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.