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Curtained eyes not fully open
The veil of night still closed
Rain drop spatter, still hoping
No sunshine will rise I suppose
It is too early yet to be awake
But the soft drops they calm
This sleeping world I gladly take
A new day held in his palm
There is no better place to be
Sitting quietly in the dark
A rainy Sunday waiting to see
On this new day to embark
Stoic Poetry
As rain falls gentle on the field,
Stood by a door with the two windows,
Almost for a moment I had to yield,
Day for the time, night for the morrow.
A star that shines through curtain before,
Has looked like the last night in my life,
Laying with my head up on the floor,
Dumb with an earthly breath of strife.
Looking at the old dust before the sink,
And there you have the theme of the night,
I think the thing I most deserve to think,
In front of the fire in warmth and bright.
Stoic Poetry
Never looking for a tomorrow
Day falls upon souls with sorrow
Smooth was my heart
With a bridge of blame
Dark was her life
With a sullen flame
They sat and then fled
From the crowded city
Skipping their feet
To the melody of pity
A song to me and the world of youth
Yet from their faces shines a living truth
Stoic Poetry
When the old days all fall away
No longer are they of any use
A copy of what has been said
Is now used as a weak excuse
Original thought is a rarity
Sitting under the apple tree
Never allowed in these times
Shackled and no longer free
Once we thought; free to fly
Now too often led by the crowd
Afraid to say or write the truth
We can think; but never out loud
Stoic Poetry
The poet writes in dark of night,
Recounted jewels from my brow,
Through all the day and heavenly light,
Brings a new smile at new art now.
Shedding the soft note in every line,
Steal up the sermon against my time,
Before this kind sweet muse of mine,
The search for memories once sublime.
Stoic Poetry
The days are blown by wind and rain,
Fading light yearns with a beam of flame,
Shone on my dimmed eye with sudden pain,
Gather the good earth to hide the shame.
Swift as the sparkle to the mountain,—
Smooths these green banks with a tender sign,
With herb that rock, by forest fountain,
In the softest way of my changes shine.
Stoic Poetry
Do they really matter?
Falling onto the page
The thoughts of only one
May to others enrage
But I am just a poet
And words are my trade
Nothing was ever meant
By what I may have said
Language is a funny thing
Interpretation even more
But behind my trusty pen
Still mightier than a sword
Stoic Poetry ☺️
I would fight on for you
Through fire and flood
When all is said and done
What is a heart without blood?
Braving blows in silence
Rarely a word being said
Steadfast in the journey
Bleeding to know I am not dead
The sum, more than the parts
There is a value cherished
As the storm will break
And we will never perish
Stoic Poetry
When all around has turned to grey,
Past the sunrise to spend at play.
I but a little boy, and went my way,
Eyes of amber still enclosed in day.
Black secrets buried within my dream,
Into the glad day and the freckled night.
Beneath the sun in gold tinted beam,
Always the one who sought the light.
Stoic Poetry
I ruled the world,
Mine to do with as I pleased
Boundaries were laid
Seen as walls to climb
Pulling at the stones
I tore them down
They begged me to stop
Leaving the rubble behind
I piled them high
Building my own
Building empires
That no one else could find
Now I look out at
Those begging to enter
But the gates are closed
Protecting me from my kind
Stoic Poetry
Through The Cracked Window (Revisited) 