Tag: poets

Still Here

jmacthedream3 Comments

I’m still here. Death mirrors
all life. I’m still here; fear
has left me. Time has blessed
me. Another year: I’m still here.

Through struggle, I have found
a common ground. I’m bound
to turn around every frown:
to return all stolen crowns.

Here, I am, still finding me,
doing my best to finally see
what it means to sails seas
and to grow tall with trees.

Through all the pain, I start
a journey of learning. I wish
to know all the places to go:
every single place to know.

I’m still here: I plan to live
a life that only I can give.







A Closed Book

jmacthedream3 Comments

Each day, an old book closes. The story
is finished; the pen runs dry. Each page
is filled with a bunch of smaller stories:
memories: words that echo through
the skulls of its reader. One day,
the story we are navigating through
will expire as we retire – as the fire
dies – souls will fly into open skies.
Lies will become truths. Rough will
become smooth. Old age will become
youth. We are the characters inside
an open book that will, one day,
be closed – to be open once again
by a different pair of hands.
Until the book closes, look closer
at the plot and decide your ending:
one better than you ever thought.
Keep writing your story. Make it
a good one. We are still writing;
let’s make a book that someone
would want to pick up and read:
a plant grown from a small seed.

The Same Shadow

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I keep seeing the same
shadow. It follows me
wherever I go. I know
this shadow can grow
when lights turn low.
My fear seems to flow,
and paranoia ensues.
With every step, I look
to my right – my left,
and I feel the shadow
around me. Can it be
mine? Can it be me
from another life? Is it
the same shadow I see
in my mind? Anyway,
I walk away: leaving
shadows in my wake as
I swim across life’s lake.

A Poet’s Dream

jmacthedream8 Comments

A Poet’s dream is to be heard
and not seen. A Poet’s dream
is to create, to wait, and to
discover one’s own fate.
A Poet’s dream manifests itself
in words, sounds, and mounds
of half-written ideas found
under the surface: underground.
A Poet dreams a dream brighter
than the sunlight and better than
a good night under the stars’
inviting sight. A Poet’s dream
is to change the world –
to rearrange things to release
one’s hidden pain. Just like
ghosts, Poets do not show them-
selves, but they do know them-
selves. A Poet’s dream
is to live a life that can manifest
itself before and during the night.

Frozen Roses

jmacthedream3 Comments

It can be a cold world.
I don’t have to tell you
that. We know this.
Events, people, places
can stop us in our tracks.
It can get chilly. Life can
freeze almost all things:
just not time. Not this
time. We must carry
the warmth needed
to keep us heated.
We must survive this
snowstorm that keeps
most frozen. Pedals
from your frozen roses
remind me to find truth –
to remain warm: alive.
Your frozen roses remind
me to search and find
love I have left behind.