Poems by unknown

Love just doesn't need any language, its spoken
and
understood by soul and the language itself is
called LOVE.


Each one of us has taken birth to live in this
world, not to impress others but to imperforate
the responsibilities given by GOD on our
shoulders

Without Clear Direction
His blue eyes glare at me, cutting through me like a burning sword through snow
The rage within burns, tormenting his soul, and surrounds us like a thick smog
He is confused, misunderstanding facts for emotions, struggling to decipher
The meanings of the times, the others, the way of the world, unwelcome
His scars enhance the lines of woe carved onto his face, telling tales so many
As the buried secrets within try to escape his body, his tomb of untold woes
Heavy should slump, no longer able to carry the burden of the world, so heavy
Self imposed by this man, unable to understand that he could never do it all
His fast breathing, almost gasping for air, illustrate the intensity of his fears
Exposure to the light, for eventually something has to give, and it starts
Layers of barriers and protection against the elements of the unknown fade
Yet he ignorantly fights on, secure in the knowledge of knowing nothing else
I do not like what I see, this man, big, strong, torn deeply, and firmly alone
Again standing at the delta of life, having taken the wrong stream too often
Amazed to be alive, having been through so many fires of temptation and rife
But still standing, moving on, without clear direction, this man in the mirror

HOW
How should I make you understand?
How much you mean to me,
Not only to my heart,
But also the soul that is in me,
How should I make you understand?
What my heart says to me.
When you are around,
Why it makes my eyes moist,
Watching you caring for me.
How should I make you understand?
How much do I love you.
Even when you are far,
How much I feel you,
Taking me in your arms,
And saying me "I love you".

PRETTY FLOWERS

He elbowed his way through the clumped and crowded streets and along the neon-lit avenue, knowing that all the stashed-away wisdom in the world could not protect the heart from sorrow.

A great fog had entered the city during the night and completely covered Manhattan Island. The fog, so low, not even the tops of five story tenements could be seen from the sidewalks. The gray, so bleak, haunted his mind, cracked his spirit—he could feel its pressure—bending his back.

He headed for Rowboat Lake in Central Park to try and nurture his mind.

The fire ball peeked above the horizon. A clump of ducks strolled out from the bushes, greeted the new day, started to waddle towards the water as, quietly, the sun rose and began to suck away the morning mist. The breeze gently hummed, trees murmured softly, a gang of birds bloomed up from across the lake, made a 180 degree turn and spotted the, newly painted, pink-crimson dawn. Like a leaf aslant on the wind his mind floated freely.

Suddenly she was standing before him

Her eyes were bottle-blue portals, he was touched by her essence, he could feel it in his chest; and, by the trustworthiness in those blues, he was overcome and tumbled into them. With his poorly fed heart he could feel the bloated gray cloud begin to lift from his shoulders.

They sat together on a bench, he stared into the eyes of nature, and watched the pretty flowers spew forth their fragrance.

Copyright September, 2014 Dennis John Ferado

My first book of poetry & short stories, TIME ON HAND, will be published before the end of September. Published by Soul Asylum Poetry and Publishing of Canada and by Ken Cowle. Ken is a poet, recording engineer, radio personality, creative talent and the heart and soul of Soul Asylum. Thank you for all you have done and continue to do for all your people, Ken.

QUESTIONING SELF
Where was I supposed to be,
And where have I come?
What was destined to happen to me,
And what is this that has happened?
How I came so far?
How have I become what you see me as?
Is there any energy working for me?
Or is it Lord's light?
Few are these questions that haunt me,
One and only answer for these I get,
The Lord had sent me to this earth,
The Lord is who has brought me so far.

Sucessful people never demanded for an extra
hour in a day. Whatever they did they did it
confined within the same twenty four hours that
we get.

UNRYHMED
The moment I saw you, my eyes remained
ceased, my heart paused for a while and I
wished time to be a bit more loyal to me and
stop for a while because I was just grasping
your image to compare to that of the lady that
comes in my dream, dances with me to the
music of Waltz and silently slips away back to
her land. I felt like the buzzing bee in a garden
of marvelous flowers and the most beautiful
flower, with the tastiest royal jelly was waiting
for me in that garden. Oh ya you are that lady
that I had been dancing with in my dreams and
you are the one in whose thoughts I have spent
endless nights. Just a wish and request I have
for God which is to make you mine forever. I
just cant explain my love for you because I
know my mind is now freezed.

Praying God to save you from problems without
you yourself
searching for a solution for the problem is same
as drawing a
line in water with water and expecting it to be
visible.

LOVE UNTAMED.
Far away in a land you stay,
Still my love shines for you,
With your thoughts in my mind,
My love always a bit more grows for you,
I don't remember how everything happend,
All I remember is my image,
My image that I had seen from my heart,
I dont remember how we met,
But I do remember how we smiled being with
each other.

THE ONES LEFT ALIVE
(for the 9/11 loved ones)


There’s a slow burning river of
sadness rolling through my heart.
There are no fish, no urchins, not a
living thing in its waters but the pain of
the ones left alive
.
There are no trees along these
blasted river banks, no birds fly
its fiery air, no creatures come to
drink its scalding waters but
the ones left alive.

Bubbling whirlpools swirl inside my eyes,
powdery grit fills up my nostrils, sticks
to my lungs, makes me move with
the slowest motions and I don’t
know if I’m alive.

Black river of tears flowing through
my veins, roaring in my ears,
making me insane. There are
no words, no reason, nothing to
say to ease the hurt for
the ones left alive

Too horrendous to conceive,
too ghastly to relive, too
monstrous to believe for
the ones left alive.

Copyright 9/11/01--2013 Dennis John Ferado

My first book titled TIME ON HAND, poetry & short stories, will be published sometime within the next two weeks by Ken Cowle owner and creative head of Soul Asylum Poetry and Publishing of Canada. Thank you, Ken, for your understanding, creative help and your love of poetry.


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