The Poetry Marathon

Sullen stillness of the darkness,  I watch through the window the shadows of tree limbs,  as they move in the breeze.

Then they stop,  stillness and silence.

Then I hear it,  rolling thunder in the distance,  the crashing of waves.

It reminds me of warmer days,  then I  hear his screech in the dark,  carried by the mist that fills the air.

I’m alone in this darkness.

Then I wonder if anyone cares.

Another mystery needs to be revealed,  we are told night is not to be feared.

The things I’ve seen and the tales to be told,  it needs to unfold.

The question is would anyone believe?  The ones who sleep in the night.

No they wouldn’t believe,  they would say hog wash, and go about their busy life.

If only they knew what was going on,  while they slept all cozy in their beds.

They would learn to fear it,  the darkness,  and be filled with dread.

So my advice is,  stay in your cozy bed’s,  my friends,  while I’m awake and all alone.

Unfolding one more mystery that needs to be told.

All alone in the sullen stillness of the darkness of the night.

I am the protector of what you call light…

C. Burgess (c)

I ask what does life hold for me?

I wait for what may be coming,  I stand still and listen to what may be unfolding.

An owl flew across my path today,  I don’t understand what it’s trying to say.

I’m ready for a new journey,  to learn,  lessons that have not been told,  or of my undoing.

This world of mine is Real,  it is  a world of my doing.

There is  always something out there to see, and learn,  something to be revealed.

What maybe unfolding right before my eyes,  as I realize,  that this life is not what it seems.

There is so much more of a surprise,  the longer you live…

C. Burgess (c)

What is it all for,  what is all this really for?

For things I’m told,  though the world provides for us in a mysterious way.

Reach out your hands.

We have to make money so we can eat,  that is true.

Plant a garden and watch it bloom.

We must pay bills to have heat,  it is called fire wood.

What about water,  it is called natural Springs, the wood will heat it so we may bathe,  and cook as well.

What is all the rush for?

Who will own the nicest biggest home,  and the nicest car to drive,  maybe I’m living out of my time.

What will happen if someday the economy crashes down?

What will Millions of people be left with?

Rushing off to work,  listening to the boss man yell. Some tales I could tell..

There is whole lot more to life than this,  I call it spiritual life,  planting a garden, my bliss.

All this stuff we cannot take with us on our next journey.

So what is all it for?  Just to have the best in life,  well my family,  and friends, and root and trees, the flowers and buds. The home I have is enough.

Cause when I leave this world,  I leave my  family legacy, and that’s all I need…

C. Burgess (c)

I wish I had a magic mirror,  for memories do fade away,  to only look back once more,  on yesterday’s,  today.

To be able to hold this magic mirror in my hand,  to look and see,  remember,  cry,  and try to understand.

To never Wonder just who I am, so I would never wonder why.

To hold it to my chest,  to let it shine into my soul,  in hopes to see my heart,  I hold it there until it broke apart.

I would gather the broken pieces,  and reflect them into the world, to undo all that has gone wrong.

I would shine those pieces on every person in the world,  to show them all,  that they do belong.

Then I would place the broken pieces in a velvet clothe,  and lock them in a box.

Then throw away the key,  then keep that magical broken mirror hidden for all eternity…

C. Burgess (c)

We meld well together,

We think much alike,

You are my wonderful husband,  and I your wife.

We have been together for years, it does not seem, that we have been together that long.

We are exactly where we belong.

To love someone they way I do you,  to smile when you walk in the room.

To be loved by you is the greatest gift,  if this is what I was put on earth to do.

Well that’s enough for me,  for beam with joy all for the love I have for you…

C. Burgess (c)

Remember in the springtime when the Rose’s were in bloom?

The garden was soaked with rain drops,  and was alive with their perfume.

You promised me your heart,  kissed my lips and promised we would never part.

But as springtime turned to summer,  and autumn filled the air,  then winter froze the the roses.

You said you didn’t care.

Once a thing of beauty can now only bring me pain,  when I see springtime bring the roses in the rain…

C. Burgess (c)

Everything you say or do,

Express the way you feel.

But always know I will be there for you,

No matter what you deal…

C. Burgess (c)

The cross roads of time I have found for me,

Has been something to look back and see.

I have found my journey to be a long one,

And things happen in life we are not fond of.

Through the cross roads of time I have seen wonderful things.

Traveling has it’s  wonderous beauty, the birth of a newborn child a miracle not a duty.

Loving someone in their time of need,  having good friends,  and being in the garden,  just pulling the weeds.

It is breath taking to live another year,  to watch all the seasons change.

To watch the leaves on the tree branches turn colors, If you follow the shadows of the branches on the ground.

You may find you have chosen the path you are on now. If you turn back in the shadows and look and see,  your path may take you in another turn in life.

One of Beauty or one of Strife.

One thing I have found we all live our own life,  knowing what I know.

Is this at the Cross Roads of Time,  some don’t know,  that at this point in your life.

Is that time can literally pass you by,  in a twinkling of your eye…

C. Burgess (c)

Those who judge us are merely those who see what we show them.

They simply point is out as the black sheep,

Because we don’t follow their rules.

We are  the ones creating this world,

While they simply live in it.

Watch them as they parish…

C. Burgess (c)

It is  better to go it alone,

Than to not go at all.

The journey is hard,

And the toil is long…

C. Burgess (c)