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Wright your words
By JOYCE
Wright your words so sweet,
Telling of tales of love,
But you know the twain will never meet,
You'll never here the song of your loveliness,
Dream ON,
OH! Poor and envisioned man,
See the things lovers see,
Walk on beached sands,
For it's for you too never be.
OH What Hell you live,
To need and want,
And see it slip away like a rain drain,
How bad the taunt,
No my dear poet,
To dream is to dream,
To dream and to crave,
You've already let it slip away…
>
I walk with you whenever I can
By Joyce
I’m walking in a haze it seems,
But I know it’s only a dream,
When all of a sudden,
There is nothing,
Hearing a far distant voice,
Telling me that there’s a choice,
Witch way are you walking,
Is it fair for your stalking,
The voice came near,
Yet so very clear,
Telling me to remember,
Things that happened in December,
Cold drifting snow upon my feet,
Yet with my hands I feel heat,
How could this be,
I’m blind to see,
I fall to the ground,
My face down I’m found,
As a gentle hand,
And a voice of a peaceful man,
Come my daughter,
And stand,
I walk with you whenever I can.
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WHO? YOU?
By Joyce
There was this young man,
Hungry for something he knew not of,
Began a quest to seek knowledge of infinite wisdom,
And along his journey he met lots of wise men,
And did speak to many,
Then one day many years of seeking,
By a lake he sees this old man,
Walking up to him he felt something very different,
Upon looking into his face he sees a oneness,
A happiness a love,
A knowing about him,
He asks the old man what is this,
I see in you,
The old man tells him that it’s what he truly seeks,
They set and talk about simple things,
Then noticing a bunch of young children,
Playing.
He looks away,
When his gaze returns and to his attention,
He finds the old man had vanished.
And were he sat is a bible,
Leaning over to pick it up,
In the reflection of the water he discovers,
That he has the face of the old man,
That man was he.
And he has grown younger since then.
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Novembers Child
By R.J. 10/31/1998
She awakens with a breeze,
And walks with such ease,
Novembers Child of love.
She plays in wonder,
With a true Bliss,
Novembers Child of faith.
She’s a cunning child,
With a true thought,
November’s Child hopes.
She lives in pain,
She lives in love,
She lives with T.M.J.
We hope for her healing,
We cry for her suffering,
We fight for existence,
She is November’s angel..
I love you Joyce:
Novembers your Month.
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