Poets dream and lovers cry
Some offer prayers unto the sky
Little changes in what remains
Sitting here, we wonder why
Days of war have always been
As nothing seems to change
Into the fray the blind will go
Led from desks of the deranged
Stoic Poetry
Through The Cracked Window (Revisited)
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Poets dream and lovers cry
Some offer prayers unto the sky
Little changes in what remains
Sitting here, we wonder why
Days of war have always been
As nothing seems to change
Into the fray the blind will go
Led from desks of the deranged
Stoic Poetry
The look is clear upon the faces
Masked, shielded from the world
Protection from words hurled
The illusion becomes the truth
Forgotten is who they were
A stranger trapped in a mirror
Misguided wandering souls
Becoming the roles they play
Becoming more lost every day
Stoic Poetry
The past was never that
Living in whispered echoes
Sleeping dogs awakened
Clouding our present story
Still we visit for a while
Coloring all of our days
The past is just that
Fabrications of glory
Stoic Poetry
The “Look at Me” crowd rails,
Clicks equate to self worth,
Validation now means everything
Without substance, no value
Appearances of a perfect life
Their own praises they sing
In darkness words are written
Words that may be never read
Caring not the fame they bring
The writer pulls from his soul,
Sharing thoughts; his alone
They remain, lyrics no one can sing
Stoic Poetry
A lifetime of building
Castles upon the sand
Never thinking about
Foundations on which we stand
Illusions of grandeur
We live our day to day
Striving further upwards
Thinking that here we will stay
Creation, born of destruction
As all things must surely fall
Yet we cling to what we know
Living with our back against the wall
Stoic Poetry
Are there words I can say?
That can help in any way?
Something I can maybe do
In some way to help you?
Please speak your truth
Step down from that roof
There are things that I know
That may help as you grow
We have been where you are
All of us, so near and far
Yet we remain, we still stand
As we took hold of a hand
Stoic Poetry
From the deep words call out
The charging force of thunder
Echoing through my chest
Pierce my heart, burn my soul
Take firm hold of my core
Grip the very center of me
Connections in the dark void
A fraction of an eternal moment
Light from falling angels
Reflected in dim mirrors
All hidden now lies exposed
Beneath the blazing light
A branch in the narrow path
Beckons change of old ways
Truth whispers upon the wind
And rumbles down the mountain
Stoic Poetry
Is there a right way for how this goes?
You have your friends, along with foes
Wanting a piece of what you’ve sought
Forgetting your name like they forgot
Some want to see you crash and burn
And they criticize every word you sing
I’m trying to keep from going insane
Isn’t that the way of this whole damn thing
Nobody will hold your hand to guide you through
It has always been up to you to remain true
Nobody can ever truly feel another’s pain
Too often just something else to feign
Today, you should say all you have to say
Is there a right way for being strong?
Still, most are just here barely holding on
Feeling like they’re doing things all wrong
Confess my heart and forgive my wrongs
If not you then who’s left when it has gone?
When all is done, and it’s time to fade away
Don’t point the blame when you can’t find a way
Look at yourself and you might find something
It’s time that we finally get this sorted out
So listen very closely to the sound of your soul
And forget all of the things we complain about
Stoic Poetry
Through mist; shadows walk
Clarity vanished long ago
Flickering screens; tired eyes
Seeing only what they allow
Truth has been discouraged
Eyes forward; silence is golden
Speak only when spoken to
The words they want to hear
True Eyes watch the madness
Actions without consciousness
Repeating all the words of old
Failure then will never work now
Stoic Poetry
The softest voice
Brings a smile to my face
Secrets are shared
In this holiest place
Boughs creak and sway
Reaching out to me
Listening to what they say
Whispers of what will be
We talk of seasons past
Of those yet to come
Of things that will last
And where we are from
But the day grows long
So I must take my leave
While they whisper a song
To the story they weave
Stoic Poetry