for you

On 2018072420180724 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original PoemsLeave a comment

the day is made of flowers
within these high steel walls,
the city breathes
a busy sort of sigh —

and though i walk for hours,
amid the carts and stalls,
i seem to see you everywhere.
and why?

for you
i sang a different kind of song,
for you
i walked the angry streets
and brought my heart along,
for you
i turned the winter into spring,
for you,
you were my hope,
my everything

there is a kind of mem’ry
that’s realer than real things,
the presence of someone
who isn’t there

it’s absolute, and plen’ry,
and each new day it brings
a realization that is
ev’rywhere

for you
gave me a different kind of song,
for you
i walked the hopeful streets
my soaring heart along,
for you
the lonely winter seemed like spring,
for you,
you were my heart,
my everything

for you,
you’re still my hope
my

everything

a winter window

On 2018032220180322 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original Poems2 Comments

her heart looks through the winter window

wondering, and wandering

in futures yet-to-come or ever be —

the lights are coming down, and she’s

meandering and maundering

out in the cold of irreality

her heart is like a broken arrow

still it tries, each waking day, to fly —

and even though

the way be frozen,

she still hears her heart’s soft

lullaby

Picture credit : ID 82228349 Tatsiana Hraiko | Dreamstime.com

The Day You Know

On 2017122220171222 By Sibelius RussellIn Original PoemsLeave a comment

The day you finally, really know,
The world comes into focus clear:
It may be chilled by wind and snow,
But all the warmest times seems near —

For though the heart be bruised and sore,
And we feel far away from shore,
The pull will come, the hope, the yearn,
As tide comes back, with love’s return.

It’s Always Dark These Days

On 2017121820171218 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original Poems2 Comments

It’s always dark these days,
If the sun comes up, it’s somewhere else –
It’s always dark these days,
And I try and try, from this bleeding head,
To give truth to the lies, and revive the dead —
But it’s always dark these days.

It’s always cold and wet,
But I know there’s a fireplace, somewhere else –
It’s always cold and wet,
But I seek, and I search, from this open cell,
For the means and the strength to get out, and well,
But it’s always cold and wet.

And if dreams were like water,
And happiness, cloud,
I’d pull them in close,
Like a funeral shroud,
And I’d lay down to rest
With a smile in my heart,
For the days I was wiser
Than I am smart —

It’s always dark these days,
So I’m grateful for whatever I can see –
It’s always dark these days,
And although it seems vast, and thick, and deep,
I know light is for giving, and not just to keep;
I have to keep trying to conquer my doubt,
For if no one gives love,
Then none ever goes out —
Even though it’s dark

These days

Not Every

On 2017091220170911 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original PoemsLeave a comment

Not every thing that needs be said is spoken,
Not every past that’s gone is dead, or broken,
Not every way we choose works out the same,
Not every love we lose was ours
To claim

Oh, Love —

On 2017081620170816 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original Poems2 Comments

Oh, love —
Let every touch be love,
And may the very light that brushes eyes
Call out your name —

Oh, love —
I’ve felt you in the dark,
The hope that whispers comfort when
The night is filled with shame.

The emblem, and the meaningless,
The symptom, and the curse,
The absent, and the manifest,
The chapter, and the verse —

Oh, love —
I want to know your heart,
And feel you pulsing there,
Beneath my skin —

Oh, love —
There is no other way:
For all of us must end where we
Begin

First Great Hope

On 2017081320170813 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original PoemsLeave a comment

The lake was pure
As innocence,
The sky was deep
As truth,

Their minds were full
Of everything
That can be thought
By youth.

The lake’s now fillled with
Powerboats,
The sky’s a fearsome
Token,

But they’ve not lost that
First great hope,
It’s just more rarely
Spoken

Evening Falls Upon the Heart

On 2017063020170630 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original Poems3 Comments

When evening falls upon the heart,
And all we’ve loved has vanished with the light,
Our pathways, separate and apart,
Converge within the muteness of the night.

And there, within our solitudes,
We reach for things that beckon to no peace;
Obeisant to our sports and moods,
Uncertain, though, of what might bring release —

We lash ourselves to masts, and wait
For storms that our mythology requires;
And gradually devaluate
The warmth we’ve known, and felt, from homely fires.

What always ends, must always start,
And every wrong is born from some new right —
When evening falls upon the heart,
And all we’ve loved has vanished with the light.