My poem “sorrow’s calling” is featured this week. Stop by and check it out!
This week, I am featuring Aaron Cornett’s lovely poem from the All The Lonely People anthology. I found this so touching. And I love Polly Wood’s beautiful art-work. Many thanks Aaron for your wonderful submission.
Sorrrow’s calling By Aaron Cornett
She knew the light.
Her steps knew conviction.
She bore the strange gift
Of solitude, as if knowing
That she was not meant
I knew her once,
I knew everything about her.
Her vibrant youth and
Her innocent charm,
Her sickness and frailty.
There at the bus stop,
Surrounding by the chilling rain,
I met her gaze as we shared
A painted sidewalk.
Her eyes are deep and
Never ending, her smile
As shadows crept across
Our gentle surroundings.
We shared the conversation
Of strangers and a friendship
We enjoyed the times and
Moment life gave us, dancing
Among the poetic ashes
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Ghost in the middle
Autumn leaves and a gentle breeze
Bring more than a kind warning
To all who know there is
Nothing worth hiding.
The slave to cruel time,
The child with unwanted burden,
The woman of constant sorrow,
The overseer of the dead and dying,
And the enlightened know this.
Holding their lantern high,
They endlessly search for the
Consuming fire that can light
their steps in the void.
In the quest for something better,
the quest for fulfillment and
We find there are always two paths
Before us, and we must decide
In timeless light.
And there in the middle is
The ghost of chance,
A reminder of the life around us.
Whatever the choice we make,
It is then written in the scars
And is our first goodbye.
Sleeping on the edge of the universe,
We wake gratefully beneath
The unfolding sky,
And watch those who write their truth
while we live ours.
Passing the promise to the children
On this side of the wind,
We give our pain meaning.
And If anything,
We pray for a lesson learned.
Asleep in the light, we wake to a
Familiar world with a torn sky.
Our excess is common, our lives
Wasted at the expense of so many.
We are bombarded with information,
None of which we will ever care for.
We are ghosts in restless cities of
Vicious decay and violent ruin.
Our meager prophets continue to lie
With accountability dead and gone
Our fortune and wealth have turned
As we start to reap what we sow
We worship celebrity stupidity
Indifferent to violent images,
Careless about our country,
And shrug off the notion of war
We give in to convenient ideology
And relish our filth and ignorance
Truth and consequence become victims
to accepted political corruption
The vote and voice no longer matter
As victory and power keeps giving us
A fetid justice of hell and damnation
With the wild mob mentality.
The constant war, a constant
Political war that must be won
Everyone’s guilty but the wealthy
In the hazy fog of legality.
Our truth is a fading concept
And a myth formed not so long ago.
Our minds are dull and frayed
As we give up fighting human decay
Our existence is chaotic
And madness steals the light.
We continue the poisonous feed
Into our bodies, our minds, our children.
We are sinful, prideful,
Shameful, and lazy.
We are liars, we are guilty,
pathetic and failures.
We are responsible
We are wrong
We are the ones
Riding carelessly towards
The edge of oblivion,
Riding away from the
Senseless killings and
Riding away from the
Dead and dying planet,
Screaming for one last buzz.
Riding away, so far away
From the chaos and confusion
Riding over the edge,
Falling over the edge,
Giving in to the darkness
Giving in to a quiet inevitability
Of a silent but violent ending.
Not a bang but a whimper
No fanfare but frustrated sadness
No one left to blame
We hit rock bottom, knowing
We have been dead
for a long time.
As the sun falls to the horizon
And the yellow moon begins her
Climb into the long cold night,
I am silently wishing for the same
Tomorrow that I witnessed today
In the fields of fragrant beauty.
Pushed to the edge of my dreams,
I listen to the thin space between
Each breath and every pulse, always
Carrying the burden of distant love
In a lonely place where infinity exists
In all directions but home.
All of my wounds give a gentle ache
As I find the rhythm that moves the soul
And the strings that stir the heart.
Here in this place of stone history
And sculpted brilliance, my desires
Are forfeit to the truth of touch.
Our rare moments of passion become
Sparks of sharp brilliance upon the canvas
Of an unbroken chain of memories.
Our creations become the dreams that
Can never bridge the divide, leaving
Immortality alone with our wishes.
In the end, we discover the frailty of living
And accept what we see in the mirror.
Our creations are brief, like rain drops
Dancing randomly on keys of a glass piano.
Beautiful and elegant, they give a reprieve
From the pain we possess.
I walk the sands of an ancient wish,
Keeping the softness close to my heart
As the salted spray rests gently
Across my body.
I walk in the presence of my God,
My creator, my reason for dreaming.
I walk the steps of Enoch
The countless stars continue
Spinning over me, dancing along
Their ancient and celestial paths.
I feel a deep peace and know
The kind pleasure of acceptance.
I am adrift on the mind’s farthest shore,
A place were time and chance
Have no meaning.
A place were pain and hurt
Have no hold.
The waves are in rhythm with
The quiet echoes of lost loves
And forgotten dreams.
They come to this shore
From a far place of deep solitude
That mirrors the starry void above.
I sit beside a fire that gives
More light than warmth, saying nothing
of my sorrow and fear of standing still.
In a moment I will move on
For I cannot linger where
The heart stops.
Looking back across the far shoreline,
Back across the many steps taken,
I see the monuments of the
Forgotten and the fallen.
I passed through without notice,
For so many are of my own making.
Looking forward across the other side,
The empty stretch of oblivion waits,
glowing in the moonlight and
tugging at my consciousness.
Soon I will be in harmony
With all things, and I will
Ascend with promise.