Do you know what it's like to be truly alone?
To have no one who wants you, no place to call home?
Well it's hell.
To have the stars turn away from your last dying plea.
To have your ship and your crew leave you drowning at sea.
To be the last picked: every team, every game.
To arrive at a place and wish you never came.
To be drenched by the rain and be frozen by snow.
To reside in the nowhere where all lost souls go.
To know for a fact that there's no one who cares.
To have fate and her mocking catch you unawares.
To search and to search, but never to find.
To feel like you're gradually losing your mind.
To feel a burden inside you as heavy as stone.
....To have to confess all your thoughts in a poem.
While dreaming endless dreams I feel
That none of this is really real,
That spinning, whirling, 'round and 'round --
Cannot a place to rest be found?
to lay here on this spot of ground
And catch my breath all safe and sound?
Alas, for that is not to be!
Alone I swim on stormy sea
Tossed back and forth by wind and wave,
A victim even God can't save.
And if this dream is naught to end
Please tell me that I've found a friend,
If gentle hearts and minds can mend
I wish, I wish! I wish in vain!
there is no shelter from this pain
i am the weak link in this chain
and pushing pulling i am torn
this phoenix will not be reborn
but ash to ash and dust to dust
and blown away by windy gust
a bit of peace i cannot find
and marching on in endless line
there is no time! there is no time
to find a decent place to sup
to pause and drink from gilded cup
Stop.
Please.
Let me catch up.
It's very hard to write a poem
When nothing seems to rhyme.
When nothing fits into the meter,
When words don't fall in line.
When syllables just don't work out,
When theme is hard to find,
When searching for a rhythm
Just makes you lose your mind.
When melody is just plain bad,
When imagery's a shame,
When similes and metaphors
Just make you go insane.
When everything just comes out wrong,
When tone ain't worth a dime,
Yes, it's very hard to write a poem
When nothing seems to rhyme.
Once upon a time,
A long, long time ago,
There was a Golden Land
Because God made it so.
This land was always green,
And never fell the snow,
For this land was simply perfect,
This Eden God let grow.
But then God made a man,
And, of course, a woman, too,
And together they made more,
And the population grew
Until it grew too great,
And only could a few
Live in the Golden Land --
And trouble soon ensued.
The men declared war on each other.
The people picked and chose their sides.
And thus began ten thousand years
Of death, destruction, hate, and lies.
And then in one small house
A little boy was born,
And he grew to ask his father
What this war was for.
"Oh, Daddy," said he, "Daddy,
What is it you fight for?"
And his father answered, "Freedom!
That is why I fight this war."
But the boy could not imagine
What is father meant by this,
So he went and asked his mother,
And she told him with a kiss
Her one and only reason
For committing to this war.
"For your father," she said softly,
"It is him I'm fighting for."
He asked his best friend of nine years
Just what he thought about the war.
His friend replied with a winning grin,
"I never thought 'bout it before."
So then they both got down to thinking,
And his friend piped up, "I'm sure
There must be something brave and good --
Heroic -- about war."
So then the boy went off to school
And tried to understand
Just what his friend had meant by this.
Could war make him a man?
He had to find out what it was
That made this war so great.
So he enlisted in the army,
He didn't -- couldn't -- wait.
And so he learned all of the skills,
The basic training, and the rationed meals,
And met his friend again, this time
In combat on the battlefield.
"So have you figured out this war?"
He tried to call above the noise,
And strained to hear the faint reply,
And thought about his childhood joys.
But only silence met his ears.
Amidst the screaming and the pain,
Win or lose, he could not care.
His best friend since boyhood had been slain.
The battle went forth unacknowledged,
The dead and dying paid no mind.
How could he have thought this war was good?
How could anyone be so blind?
Years and years and years ahead
They finally won the war,
And the boy looked back across the land --
The Golden Land -- destroyed. What for?
To ravage paradise and end
A hundred thousand lives?
How many innocents lay dead
That didn't have to die?
The war is finally over.
The war is just begun.
It's a never-ending saga,
A war that can't be won.
All the men who died that day,
And all the days before,
Have they died in vain?
Why cause such pain?
Oh, Christ, what is war for?
There's a flower that's standing
All alone in the churchyard,
Shining in the moonlight,
Or the sunlight, or the starlight,
Or the daylight, or the nightlight,
Or the ever-watchful searchlight,
Or the streetlight, or the lamplight,
Or the spotlight, or the stage-light,
Or a false light, or the True Light,
And who really cares, anyway?
It's bright enough by itself.
Meet me at midnight, and the world can be ours:
We can play in the moonlight and dance with the stars;
Let the cares of the world fade away, disappear,
Let us live for the moment, the now and the here.
Meet me at sunrise, and we'll never be stayed:
We will never be held back, denied, or delayed;
The sky is the limit! With your wings I can fly!
To live life forever, and never to die.
Meet me tomorrow, and we'll conquer the world:
The earth is an oyster, and you are my pearl;
Soul to soul, face to face, mind to mind, heart to heart,
Side by side, there is nothing can tear us apart.
Meet me today, and our dreams will come true:
All my life, all I ever have needed is you;
So meet me when you've got a moment to spare,
Just meet me, my love, anytime, anywhere.
Click here to return to the main Poetry page
Click here to return to the Stuff of Life
Click here to return to KatzMagik's Abode