Archive for June 24, 1987

Why?

Posted: June 24, 1987 in Poetry
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Why?
Why does it have to be this way?
When the fabric of my mind is beginning to fray
Like a bolt of lightning, straight from above
I ask myself, do I deserve your love?
Why?
Why is it always like this?
We laugh, we argue, we fight, we kiss.
I can’t believe it, that you really care
Almost like a game of truth or dare.
Why?
Why is it so hard to say goodbye?
You can make me laugh, you can make me cry.
It’s such a great feeling being in your arms;
Cover me, smother me, in your charms.
Why?
Why can’t I understand
That magic I feel when I hold your hand.
Like electricity through my veins
Soothing and healing my many pains.
Why?
I really believe you’re heaven sent
Hold me, love me, through and through
I’m so lucky because I have you.
Why?

My Harmonica

Posted: June 24, 1987 in Poetry
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My harmonica
It is good news
Even though it only
Sings the blues.
Like Willie Brown
Harp in hand
Playin’ at the crossroads
Yeah, he’s my man!
I’m feeling great
Yup, just fine
With my old harp
I’m gonna whine.
Shaking all the hills
Playin’ to the beat
Makin’ all the people
Go dancing in the street.

Untitled Poem #11

Posted: June 24, 1987 in Poetry
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My life is with what everybody has toyed
Shuddering, quaking, my will is destroyed.
I fall to my knees with a heart-rending cry
That echoes around in an empty blue sky.
Now the tears come, they come like a flood
But it’s not saline moisture, it’s dark crimson blood
Coursing down my cheeks, staining the fair earth
While my life is waning, they giggle in mirth.
Pounding in my ears, pumping in my chest
Why is it that I’m cursed, never blessed?
I hurt so bad, I writhe in pain
Consciousness is so hard to maintain.
Nothing cools me or quenches my thirst.
The throbbing in my brain keeps getting worse
As I see my life spill out before me
The sand turns black with my misery
There’s nothing I can do, nothing I can say
To make the world shut up and go away.
Sorrow overwhelms me, with blood I cry
My last remaining wish is that I wish I could die.

Untitled Poem #10

Posted: June 24, 1987 in Poetry
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Little bird sitting on the windowsill
Why is it that you look so ill?
What is the matter? What is wrong?
You no longer brighten the day with song.
Your eyes are sad, your feathers ruffled
With what unwholesome beast have you scuffled?
Your spirit is broken, like your bent wing
The clear notes of your cry now have a dull ring
Dirt is matted, dust is caked
Blood on your shoulder where you’ve been raked.
With agonized heart, I search the sands
As this little bird’s life bleeds out through my hands.