Lost In The Void
by Patricia Harris
perhaps the world would be better
if we were to get lost in the void,
not really holding ourselves to the plan
that society says we should.
instead I think we could wander
freely in the openness of the possibility,
letting ourselves learn how to exist
in the world just being happy.
White Out
by Serena Mossgraves
so many have associated
the color black with death,
I think it is not true.
Black is the mix of all that is
whereas white is the absence .
Absence of color,
absence of life,
absence of the existence
of what was and what
could be.
What am I supposed to do
by Patricia Harris
my dream was so clear
in the younger days,
I understood that I
was able to do anything.
Age has stolen
clarity and the ideas
that I often clung
deeply to…
leaving me without
any clue what I am
supposed to do.
Darkness Settles in
by Serena Mossgraves
the cloud of hatred passes above
making it hard to see,
the urge to just complain
falls over me.
the darkness is everywhere
settling across the souls,
it is easy to vent and give in to
the urge to call on our own
frustration, don’t I know…
But instead of putting more hatred
into an already full world
I am interested in trading peace
to weave kindness to begin.
Singularity
by Patricia Harris
Perhaps I am not the person
I thought I would be,
So like everyone else.
Perhaps I am but a
singularity,
a lost note
in a song sung
by the divine.
Deep from Within
by Patricia Harris
Faith can be a fragile thing
Pouring from the broken
Soul to be a living being.
It comes from deep within
To fill up cracks that
Break the heart and
Somehow the world
Will exact.
Time to pause,
As all good poetry is
but a practice of
Metered thought
and the rhythm of
how practical verse can be.
So, with genteel caution
thrown to the wind…
write bad poetry…
then pause to write
good poetry once again.
Full of pomp,
circumstance,
and prayers,
It is time to turn
the ink from tears
to the poetry
it was meant to be.
Pick up the pen,
put it to the page…
and let the verse
expose the differing
emotions that hold you
as a slave.
Is it a sin
to give gratitude
for the win?
Being able to convert
all of life's little hurts
into form and verse…
For me that is enough
to be grateful for,
that poetry exists.
Give me the pen
My brain is alight,
It is time for me
to write poetry tonight.
Perhaps I should pause
for the verse speaks
volumes and more,
but I think it solves
the internal war.
Pattimouse 