A Dream Space Of The Mind
I do not have a dream space
as do other people I know.
My dream space
is not a room,
nor could it ever be
despite the richness,
or tastefulness,
or simplicity;
or style,
or colour scheme,
or tidiness,
or untidiness;
or love attention
that had been lavished
upon this artificially
constructed space.
Where I would rest
relax rejuvenate myself
upon the close of day.
To me home is where
I hang my head
any clean restful dwelling
can serve this purpose.
Perhaps this
is a side effect
or residue
by product,
of travelling across
the world and back
several times, when
young to a certain degree.
But mainly
this is a love
of natural
unspoilt wilderness,
an appreciation
of great spirit
that invests
such places,
where my spirit
runs free
flies upon
an untamed wind.
This does not mean
that I do not
appreciate a well
furnished home.
In fact I do
have put down roots
several times,
furnished
these dwellings
in an elegant
though simple
Mediterranean style
upon the last
two occasions.
So where then
is my own refuge
my well beloved
dream space?
Not surprisingly
it encompasses
essential magic
of nature
that flows
within me.
But my dream space
does not exist
and has not been
constructed
on the imperfections
of the physical plane.
I walk between worlds,
see infinitely
past the surface,
refuse to submit
to the dictates
of a materialistic world
that grieves
the essence
of a spiritual reality
I value,
cling to
with an honour code
born in past ages.
To me truth
the written word
are sacred.
These are Buddhist
teachings
which I am aware of,
yet I approach
such sentiments
from the perspective
of the artist,
which predominately
lies dormant
within me.
This is part
of my true nature,
my essential being
that I cannot
compromise,
that which I know
and need not explain
to those who follow
a path I rarely walk
in this life
in this material age.
My dream space
is in my heart,
in my soul,
in the creative landscape
of my mind,
in the knowledge
revealed to me
within supposedly
random laws of chance,
given to those
that seek and knock
down the doors
of wisdom painfully given.
My dream space
is multi textural
contains limitless horizons
I oft may walk
with all the smell,
taste, sight, sound,
touch, noise, vibrations
which may merge
the rhythm
of my soul; with
the music of the spheres,
or the harmony of the universe.
This is a magic
place revealed to me
through the heritage
of ancestors
who embraced
such realms
sought the truth
power beyond
that which more
vision-less minds,
would define
as religion follow
with rote ignorance.
I have called it
a magic place,
but in fact
it is the one true reality
hidden behind the curtain
of this life we live
upon this earth.
It is reality more in tune
to how God created it,
such knowledge is never
given complete,
to any who walk
the mortal sphere.
An occasional
glimpse
into the future
into that which is invisible
to most,
is merely
my birthright,
I remember the future dreamed
when it eventuates.
I can create
my own worlds within
my imagination.
I can create it
so that it is seen,
felt, touched, smelt by me.
This I do often
with my most perfect
thought which this world
with present materialistic
values is not perceptive of.
I rarely write
share these things
at present for truth
beauty which bent
materialistically
lost seldom see,
still should not be mocked,
for these qualities spring
from a eureka sacred,
perhaps God given source.
Shared is that which
I do translate,
often masked,
or in the form of poetry,
or short stories
long since given back
to the flame.
I sometimes write
that which can be seen
visualized by a friend
who I may decide
to share a poem
or poems with.
This can be in any shape,
size, situation, colour,
place or form I deem fit;
or the piece
being formed dictates.
It can contain
drama, excitement, peace,
tension, morals, codes,
wisdom, simplicity, frustration,
complications, prophesy,
horror, which I wish
to visit upon it in
any particular genre.
I may meditate
upon it,
explore simile metaphor,
play with words;
or become
a dissatisfied bore
destroy a piece I adhore.
Choice is mine,
for I have
no one to please,
decision totally
belongs to me,
my aim is not
presently to create
to publish, or
even to preserve;
but merely to survive
in a world in which
I walk ever out of time;
to the beat of an unheard
distant drum the mainstream
does not perceive follow
in my lifetime
perhaps never shall.
I could give you
a glimpse into
such a world from
a single diverse poem
like ‘A Season Of Growth’
which is
five hundred and ten
lines long
written as the first
key poem in a trilogy
transmuting time and space.
The poem begins
as follows;
I could give a basic
explanation
that would run
into three pages at least.
Better I give only
the beginning;
then close off this world
as suddenly as it appeared
within the normality of your life...
“Remember chill child channelling infamous ice
listening intently as if awaiting what
among helm heights of wind blown crags?
Straining to catch each Woden word, dripping
slowly from thrive thawing ice.
Grim grain weathered wheat waiting
for sun warmth water.
Hopelessly longing for season of growth
to burst forth heralded by....
Copyright © Terence George Craddock
Written in July 1998.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Related quotes
Child Of Ice
Remember the child of the ice
listening intently as if awaiting what
from among those heights; of wind blown crags?
Straining to catch each word, dripping
dripping slowly, from melt thawing ice.
Like a grain of wheat waiting
for the sun the warmth the water.
Hopelessly longing for season of growth
to burst forth heralded by breath of spring.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Telling Stories
There is fiction in the space between
The lines on your page of memories
Write it down but it doesnt mean
Youre not just telling stories
There is fiction in the space between
You and me
There is fiction in the space between
You and reality
You will do and say anything
To make your everyday life
Seem less mundane
There is fiction in the space between
You and me
Theres a science fiction in the space between
You and me
A fabrication of a grand scheme
Where I am the scary monster
I eat the city and as I leave the scene
In my spaceship I am laughing
In your remembrance of your bad dream
Theres no one but you standing
Leave the pity and the blame
For the ones who do not speak
You write the words to get respect and compassion
And for posterity
You write the words and make believe
There is truth in the space between
There is fiction in the space between
You and everybody
Give us all what we need
Give us one more sad sordid story
But in the fiction of the space between
Sometimes a lie is the best thing
Sometimes a lie is the best thing
song performed by by Tracy Chapman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Deep in my heart
as the waves conquer, the ocean floor, and the water kisses
the river stream, the joy that lingers in my twinkling heart, makes
my whispering soul, to rejoice in your soul
you who lived with me amidst of a miserable world, wins my heart,
to go where it takes, live where it ends and conquer where i stand,
waves all the struggle that echo in a distance land, for my dream,
would never be the same
leave me not, for my life will lives only with you, believe what i see
not in every wilderness you find light, not even memories to
remember that life we live is but a dream to forget, just hold on
in my shadow for i will make you live
iam not a god nor you a little god, where every angels live, yet! the
wisdom of time, reveals the essence of life, that holding me is to live
with you, its a space between space that will make you survive to
where your life live
time as time past bye, every moment lift is our to share, it is a
parting good bye, that in darkness of the sky, the firefly illuminate
the infinite shadow of what meant to love you, leaving the pangs
of death
my heart believes the pristine breath that you give, a heart that
creates something that only you can give, a revealing you, where
everything comes into being, an incense of eternity begins
hold me close, and i will take you there, to the yell of hearts, to the
dream of reality, a joy that last forever, to the afterlife where we
begin and always trust my heart that beneath the wings, we will
pass the dawning rays of joy..... thank you and i love you
poem by Antonio Liao
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This World Is Magic
Dreams can make you fly
This world is magic
Rainbows in the sky
This world is magic to me
Dreams can make you fly
This world is magic
We need peace on earth
The second birth of paradise
This world is magic
This world is magic to me
This world is magic
What is the magic of this world
What is the magic of this world
What is the magic of this world
What is the magic of this world
What is the magic of this world
What is the magic of this world
We need peace on Earth
The second birth of paradise
This world is what we share
The nature and the air
Life could be paradise
Eternal peace is what we need
To live in harmony
For human history
Pray for a better world
When you close your eyes again
Planet Earth, that's the name of my place
I'm born in this world, in the entire space
Planet earth, is my home, is my face
Follow your trace embrace this human race
In case, there's a new decade in human history
I'm talking about respect this is my destiny
Feel free, and stop running away
From the doubt in your mind,- never fade to grey
Planet Earth, gentle and blue
Then cold as a rock, or ice without a hue
Planet earth, made out of dust
A big ball of metal, condemn to rust
Pray, let your soul be free
Find out how to heal a bleeding wound don't stand around
Life could be paradise, peace on earth is what I found
All around in a magic world from the air to the ground
song performed by by DJ Bobo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Secret Untold
I’ve got a secret.
A secret untold.
A secret I have never told anyone.
Do you want to hear my secret?
I’ve got a sacred dream.
A dream vision for sacred life.
I believe in happiness.
I believe happiness is the greatest gift.
The greatest gift anyone can bestow upon another.
I want to give the gift of happiness.
I want to give the gift of happiness to the destitute.
I want to bestow happiness upon suffering souls.
Upon all suffering souls, unhappy, alone, unloved.
I want to heal the world.
I want to heal future generations unborn.
I want to heal with healing words of love.
The word is my gift.
The written word can open windows into the mind.
The written word can heal with gifts of infused love.
With truth, love, wisdom, life lessons revealed.
Words may attain the power to reveal life.
Words may reveal images attesting life lessons.
Words may reveal values advancing visions yet unattained.
Words may reveal realities exalting in love peace harmony.
Love peace harmony for all sacred humanity.
For all sacred life is a reality humanity must treasure attain.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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On Not Writing a Poem
and sometimes I’m sitting, quiet,
wondering whether a poem somewhere
would like to speak through me
and it doesn’t
but the stillness as I wait -
that’s good.
Then just occasionally, when
I’m not visited by a poem,
I visit – without planning - Poetry.
It’s a place without a name
where many things meet:
there’s space, and hope,
and possibility, and, out of the present,
a future growing..
and something that’s not less, or
not less bright, than gold;
where all the poems that have been written
mix on friendly terms with those
that are yet to come;
with a sense of company, humanity,
very undemanding, and what Pooh Bear
would call, Everybody Listening…
and there’s no claim, no need
to write about I Was There
and Experienced This, and do you wish
you had too, and here’s my name
so modestly after a line space
and it’s very refreshing, even
reassuring in its way. Maybe
if we were back in, oh, Greek times?
I would wash, put on a white robe,
take a sweet cake, some oil, some wine, an olive branch,
walk slowly up to the temple,
tap the road dust off my sandals,
then between the cool pillars,
place the offering at the feet
of the golden goddess; silent
somewhere between thanks
and praise and the place called prayer;
and then I’d return home, peaceful
as if blessed. A more poetic image? Perhaps
it’s the same place: the mind
was there, the body’s here.
It’s good. You were there too.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The color of the dream
dreams are made of color, according to one own perception
and experience, neither each dream are just a simple one,
nay, it is only a fruit of illusion or a product of hallucination,
but the fact remain, that it is always a part our life
in dream, our imagination creates, the things that we want too,
the impossible becomes a reality to grasp, the satisfaction, that
brings and leads us to achieve the things we dream off, it is
the end where our commitment begins
so real, that each parts of the body move, to concretize, what we
aim for in life, it might be impossible but the minds that initiate,
has made everything making the best of it, possible to exist,
a fulfillment that the body, the soul has come to join in force, to
satisfy the illusion of the mind
in our life, all are just started in dream, the future of our existence,
are pattern in this kind of imagination, a concept, a notion that
comes to being, a creation of God, that until today the fulfillment
has yet to come, when everything will be done in his own purpose
and destiny
we will never be perfected our dream until we give meaning of
what we share, we lend, we take, and live, each of us has to
make our dream, according to what is pleasing in our sight, it
is a call to paint our work for this end product of beauty will brings
us to the creation of the one who give and thought our eyes to
create our own dream ,
our being, is the most perfect ingredients in the color of our dream
for in every drops of stroke of brush, the elements of harmony,
create, the beauty of our existence in this wonderful universe, making
the creation prefect, a fulfillment of the promise of God
dream as you wish, live as you create, paint it with different color,
for only in painting your life will shined, and emulate other to light
the true meaning of the wonder of creation of life
' be an ingredients of color for others to dream '
poem by Antonio Liao
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Dreams
Alone I sit and alone I dream
The world is naught but dust to me
In a place I know the place I dream
I dream of things I've never seen
I dream of places I've never been
I dream of finding my one true love
Of finding treasure hidden in the stars above
I dream of space
I dream of one day finishing my race
Can the dream last?
Whose to say what dreams will go and what dreams will stay
I dreamed that I will come home to thee
Where nightmares are kept at bay.
poem by Rachel Branscombe
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Take Me To That Place
Oh take me to that place where the sun never sets
and the warmth of your smile mind never forgets.
Where the light from your eyes kindles a secret fire in my soul
as the love hidden there begins to reach out towards life's goal
and how much one does appreciate of your grace and pleasure
when knowing as I do that you hold the key to love's treasure.
Oh take me to that place where the sun does always shine
and the fragrance of your love intoxicates like good wine.
Where the bliss of your presence removes all sorrow from the heart
as tears of joy well up from within acknowledging we're never apart
and the words that you do speak are heard and lodged within the mind
when it is thinking of you only wondering why and how you're so kind.
Oh take me to that place where no darkness ever comes
and the glory of your being illuminates like a million suns.
Where everything is perceived being perfect because it really is
as the hidden beauty in all of nature is thus revealed to be of this
and the atmosphere around you is so peaceful everywhere
when the working mind has gone no troubles remain there.
Oh take me to that place where there is always light
and the stars seen in that sky are so invisibly bright.
Where all division into form does not exist or is known
as the illusion of separation like a mist away has blown
and the unity of all life is the permanent true vision of the eyes
when seeing the all pervading Spirit there can be no compromise.
Oh take me to that place where the source of elusive light is in being
and the days of the past, present or future only in ignorance are seen.
Where there is no birth or death and shadows never actually fall
as they do in duality which is false and hiding Reality behind it all
and the essence of Your being is the only underlying eternal existence
when living in accordance with Thy will all is a harmonious subsistence.
Oh take me to that place which is the abode of peace within
and a kingdom of the soul about which all true religions sing.
Where one comes face to face with God and experiences ecstasy
as there isn't any greater happiness that can overcome all misery
and the meaning of all life is known after achieving that goal
when realising the divine nature of which an image is our soul.
Oh take me to that place where we belong or should all really be
and the feeling of oneness with all creatures is just right for me.
Where there is no beginning or ending in the everlasting now
as the world of name and form exists only in illusion somehow
and all that we could ever hope to get we have already secretly got
when experiencing our true infinite nature all the universe is our lot.
Oh take me to that place to which the mind without light cannot go
and it's only by intuition that what's beyond the mind one can know.
Where infinite love, bliss, power and wisdom are always residing
as ever ripe fruit on a tree hang for those people who're desiring
and whom by Thy grace and blessing have dissolved all their ignorance
when doing what You tell them to do implicitly trusting their obedience.
Oh take me to that place which is free from all worry and fear
and the light of knowledge shines in the mind bright and clear.
Where there is no lust, greed or anger and neither any hunger nor pain
as these are all to do with the lower self which has passed away in vain
and actions performed aren't binding being for the ultimate good of all
when having supreme faith in oneself and God the ideal is had for sure.
Oh take me to that place which is at the end of the long weary road
and life's being is Light Effulgent without any dark or unknown load.
Where whatever is in Reality is what one really forever will be
as an Eternal consciousness in which nothing but Itself can see
and in which everything evolves and dissolves in its own time and space
when existing as One without a second does there can't be another place.
------------------------
poem by George Krokos
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An Opening Door
Dedicated to Trevor, who took the trouble
to share the original quotation which this poem,
was subsequently written as a reflection upon.
Someone once said that poetry is like
someone opening a door, and for a moment,
an observer can glimpse, what is on the other
side. Of that veiled door, before it closes again.
But I have lived most of my life,
radiating the inspiration of living,
on the other side of that door.
The wonder of another world
may be partially glimpsed;
through the poetic moment
of a momentarily open door.
Through the transcendence
of a soul's passage; through
an inter dimensional door.
Life is a hard time stressed, being stuck
on, this side of the door; for the duration
of your chosen, destined prophetic life.
When you oft, must live, a woken dream,
of inspirational serfdom, or indentured labour.
Poetic flights of fancy upon closure,
leave the residue, of a mind and body;
firmly trapped within the horror of being,
flypaper stuck; lifetime sentenced;
to the wrong side, of that soul sought door.
I am dream vision married to the magic muse,
but this estranged relationship leaves my heart,
panting, when the demands of a secular life
and soul; strain and obliterate the domain of
sought spiritual rejuvenation. While true poet must
dwell in a kind of limbolic hell, in the chill lost world
between two dissimilar worlds. Two differing
realities that differ as much as chalk and cheese.
Redemption gifted
to an uncaring capitalistic;
multitude of barren values
is a burden of great magnitude.
Feel the tear of a vision walker;
walking between dissimilar worlds.
'Poetry is the opening and closing of a door,
leaving those who look through to guess about
what is seen during a moment.'
CARL SANDBURG
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Worlds Within Worlds
There are worlds within worlds in this world of ours
as there are seconds in minutes and minutes in hours.
Take for example the world of the artists and their creations
how they represent aspects of nature and physical situations.
Or the world of writers whether it be that of drama, prose or poetry
how they express themselves in words of ever increasing ambiguity.
Then there’s the world of music and of a musician’s composition
in which are combined sounds of harmonic and varied precision.
And we have the world of nature and the life of all living things
of their instinct for survival and of what man’s place in it brings.
We must therefore consider the world of science and its discoveries
where in that pursuit for knowledge our future gives no guarantees.
There’s also a world of despair and that of faith and hope
how in the midst of pain or difficulties we’re able to cope.
We must also mention the world of love and its opposite hate
where we care for each other or go about in a destructive state.
There are worlds within worlds in this world of ours here
and in every one of them we try to achieve something dear.
There’s a world within each one’s mind or body and that of the heart
through which we experience this life of ours before we have to depart.
And so there’s the world of the beyond of which we know very little
where our soul is said to go being for a while its place of transmittal.
Which brings us to the world of religion and in what people believe
whether they are certain of their notions or what they may perceive.
There’s the world of memories that bears for many joy and sorrow
in which we remember our past and carry it with us into tomorrow.
We must mention the world of crime which is against the social good
and the laws of the state that it competes with mocking where it would.
And next is the world of justice which metes out punishment or reward
for things that people do in respect of ethics; what is or isn’t in accord.
There’s a world of communication and the various devices it uses to inform
of the complex and sophisticated means created by which it has to perform.
Then there’s the world of medicine or the prevention, treatment and cure of disease
where the doctor in his practice tries in various ways the patient to help or appease.
Yes, there are virtual worlds within worlds in this world of ours almost without end
and so therefore it’s with each other against time and space they all have to contend.
poem by George Krokos
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A Hundred Times Over
A hundred times over words have flowed through my fingers to the keys
A hundred times over I have released the freedom that is in my mind,
A hundred times over I have become one with my inter most longing,
A hundred times over I have taken a journey to show you my own world.
A hundred times over I have written of pain and life, of sorrow and joy,
A hundred times over I have used my art to show you what's in my mind
A hundred times over again I will show you.
A hundred times over I have cried for those, whose names are untold,
A hundred times over I have showed you their pain.
A hundred times over I have become their connection to you,
A hundred times over I have showed you the beauty of our world,
A hundred times over I have taken you somewhere you may never see,
A hundred times over my words have screamed the horror of darkness,
A hundred times over I have sung to you the beauty of light,
A hundred times over I have taken your hand to lead you to a new place
A hundred time over I have written for those who have no words to write
A hundred times over I have tried to show truth in a world of lies,
A hundred times over I have have tried to show the world's beauty,
A hundred times over again I will lead down these paths,
A hundred times over and over again I will show you reality,
A hundred times over and over again I shall show you my world,
A hundred times over and over again until you have memorised truth,
A hundred times over again until you can repeat what I have told,
A hundred times over again shall I create an art of words, time, of life.
A hundred times over again I shall do this,
A hundred times over again.
A hundred times over.
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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Someplace
Holdhng your body close to mhne
we're spinning, propelled, then hurled
Past the stars and planets
through time and space
Entering the dimension of a distant world
Existing together alone in oneness
a unique isolation of freedom
Feelings enraptured
one for the other
A dream of reality? A theorem?
Your spirit senses my empirical passion
my heart pounds at this new beginning
Feelings so sensual
beyond all imagination
In this place phenomenally transcending
Away from the pain of the world we've known
everlastingly flying through space
I ask nothing of you
but to hold your heart
Forever in this beautiful 'someplace'.
poem by Shamal Akrayi
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Of A Place
i dream of a place
a place far away
wuth sun sand and sea
just so far away.
i dream of an island
i dream im lost at sea
i just dream about anything
thats not here u see.
i dream im in space
i dream im flying high
i dream so i dont have to ask why.
i dream to escape
the harsh reality of life
the cold world
that surrounds my life.
but i dream to keep going
it keeps me safe
just to know that my dreams
is the only place where im completly safe
poem by laurajayne Kennedy
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An Echoing Truth
In a world of right and wrong, we have Truth, that echoes strong,
And from the world’s ancient past, God’s Truth shall forever last,
To be for men a guide and light, for discerning wrong from right;
God’s Guiding Truth for every need, when souls choose to heed.
God’s Word echoes loud and clear, as men of true wisdom fear,
God who reigns above the earth, who gives The Word true worth,
God, Who spoke this world in place, opens hearts by His Grace,
And with that Grace He will impart, Eternal Truth into man’s heart.
A Book, that many seldom read, has the Truth that all men need,
While others never even heard, the Eternal Truths in God’s Word;
Eternal Truths that man can trust, which were written for all of us,
Truth revealed to all the world, which all believers need to herald.
This truth’s more than knowledge of, The One who reigns above,
But what He had did for everyone, sending Christ, His Only Son,
His Truth, revealed to every nation, leads a soul to His Salvation,
When they come to Jesus Christ, that soul, receives Eternal Life.
Open The Word and you will see, Truth about our present reality,
And you will see through history, others pointing men to eternity,
How Godly men of old would tell, others about Heaven and Hell,
Knowing all are just one breath, away from Eternal Life or Death.
(Copyright ©06/2010)
The Poem About The Poem About The Poem
THE POEM ABOUT THE POEM ABOUT THE POEM
The poem about the poem about the poem
Written in dream
And forgotten in sleep
Comes back to me slowly now
As if it had been away on a long long journey
And is reluctant to come home-
I write it
But it really writes me
And when I try to make sense of what it means
It tells me its ambiguities
Are more important and interesting
Than my clarity-
The poem about the poem about the poem
Written now
May not be a poem about a poem about a poem at all
But may merely be my own playing with words
Which take the place in my life
Of really living-
A poem about a poem about a poem?
Surely this is a mysterious thing
If it exists at all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Timeless
All time that we face down here, whether that time is far or near,
Will just become a period behind, as the future comes to mind,
Here, the present, future and past, are periods that will not last,
As all the time we come to see, are just spans towards Eternity.
Eternity is what we have in view, when time will be eternally new,
When we leave our earthly place, where life is in time and space,
As we move into Heaven sublime, with no limit on space or time,
When past and future is no more, and present will forever endure.
A time we now can’t comprehend, but, where we’ll forever spend.
Within an endless realm with Christ, as we enter into Eternal Life,
And timeless will be that place, which we’ll enter by God’s Grace,
Far away from this earthly sphere, of time and space, down here.
That place, that is prepared for us, was prepared by Christ Jesus,
The world’s only timeless man, the architect of God’s eternal plan,
A scope of which we can’t conceive, even those who truly believe,
And never seen by a mortal’s eye; all God has made for you and I.
So I’ll continue in the present time, on hills and valleys yet to climb,
As I move on to that destination, afforded to me through Salvation,
And at times I will contemplate, life with no space or time constraint,
Until I’m changed by God’s Grace, to enter Heaven’s timeless space.
(Copyright ©12/2010)
Poem Preceding Time
Poetry paves the heart's compassionate path
signals alarming the soul of coming return
ultimate creative force resonating from
the heart of existence
nature, architecture
geometry, magic, medicine
technology and science
laughter, song
silence, stillness
all movement
all sound
love, humor, everyday happenings
world news, music, politics
beauty, truth, tragedies, lies
myth, immortality, heartbreak and epic triumph
risings, fallings,
struggles and sufferings
reality, dream
light and darkness
conscious realms in between
the shared cry of
humanity and god
the poem written
preceding time
captures all
poetry spoken in every language
known in every world
communication life line of the soul
poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Open
Here there is nothing but open,
Nothing but pure space,
Nothing but a void of unknown.
In this place the only thing that exists in the mind,
Is what is made true through the spirit,
And actions made by the body.
In a world so empty and cold,
There is nothing to live for,
Yet at the same time nothing to die for.
Here, you just are,
You do not live or die or believe,
You just are.
It’s unimaginable to the worlds that surround,
A figment of a child’s imagination, maybe.
Abandoned over the years.
Maybe this place is the creation of a tired author,
Who has nothing to write, only characters without purpose,
No ideas left to create a solid world.
A lonely widow, perhaps,
With no one to please or be with,
Only an empty house filled with empty memories.
Or even a retired soldier,
Not wanting to live through the pain and dreams,
Creating a world so empty, so predictable, nothing could go wrong.
A mother who has lost their child,
Who goes from day to day following suit,
Wishing it was them instead of their baby who left the world.
The blackness of this world is unlike any other,
A simple world that is pure impurities,
Simple complexity.
Like the worlds we make for ourselves to escape to,
When our own reality becomes more than we can handle, less than we expect,
A world we can slip off to silently screaming.
A bright place of darkness,
A never ending end to what we live everyday,
A single lie that we live with as if it were true.
A world that is everything and nothing,
Completely incomplete,
Written and unwritten.
Open.
By: Bethany Maxwell
(c) September 29,2010
poem by Bethany Maxwell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Thought To Begin The Day With A Poem
I THOUGHT TO BEGIN THE DAY WITH A POEM
I thought to begin the day with a poem
But inside myself I hear only my own slow emptiness
Word by word I try to hear
And there is some small motion now
But still
A real poem
A poem of beauty
A poem of light
A poem of love
A poem that makes the dreamer long to dream-
And the lover long to love-
A poem that moves-
Well it is very very dark outside
And the world straining to give
Small rain to a dry land
Seems to say,
‘There may be a poem today
But it is not the poem you dream
Not the poem others will love
As you have loved
True poetry.’
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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