Stories similar to Silent Morn:

Silent Morn-Poem 1 year 16 weeks ago

Between two legs or arms, or drinks, I yet for you still often seek

Yet find you not despite my need, to love, to hold, to passions breed

So here I sit each morn and write of all I know, that time’s forgot

And as the dew does lay the blades, of green in garden, glade or tree

Oh Clock-Poem 1 year 20 weeks ago

Oh, Clock of Mine

It’s five, oh clock of mine, as sunshine slips through shade and vine

Youngest day, still wet with birth, toddles on in childish search

Soon past the time of foolish needs, of infant tales and legends steeds

Bright mornsyouth, does stretch and yawn, in joy of work,and morning’s song

It’s ten, Oh clock upon the wall, morn is past the eve, yet snores

Day has come both strong and young, backs are straight and legs are long

You timed our love between the sheets, while we, we hoped the more to meet

The Gentle Hands of Easter by Rev. James E. Blubaugh 1 year 4 weeks ago

The lifeless hands are released from the beam.
The body is lowered into the arms of the sobbing mother.
Gently wrapped, it is placed in a borrowed tomb.
The day is dark, love seems gone, hope is lost.

Hallelujah! Greet the brand new morn! Love has won, not lost!
"Come to me" is the cry of His heart,
As He stands today with out­stretched arms.
And the price of love is seen in His gentle hands!

Dust Ball-Poem 1 year 15 weeks ago

Dust Ball

There lives a large dust ball, down at the end of the hall

Fat white and fluffy, growing larger, more tall

It’s there each new day, grown a bit ever larger

Why can’t my wife see it, when cleaning the room

I spot it each morning when dressing to go

Under the table, the counter, the sofa or chair

It moves every day, to hide and beware

While it grows ever stronger with muck and cat hair

I’m not blind don’t ya know, nor stupid you’ll see

No she and that dust ball, ain’t about to fool me

Pretend you don’t see it, turn your head far away

Why Do We Hurt-Poem 1 year 16 weeks ago

Why Do I Hurt

Why do I hurt so deep inside, where no one sees nor cares

Why don’t I, so oft know why, from whence come all my tears

Why do eyes so easy spill, the salts and dews of joys

Why do looks, a glance, a word turn, men back into boys

Why when young does rising sun not seem the prize of earth

Why does youth in silence hide, when first I learn its worth

Why does love in tender breast, in lips and words and eyes

Not lay her head upon my chest and brighten shadows lies

Why do years and nights alone not birth a child of peace