writing

Thoughts can flow so free like the breeze,

unhindered by hills, or mountains, or trees.

While some might warm you from elbows to knees,

Others latch on like a swarm of old fleas.

Tis better to save them, to write, if you please.

To cover the page with a poetic sneeze.

Whether out with bang or out with a wheeze,

Wring your thoughts out, give that old brain a squeeze.

The Boulder

Year after year I push through the crust,
collecting the stone, the metal, the dust.
Till finally I arrive after the millennium trip
Standing proud at the mountains tip.

Year after year the rain pours down,
In the deep winter snow I'm buried, I drown.
The rough old stone now damp to the core,
the grip once strong is now quite poor.

Year after year I've stood at my post
Now suddenly I'm shaking and leave my host
With a mass oh so large I move with some force
barreling forward away from my source.

A millennium climb, now falls oh so quick
crashing through terrain oh so thick.
Till finally I find a field of flame,
I heat and burn but do not tame.

Minute after minute I cut my path,
both fire and rain have shown their wrath.
yet still I roll down this quiet old trail.
The end in view, yet behind a veil.

Hour after hour the sun heats my back
a humble home found on my track
The sunny days seem to never end
But I keep rolling on with no time left to spend

For year after year, I rolled on and on
a force moving through, of nature a pawn
and now I'm here where all this began.
Sinking down low at the end of my span.

Year after year I sat oh so still,
yet fire and rain were my journey's real thrill.
I drowned and burned, fell and laid,
but it was better to roll than to have stayed.

Friendship, the Sweetest Influence (Φιλότης Γλυκυτάτη Δυναστεία)

How cruel, how horrid some lives can be,
To tell the sun it must find shade.
How lonesome, how cold some lives can be,
To try and press on when there'll never be aid.

A life in chains is really a picture,
to be but not feel, to look but not see.
In life by self or life by scripture,
Freedom's not free and it will never be.

So little we know to be so true,
For all we know is that we are.
Clinging to safety is all that we knew,
Stuck to a friend, or a love, or a bar.

When we know only but ourself
We take some risks, and live to die.
Then we see what is life itself
Then we beat the horrid lie.

Yet you can't move past the truth of life,
this we've already come to know.
The pain, the sorrow, and the strife,
A story we've heard not long ago.

For feelings are gained, so quickly they're lost,
but who are we to sit and judge?
So far lost at such deep cost,
Left with a tackle, but lost by a nudge.

How cruel, how horrid some lives can be,
To tell the sun it must find shade.
How lonesome, how cold some lives can be,
To try and press on with only my aid.

The Whale of Ambition

A graphic I made of my first poem.