Teen Poetry
Last night I heard your voice crying in the rain
Weeping, softly knocking at my windowpane
Tears of love gathering on my windowsill
But all within my heart was gloomy, dark and still.
Ebbing away
As the tide in the ocean,
So my soul ebbs
Slowly away.
Sapping my strength,
My will, and my lifeblood,
Slipping into
The misty grey.
Soundlessly lost
Among the huge breakers,
Endlessly hissing
As if to say:
"Stealing softly,
Elusive and losing,
Always slip-sliding,
Ebbing away."
Early Morning Mist
Wrapped in wreathe-like fog,
The shrouded valley slumbers.
Time pads softly by.
Unshed Tears
Bottomless reserve;
Shimmering pools of anguish;
Eyes reflect my heart.
Metamorphosis
Delicate and frail,
With wings like stained-glass windows,
Struggling for freedom
From the hampering cocoon,
A transformed creature takes flight.
Joyous Breeze
Subtly,
On nearly noiseless wings, only
Apparent in the restless rustling
Of one solitary leaf,
Joy gains whispered entrance
Into my heart.
Increasing
Almost unnoticeably
As leaves, like excited children
Begin to enliven each other,
Joy
Shows subtle evidence
Within my heart.
Gradually,
Shrouding its entrance in mystery
Yet evident to ear and eye
In the dancing, jubilant leaves,
Joy
Rises to a crescendo
And floods my heart.
Consequences
Suspended like a tuft of milkweed seed
Between the restless breeze and fruitful ground,
I rise then fall, drifting sporadically,
Unsure, in search of peace which can't be found.
In gusts, the passing breeze entangles me
Within its flow of selfish, mindless ease--
A chasing after false reality
Of luring fads, the dollar, and prestige.
Then too, faith, firmly rooted, beckons me
Toward its tiny plot of furrowed earth--
Fulfillment of a falling, dying seed
Which grows, branches out, and gives new birth.
Suspended now in cold uncertainty,
I fear that when the future becomes past
The breeze will cease, and I'll fall uselessly--
Devoid of roots, of substance that will last.
The sun is setting on the lake--
Not a ferocious, glorious, flaming red,
But a quiet pink which blends into
The cool blues of the distant mountains
And ripples with the blue greens of the lake.
Everything seems so peaceful and serene,
Like nothing could disturb the scene.
Who can identify with the turmoil I feel?
Who can understand?
We are to be content in all things,
But I am not content.
How could I have ever judged
Or failed to understand another's discontent?
Now I see, I feel, I am.
Now I understand.
We are never for a moment perfect.
The sun is setting
Dusk is settling
The earth and sky are melting
Into shades of fading blues.