by Topaz Terry

 

Silly Me

I heard a bird

Chirp a word

It sounded like nerd

Made me question

EVERYTHING I ever heard

This bird was bad

I mean

 It could really sing

It had me going

And questioning my dreams

And my understanding.

Could it be

 This bird is really me?

Trying to tell me

I’m too afraid to fly free?

When all I have to do

IS BE

THE REAL ME

My Father in heaven

 Sent me here to be

And know that

 Heaven’s gate

Is my final

 Destiny!!

 

Life

Can anybody tell me
What does it mean
When you find out
Life is nothing but a dream
And when this life is through
There’s no way
to face, another lonely day
Some people say
Life is cruel
Wonder if you find out
Life is a mirror
Imitating you
All that you wanted to do
A dream come true
Seen through misty blue

 

The Pen of Life

Just like a poet’s pen

It never ever seems to end

A poet’s notes

They are PRECIOUS QUOTES

A poet’s mind It’s always on time

A poet’s brain It’s so ready to gain

Just like a poet’s time

You cannot rewind Although you can

Fast forward time

I WONDER IF A POET

Ever wrote about (The Blind)

A poet’s vision

Is seen through a frame

And without vision

A poet knows EVERYTHING

How the story ends Before it begins

Who will be enemies

And who will remain friends?

Who will cry and yes Who will die?

Who would tell a lie?

Just to pass Time by

Who’s a true friend in the bitter end

So, what is a poet without its pen?

What most people don’t know

About that snow If the SUN don’t shine

The snow doesn’t show

Neither does tomorrow

But some will never know

If rain makes you sad

And it was taken away

You would swear That you died

And you were buried alive

With dry tears in your eyes

On a day Without a day

A poet’s best friend Lives within

The walls that can talk

And sometimes I swear walk

WOULD it have been fine?

If I would ‘ve kept you

MANKIND pure blind

Never to redefine

Undivine, No Kind, Unrefined,

Falling – behind

A CONFINED

(LINE)

Within my mind

Stuck in time?

There’s No Need for petty crimes

(Your mind becomes Your time)

And

On the other side

No rhythm No rhyme.

A poet’s letter I tried to send

A poet’s like

Paper – chasing in the wind

Without vision

The poet becomes The pen

A pen’s mind

Commits a crime

And swears it was just a rhyme

Without reason

Very little rhythm

MAYBE IT WAS JUST A POET’S WAY OF

INSTILLING WISDOM

ABOUT

LOVE.

Until this pen Recognizes its sin

It will remain on earth Such as Dry land

Never to understand KNOWLEDGE

Or even comprehend again (A gain)

He will picture rain

Snow thunder lightning

And hail Felt by The WRATH of The wind

Only to have The CHOSEN SON

In the bitter end Return him to dust

Blowin’ in wind.