Monday, September 06, 2004

A Path of Stone

This road is hard
Marked with stone
my path as yet I cannot see
Where oh where shall it lead me to be

Shall I stagger in the dark
Alone to suffer
with this writer's heart
The words, will they ever come
clear and bright like the sun?
or here shall I sit
in a pit
of fear
Regret, remorse,
tis never clear

The road it curves and disappears
an ache in my heart
an ache of fear

How can I make them see
this grand world inside of me
The mountains how grand
the grass how green
colors painted with an artist's hand
My words they falter and make me weep
why is the world all alseep

Will they hear the call
feel the need to weep
or shall we all remain asleep
Alone in the wasteland of our minds
no hill, no dale
no need of time
no need of even a very small rhyme

The raindrops they fall on an empty hall
The keep it is empty
How the mighty must fall

The path it is narrow and long
uneven the stones
the brevity
Alone do I sit, alone in the dark
I hear it's call
The story
The bard
The love of it all...

copyright 2004 by Michelle Bailey

4 comments:

Michelle said...
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Michelle said...

Yes, we are all asleep!
The privledged, we don't want to think too deep. For if we think too much, we will question, and then we will seek answers to those questions. Those deep and painful questions and then no more shall we sleep.

I did have a wonderful weekend. Daddy and I sat and talked, drank a glass of fine Charleston wine, and then talked some more. We talked about so many things. My Daddy is a deep thinker, in his own words he says he thinks too much. But he is a good man. He is the quiet warrior, bearing the weight of the world upon his shoulders. Quietly walking, thinking, trying to make sense of it all. How lucky I am to have him!

Joely Sue Burkhart said...

"How can I make them see, this grand world inside of me"

I LOVE THIS LINE. This is a wonderful poem, Michelle. Thanks for sharing!!

Michelle said...

Yes, Michelle is definately a romantic through to the bone. Sad, angsty, make you cry your eyes out romantic. Poor Earl, he just don't know what to do with me!
Hugs,

I'm still writing poetry! It seems I must get it out before I can go forward! Move on!