Professional Documents
Culture Documents
Of Poetry
By
Peter E. Allen
Dedicated to
Thank you.
1.
Listen to me preaching;
Listen to me pray.
Hear all the hopes and dreams
I carry through the day.
Time.
~
5.
Your laws on me
Shall never bind.
Your guilty traps
I leave behind.
I am no longer
In your grasp,
Or chained in place
With silver clasp.
I am not yours,
Do you hear?
My ties are broke –
I have nothing here.
~
6.
My heart is pumping,
My heart is rage
Inside this chest,
It’s own small cage.
I am not thinking –
I cannot now.
My hands are shaking,
My sweat-damp brow.
Millions of faces,
Each not the same.
Maybe in style,
Maybe in name,
Maybe in tone,
Maybe in race,
But each is its own
Quite unique case.
Mark me as an evil.
Mark me less than man.
Mark me as a killer.
Destroy as best you can.
Go cower in a corner,
Go cower there in shame.
Go cower there in terror –
I’ll make you fear my name.
I love you.
~
17.
I hesitate to believe
That you love me.
I hesitate to jump
That leap of faith.
I hesitate no longer.
I do.
~
18.
And their children down the line, and on into the fray
Will hear the conquests of my life before time has had its way.
~
32.
I weep.
I see your face across the field, and you see mine;
We have marked each other.
Our lines rush towards one another, our cries hungry for blood;
Your eyes and mine never disengage.
We are the same, she and I, and until that fateful mourn,
I wait for her in my nest, ‘til the pheonix is reborn.
~
41.
With tenderness, I tuck you in and then put out the light,
And kiss you gently on the cheek to wish you a good night.
They killed her husband out of spite, but little did they know
That his wife was Goddess North, her fury icy cold.
The first man now reveals himself above the hilly ground
To be blasted where he stands, never to be found.
I am afraid.
Do I stay silent,
To never utter the words which my
Heart is aching for you to hear?
Or do I speak out,
And let you know of all of the feelings
I that have towards you?
Where will the great pieces of art which you have treasured
For so long and so desparately come forth from,
When you do nothing but create a land
Which is void of freedom, barren of choice and will?
Who am I? What am I?
Where did I come from?
Of whom am I a brother;
Of whom am I a son?
For even as you cry out for help against the agony,
Her dark hair wraps itself around both you and she,
And muffles your soul to the flesh of your body,
Shielding your dying corpse from the pain
Your essence must now endure.
And once more turn the sky into the utter darkness
It truly was meant to be.
~
52.
On a train to nowhere,
From a path behind the sky,
I watch the mountains pass along,
The clouds flurry up high.
Castle be rock;
Longhouse be wood.
Not one better,
Both of them good.
At the windows
And at the door,
To give a roof,
And some, a floor.
Both be different,
Neither one best,
Each for its own,
Each one a nest.
He wishes to believe
That some will understand:
He cries the same as you and I
When hit by someone’s hand.
So close to touch,
Almost too much.
Is it lust or is it love?
Heaven help me from above!
Breathing freezes –
Oh sweet Jesus!
I am tired.
My shoulders ache from the burden that they carry during the day,
My back wishes it no longer had to stay straight,
And my legs are sore from my journeying.
I am restless.
My eyes search beyond the horizon,
Looking for a place to settle other than here,
For a place that would bring me closer to you.
I hurt.
My soul calls out to you in a hoarse voice,
Hoping to the gods above that you will hear me,
And somehow it might make a difference.
I grieve.
Silent tears of frustration streak down my face,
Their calm mission to soak both skin and shirt
The only evidence of the chaos that reigns inside of me.
I am a survivor.
Although the pain may seem too much,
And exhaustion will often-time follow me,
My day will somehow come to a close.
I am a man.
I am able to create great works of art
And push human-kind to places it has never known of,
Yet I realize that they are mere shadows to what you and I achieved
together.
…
I am alone.
My days are filled with the dance of work,
And my nights with the dance of despair,
Seeing that you are not here with me.
I dream.
At night I see you smile at me,
And for that time, the world is right,
But upon waking the nightmare begins, for your smile is gone.
I watch.
From the distance, I watch as your life goes on,
Not knowing whether or not you are happy,
Not knowing how to react either way.
I pray.
Somehow, someway, you will remember me,
And in those moments of time you will miss me,
And what we had together.
I promise.
Never will I grow tired of your ways,
Though my soul will cry in silence of the pain,
I will be here for you if you wish it.
~
84.
And wept.
~
87.
Your eyes meet mine for a moment and then you smile,
Such a heavenly treat that it be,
Before you close them again
To lean your head back into the water,
The water now creating circlets from the back of your ears
To the lowest point of your neckline,
And I remember how that skin felt to the tip of my tongue.
Love is like that, in its ways, when one you love has gone.
It hits you when you least expect, and never is it wrong.
You see a puppy in the store and know who liked them best.
You open your mouth to tell them so, but words die in your chest.
Who can see the torture that you face throughout the day
Of love that once was meant to be, and now has gone astray?
So simple an object it is
In a world that grows more complex
And chaotic in its order around me.
Peace.
Perfection.
Be thankful. My Lord.
~
127.
Creature of darkness,
In all of your splendour
And your wonders great and tall,
In a dark tunnel,
Past some bright flowers
Along a wide creek,
Lives such a beauty
That ever was seen.
There is no independence.
There is no light of day.
My creature of the darkness,
I am yours, your slave.
~
145.
I walk alone upon the path with head now standing high,
My ears are pricked for danger and the shadows watched by eye.
Careful, now.
The baby sleeps in a soft bed,
But she still hears your steps.
It is not my intention
To drag you down with me
To the low depths in which my emotions lay,
Like some unsung section of a bard’s tale.
As to what I am thinking
Or how my heart is now sinking
Who am I?
I am a vessel of discord,
Disrupting harmony in any and all,
Yet I am a pillar of strength,
Helping to keep established that which I can.
I am myself;
In a world of passing mirrors,
It is I who truly stay who I am,
And not what others believe me to be.
Of give, of take;
Of love, of living.
~
200.