As The Rain Hits The Leaves
With no inspiration or passion in heart
O, where is a person ever to start
With hardly a friend in this mysterious land
Is there hope for growth
in the heart of a man?
Is there hope for a Bliss that can make one's soul dance?
Sitting alone with thunder outside
With an open book I sit
Like a monk, and hide
From the smug cops
Cars; people; thieves
Look out at a golden Stray Dog
Scratching his fleas
and out at the trees
as the rain hits the leaves…
Whether a bed, a couch, or a sit in a chair
In front of TV, all one feels is despair
A sip on a beer - it might take that away
But sometimes it just makes the Spirit decay
And it's painful to think of happier days
With every tick of the clock an the wall
With every tip-toe of the bug that crawls
Time swallows my life and the State I'm living in
Right down into it's stomach of Oblivion
Worrying about death - is it the correct choice?
To speak grim reaper's name
With your breath and your voice
To think those thoughts - is it praise or blasphemy?
To the Holy, Sacred life, god's given me?
It has to be both… Can you see?
Each moment of grief is truly a gift
A chance to use mind and will to lift
One's spirit from hell and enter nirvana
Do not put it off till Manana manana
God doesn't have to 'be there' to walk be our side
No matter your beliefs or what you decide
He doesn't have to 'hear' us to put his hand on our shoulder
He is in the tides; in the flowers and boulders
God is in your girl when you hold her
The hungry ocean in the distance yawns
As night gives birth to a distant dawn
The dawn that's on the prized horizon
Clouds pink as a Floyd you could bury your eyes in
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poem by Ray Quesada
Added by Poetry Lover
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