Waiting for Her Death

Quick breath. Remember to breathe.
Shaky hands. Shaking heart.
Panic coming. I can’t be alone.
Passing. Leaving. Longing. Reaching.
Remember to breathe.
I can’t go back. Go back. Helpless. Hold me. Please.
Slow time. Stop. Please, stop. You’re going. Gone.
Panicking. Remember to breathe. Big breath. Heart’s still beating. Is it?
It’s coming up. Stay down. Not now. Shiver. Salt. Flowing. Coolness.
Soon. Too soon now. It will be soon.
Goodbye. I love you. I know.

The Happy Life

My friend, the things that do attain
The happy life be these, I find:
The riches left, not got with pain,
The fruitful ground; the quiet mind;

The equal friend; no grudge, no strife;
No charge of rule nor governance;
Without disease the healthy life;
The household of continuance;

The mean diet, no dainty fare;
True wisdom joined with simpleness;
The night discharged of all care,
Where wine the wit may not oppress;

The faithful wife, without debate;
Such sleeps as may beguile the night:
Content thyself with thine estate,
Neither wish death, nor fear his might.

~ Martial (Roman poet c. 40 - 104)

A Poem with at least one metaphor for my Prophets and Poetry Class

The General

The river of the seven deadly swells pressuring the dikes.
The antiquated concrete is soon to burst.

The General guides his workers to fortify the city.
Bags of reason and inspired word are placed perfectly.
Against these bulwarks of belief the river will not conquer.

Lowering his eye a worker perceives incorrectly.
Personal musings place the Word out of order.
The General’s orders are sound but the temptation is too great.
Like a virus the disorder spreads as the dikes begin to break.

Rushing forth the legion of water barrels on
But there is still hope in the fortified faith.
The General’s orders are sound and the people should be safe.

But where individual ideas infiltrated the once perfect plan
The water begins to seep through and there is a cry in the land.
Bags are stacked up higher but to no avail
The foundation has been tainted and it will certainly fail.

Caving under the weight of the rancid rancor of the fall
The wall that individuals built soon begins to crumble.
Yet those who kept their eye on the General built a masterpiece to save.
And so the people flock ferociously to the walls that will not cave.

And as the waters rise there’s tears in the General’s eyes:
For much innocence has already been lost.
And so he rallies his men to save them once again
For he has already paid the cost.

A Poem on Nature for my Prophets and Poetry Class

The Snowflake that Didn’t Know how to Fall

Why, oh snowflake, don’t you know how to fall?

Light as a feather you float through the heights ne’er moving toward the ground.
Against the stream of white you take to flight fluttering on your own.
Through the trees you ride the breeze swaying to and fro.
Your white grave is near and you should have no fear.
Why, oh snowflake, don’t you know how to fall?

And yet as you ascend on by past my eye
I think: perhaps I am a lot like you after all.

A Psalm in My Own Words

Out of the depths I cry for you.
The darkness consumes my heart.
My body pines for your presence.
Yearning is my soul for rest.
In stillness I wait for your embrace.
I am lost in this dark abyss of want.
Emptiness is my only companion.


Yet I know that you are near.
Though my senses are privy to mistake,
The depth of this conviction lacks deceit.
Thus I wait in this ominous midnight,
With resignation not far from my fate.


Piercing the darkness the dawn descends.
Magnificent in splendor, my heart is consumed.
Brilliant beams banish the collective cold.
Your warmth devours my every longing.
Serenity saturates my soul.


Into your embrace I deeply resign.
I am caressed in a blanket of flowing familiarity.
Your scent is the air that fills my lungs.
Movements mingle in the whisper of love.


Yet the shadows are shifting; stability is stifled.
I drink from your cup; yet I still thirst.
I indulge in your bounty; yet hunger remains.
What drop will satisfy this desert?
What light will relieve my strained eyes?
Creeping cruelly the darkness snuffs out the light.
Lying awake; sleep does not comfort me.
Panic proceeds; I am lost in desperation.


Yet as my tear falls slowly into the night,
A mysterious cover caresses my agony.
Safety lies on the crevasse of my neck.
And disturbing the black of my curious eye,
The dawn descends bursting forth in the sky.