in!
Hush! what a patter of impatient feet
Down the long staircase of the stars!” And then
I sleep, and with an endless weariness
I grope among the spaces of the dark
For rhythm of her unresting feet, or touch
Of her caressing fingers, or the kiss
And whisper of her little self-willed curls;
But never lifts her laugh across the dark,
And never may I smooth her wilful curls,
And when I wake again I see her yet,
So pitifully thin and chill and straight,
Who used to be all curves—a living flame!
For nine drear nights my darling has been dead,
And till I die I cannot dream of her.
Perhaps she aches to come, shut in her grave—
So deep to dig to hide that tender form!
Dear God! she is too frail and weak to climb
The horror of those walls that hedge her in;
And when you call her to you let me be
Close by her side to lift her little feet
Up to the grass and sunshine of this world,
That lacking her is now so desolate.
So I have called and called…she does not come.
And yet I know the way into my heart
She has not quite forgotten…She does not come.
And now for nine drear nights she has been dead;
And ah, dear God! I cannot dream of her!

poem by Arthur Henry Adams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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American Soldier

His face against the window the boy starts to cry,
Out of all days on his birthday the 9th of July,
His father had just left to go back to Iraq,
And the boy didn't know if he'd ever come back,

This wasn't the first time his father went away,
But everytime he did the boy would pray,
That his father would return,
Without even a burn,

It was realy hard to have faith,
That his father would be safe,
When everyday on TV,
He'd hear about another injury,

The boy would lose hope everytime he heard a knock on the door,
And it wasn't his father coming back from the war,
Every night before going to sleep the boy thought about the war,
How his dream to be like his father in the army was not anymore,

One morning the boy woke up and he went to eat his breakfast,
And when he did he saw the one that for a long time he missed,
He tried but couldn't hold in his tears,
After realizing that God had heard his prayers,

Never again will I leave his father then said,
I have realized now all the tears I have caused to be shed,
Wether it be to family or to a friend,
This is THE END!

poem by Motti Dahan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Must Have Been Sleeping

'Where are you going, ' I heard her say
As the dream took me straight to the core,
We parked at the side of a very long road
And I got out the driver's door;
'I've never known that, ' I replied, and she sat
On her hands, with the pain of surprise,
'So what you've been saying has never been true! '
The tears rose up in her eyes!

'The road has been long, the road has been wide,
I never knew where I could turn.'
'I thought you were happy with me, ' she said;
There was nothing to say in return.
'I must have been sleeping for seventeen years, '
My voice sounded foreign and coarse,
But I couldn't handle the sighs and the lies,
Or the terrible sound of - 'divorce! '

I walked to the wood at the side of the road,
And followed the pathway around,
I couldn't look back now I'd made up my mind
Though I walked unfamiliar ground,
The clearing was quiet, the birds didn't sing,
A mountain rose up in my view,
I suddenly saw there was no going back
To the comfortable life that I knew.

I cast off my shackles and took a deep breath,
To breathe in both freedom and pride,
My strength was returning, and clearer my eye,
I walked with a bounce in my stride,
The years fell away, I was thirty again,
I stopped then, and sat on a stone,
For darkness was gathering there in the gloom
With that terrible feeling - alone!

I thought of the woman I'd left on the road,
Who'd always been faithful to me,
The tears that she'd shed for a love that was dead
Made me sad, and ashamed to be free,
I thought of the comfort she'd given me when
All my world started going insane,
She'd cooked and she'd cared, and she'd loved and she'd shared
And I'd given her nothing but pain.

I turned on the track, and I made my way back
But I couldn't see where I had been,
I stumbled through thickets and walked into trees
And I fell on my knees on the green.
'I am lost, I am lost, ' I cried into the night
Then I heard her voice, dim, by a tree
And woke to her stroking my face and my brow
As I cried… She was waiting for me!

9 March 2008

poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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