Time

 Time - the alchemist – turning my heart to stone.

Seldom do you pick up the phone.

Sitting here, without you, all alone.

Throughout the hours, my spirit  prone,

seeing not, what is reality ?,

that state, which is left to me,

residing in, left to be

nothing more, then what I see.

 

Life, colours have departed.

Left the gaggle of roses I started

leaving with you three years ago,

with love and hope, you I’d deeply know

B. J. “A” 2

December 27th, 2012

 

In Retrospect

As an appreciated audience, though small,

you are inspirational, the reason to give my all.

To do the best that I am able, telling my tales

of times and entities responsible for what ails –

lost moments, unfulfilled dreams, all that fails –

a broken heart, a fractured spirit, a soul smitten

are the essences of my words, words I have written,

cathartic visions, healing, this is what you have read.

All, has left the building, the confines of this old head

and onto pages of poetry / rhyme that I spread

across the uncertain, uneven grounds of this plane.

Know that all the emotional pain -

heartache, again and again -

I would never, ever refrain

from any of those moments I did live

nor deny, to the one’s, whom I did give.

What has been placed before your eye,

came from all the pain, the tears I cry

for the loss of all that would never be.

These poems / rhymes came from what I see,

blinded by a desire to rise above

and get to know another’s love.

B. J. “A” 2  

 

 

December 25, 2012

Twice has been enough

 

Twice, I would have loved to dance across the threshold

of reality – first time - with a Polish Princess,

who captivated my mind, captured my heart.

Twice, I would have loved to dance across the threshold

of reality – second time – with a Chinese Lotus Blossom,

an exquisite, exotic Beauty, who stole my heart.

The dances I envisioned would have taken either,

if willing, into the fantastic realms of the surrealistic.

Worlds of the unimaginable, where visions are so clear,

colours, shapes so vivid, so profound, so invigorating

they take one’s breath away as we trip the light fantastic

upon the essence of light, of sound, of sight, of life

beyond our beliefs and what we are forced to endure,

forasmuch as our human limitations – imposed by ?, –

will carry us. Is it the hand of the gods ?, the hand of fate

the essence of our genes, our nature, our nurturing

or are our limitations self imposed ?,

by the hands of our own understanding, our own history.

The dances I dreamed of, with either, are but an illusion

I have deluded myself with, in order to rise above

their lack of love for what and who I am, for me.

Now both are just memories, they’ve become history

and all that is left for me, is to be their friend,

a friend in deed, when in need.

 

B. J. “A” 2

December 23rd, 2012

Passion play

An old man’s Dream – Journey

 

Luck walks him from the hands of the Grim Reaper,

beyond the pearly gates of St. Peter,

across the desert sands,

into a carnival, the arms of a winged Angel’s, hands.

 

Two freaks on the stage of the world’s side show

Within each, the other did know.

A lost soul, trumpet silenced by very bad choices.

In his head – a con, a schemer – he hears inner voices.

 

Take this Beauty, wing it into survival, into a living.

Only himself, not to others, giving.

Another lost soul, in a glass cage, her wings clipped.

In a carnival side show, freaks, the audience is gipped.

 

He knows the price she will have to pay.

To save him and the game he will have to play.

Captivated be her ethereal beauty, love making evolves into love.

Beyond his greed for life, love’s conscience raises him above

 

the slim of his scheme, to do all he can to protect his dream.

The light of his love, surly – that moment - did beam.
His plan jeopardizes, places her into the hands of hell.

This winged Angel’s love,  in her eyes it doth tell.

 

She accepts her living hell in order to save him.

The old man now tries to save her, prospects grim.

He falls, a plan of the man who owned this winged girl.

The plan failed, the old man’s life did not unfurl

 

His heart opened and did strive, repent the wrongs meant

as his soul looked out and upon, in sacrament.

One more time, he picks up his trumpet.

Sweet sounds  come forth, beauty he let.

 

She glided, walking on by, again he met

his dream, there, before his eyes.

He runs with her, jumps from on high, she flies

Saving him with the strength and courage he gave to her.

 

Upon angelic wings, into heavenly bliss, together.

 

B. J. “A” 2
December 1st 2012