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Teen Poetry

Last Night I Heard Your Voice.jpg

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.

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