thepoetstree.blogspot.com
The Poet's Tree: April 2008
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Never what you expect, but always what you deserve. Joyous innocence, painful realizations, love eternal, or a slight variation of sorts. Running to reach it, but just behind, too true it would seem. What is right, or what is generally accepted, does it matter in their eyes? Transition to reality, monetary goods the focal point. A fine auto or luxury stone to boot? Your number grows as your chips extend exponentially. The silver spoon perched high for all your kind to see. What have my countryman done?
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The Poet's Tree: November 2008
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In the memory the landscape etched. Younger times auctioned to the highest. Primitive minutes spent in purest aw. The strike of a line the pressure rises. Ripped away as it thought. Yet all revealed the cards always show. Decisions made intent on the prize. Battle as you must to reach yours. Labels: I Was Wrong. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). Songs Of A Beachcomber. Bits and Pieces Of Driftwood. The Poet's Tree Archive. View my complete profile. You can have your work displayed here, just send us your poem.
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The Poet's Tree: Apathy
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Smiling as you watch the house burn down from the inside. Countless sheep tamed more than nature would intend. Thoughts swayed by the constant flickering of lights. Your small radius controlled, comfortably enough. A stomach fully processed while the others hollow. A soul judged not by worth, but the money in their sands. Decisions waisted as time dances on in pure spite of all who stand. For the knowingly guilty cannot claim. When all is shown before. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). The War Of Man.
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The Poet's Tree: February 2008
http://thepoetstree.blogspot.com/2008_02_01_archive.html
There is nothing quite like a name to prickle the brain. Of all the times past and how we've carved our tomorrow. The mind certainly tends to work in mysterious ways. Hiding back these memories just under the skin. We daydream of days past that are forever etched in granite. Yet persist in the shadows just out of site, but never of mind. A younger time full of the glory of pure ignorance. When all was simpler and without any regret or true consequence. Endless thoughts flood back to us with just a name.
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The Poet's Tree: May 2008
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The Eyes Never Change. Rich or poor, our blood flows the same. Yet we watch the reporter tell us which life matters more. Is it one in a small village that happens daily? Or one in an office building, innocent none the less. Mother nature denied, turned evil by man's mistrust. The rapture of a small midwest town, or an entire colony of humans absent by the modern eye? Balanced we might say, but our perceived medium falls quite short. A universal child's eyes tells the story of generations to come.
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The Poet's Tree: March 2008
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Dumbed down by the music television. Our generation marches out into the unknown. Desensitized of all, our thoughts tend to drift. Future or past it matters not. Apathy has replaced common sense. Our peers fall to pieces one by one. To turn over the rock exposes the worms. Our only hope is a blinding light that somehow changes the mix. Red tape has covered our eyes and bound our hands. The sensing greed has only heighten. As the hourglass falls nothing changes but the weather. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom).
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The Poet's Tree: September 2008
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The hurried rustle pushes us forward. What dawn has yet to bring, mind sets. Even tattered thin papers weigh down the scales. The present darkened, as the future blinds. While the carelessness of small digits can never be replaced. A slowed down stream burns, sets the moment. The tomorrow's winds will test our rigs true. Today's script lies though, still yet unwritten. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). Songs Of A Beachcomber. Bits and Pieces Of Driftwood. The Poet's Tree Archive. View my complete profile.
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The Poet's Tree: August 2008
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Raining down upon us like hailstones sharp. Fear of mirror's shards the memories imprinted in time. To not know the future, but sulk on the suggested obvious yet again. A successful failure your only goal in blinded, lazy sight. Countless reasons help construct the sieged walls as before. Yet these same words have struck the passages towards the keep. Not one of ask nothing left, but the glasses always higher in the horizon's end. Your same kind drowned in the sunken sands alone and humanly hopeless.
thepoetstree.blogspot.com
The Poet's Tree: Doubt
http://thepoetstree.blogspot.com/2008/08/doubt.html
Raining down upon us like hailstones sharp. Fear of mirror's shards the memories imprinted in time. To not know the future, but sulk on the suggested obvious yet again. A successful failure your only goal in blinded, lazy sight. Countless reasons help construct the sieged walls as before. Yet these same words have struck the passages towards the keep. Not one of ask nothing left, but the glasses always higher in the horizon's end. Your same kind drowned in the sunken sands alone and humanly hopeless.
