Through The Cracked Window (Revisited)
A poetry site. (If you like this post please click, "Follow," on the right menu.)
I own very little
Yet I have so much
Walls to stay warm
Amidst the storm
Breathing every morning
Is the gift of all gifts
And when I am hungry
There is food to feed me
Shiny baubles have faded
Into the tarnish of time
I never have missed them
What I had back when
Stoic Poetry
They never stop
Going nowhere
Back and forth
Here and there
Always in a hurry
Without a destination
Never arriving
Moving in desperation
There is no peace
And it will never stop
Someplace always to be
Until the day they drop
Stoic Poetry
Scrolling; always scrolling
Images already seen
Words already heard
Yet the moments go
Lost as so many
Searching for wisdom
We already know
Agreement craved
As all do
Lost, as so many
Regret is more wasted time
Stoic Poetry
Nihilistic from the moment we are conceived
Hurtling towards certain demise
Atavism repeating the cycle
Fate determining fate
Between the starters pistol and the finish line
We run someone else’s race
No relay here, only you
Risking it all
Always running, forever feeling chased
Hurdles attempt to slow progress
Falling we pick ourselves up
Scraped knees and all
Run on, run faster, and reach that finish line
With the shiny prize firmly in hand as we die.
Stoic Poetry
Looking for beauty in things
The cost on the tag
Sets the joy it brings
Having more than the other
Seems to be the goal
Continuing, we gather
Onward reaching, we grasp
From one to the next
Today falls to the past
Until we are at the end
With no place to go
Empty time we spent
Stoic Poetry
(Wolves were reintroduced in Wisconsin, then wolf hunting was reinstated.)
Autumn’s chill, carving north woods amber leaves
deadfall, inevitable, just not so literal, please
silent whispers, padding the soft forest floor
beauty and stealth, grey ghosts pace as in times before
Once again they hunt their ancestral grounds
returned by our hand, a second chance found
their lives taken in the simple stroke of a pen
again, as many times before, we sin, and sin again
So much given to us, in trust that we betray
stubborn, stupid children, we must have our way
shepherds of the damned, into self-pleasure we delve
when the only thing we care about is… ourselves
For sport without purpose, we lay lives to waste
beauty and grace fall to a trigger pulled in haste
Stoic Poetry
Vanity spews unchecked
To an unwillingly captive audience
I am this and I did that”, “look at me, me, me”!
“Make me pretty, I am pretty, I am aren’t I”?
Maybe I am just tired or tainted
or just possibly because I shaved my head
by choice, probably.
So much time spent on words without value
time that will never be retrieved
a seemingly limitless future of endless words
if only that were true
This one minute, one second, may well be the last
the one that truly matters
use every word wisely
you may well be having that final word
Stoic Poetry
Too many fall before their time
Into the distance crosses by the line
In shady fields their souls now rest
The young and brave who faced the test
In foreign lands so far from home
They bore their task with great aplomb
Above the earth where now they lay
A bugle calls their final day
In times to come we may yet see
Their sacrifice did not need to be
When words unheard become the sword
A bleak sad future we march toward
Stoic Poetry
Through The Cracked Window (Revisited) 