Favorites (Page 3)

Canvas Obscured (a poem)

The poet’s palette,
an ocean of words.
She covers the canvas,
with notions absurd.

Blame the speed limit for the ticket,
the intersection when it’s run,
and the law for the crime.

Blame the bullet for the war,
the knife for the cut,
and the stone for the corpse.

Inspired I write.
Tired I sleep.
Stressed I can’t.
Lonely I weep.

Enabled I do.
Afraid I don’t.
Excited I thrive.
Ordered I won’t.

The beauty of a rose,
wrapped tight within the vines,
upon my trellis waiting,
just waiting for her time.

Bursting open, petals stretch
unto the light of day.
Exploding colors all around,
for Spring has come to stay.

A heavy storm is brewing,
out on horizon’s line.
Panic sets as we worry how,
to prepare ourselves in time.

Heroes stand tall,
for those who feel small,
lifting their spirits to the sky.

Lost courage regained,
we move past the pain,
never again asking why.

Of what more worth are we than dirt,
with vain ambitions nigh?
Crawling up on spindly legs,
to gaze upon the sky.

Her hair hung down in ashen curls,
on skin all snowy white.
Hazel eyes adorned her face,
her collar buttoned tight.

A rosary wrapped around her hands,
on which countless prayers were raised,
a gift from Mom, to a little girl,
that lasted all her days.

Awakened again,
unable to sleep,
for the stirrings below
of leviathans deep.

I relish the feeling of crisp new pages,
the scent of ink in the air.

Some, may speak of enchanted places.
A handsome prince, a maiden fair.