A Poet of No Renown

By PoeticMeditations

I am a poet of  no renown
A mere potter of common words
Deep in love with their taste and sound
The sweet harmony of their chords.

Not fleeting fame is what I seek
My name obscure forever be
I climb not high to reach its peak
In words alone my soul is free.

There are no riches to be made
My reward is just one alone
For which I labor night and day:
The creation of a poem.


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The Trees are Slowly Waking

By PoeticMeditations

The trees are slowly waking
From their deep, dormant sleep
Stretching up stiff, barren arms
With spring’s promises to keep.

Soon tender buds will appear
All will turn to leafy green
Offer shelter from the sun
Shady trunks against to lean.

Full will be their canopies
Spread out wide against the sky
Swaying in the gentle breeze
Filled with the lark’s joyous cry.

Leaves will blaze with autumn’s colors
At winter’s touch drop one by one
Soon to fade in quiet slumber
To dream of summer’s blazing sun.

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Who Will Be Left to Remember Us

By PoeticMeditations

Who will be left to remember us
When those we know have passed away?
Who will be left to mourn for us
When they too will be gone this day?

Our lonely graves will be neglected
No flowers laid down in tribute
Our names no longer respected
The sound of the wind will be mute.

With weeds, our good names will be obscured
Uncut will grow around our grave
Our passing no longer observed
For time erases all straight away.

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Another Body Laid to Rest

By PoeticMeditations

Another body laid to rest
In the cold, dark earth to decay
Another name added to the list
That grows longer with each passing day.

Another hymn sung to comfort
In this hour of bitter grief
Another prayer offered for support
For those shaken in their belief.

Another day of uncertainty
Here today, but gone tomorrow
Another hint of our mortality
Of fleeting lives of pain and sorrow.

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By PoeticMeditations

Once, she said she loved my hands
And oft caressed them with her own
While hand in hand upon the grass
We sat together all alone.

She never said she loved my eyes
Though through them poured my love so free
My hands alone is what she said she loved
Alas, what she did not love was me.

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By PoeticMeditations

My sweet, little songbird
Flew out the door one day
Out I went to look for it
Hurriedly – without delay.

For winter was upon us
It would not live ’til morn
Outside, I placed its empty cage
And spent the night forlorn.

Next morn, I knew my songbird died
One thought did my tears allay:
It had known its freedom
If only for a day.

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A Rose in Bloom

By PoeticMeditation

Is there anything comparable to a rose in bloom?
I have found nothing that can quite compare
Ephemeral like the light of a winter moon
Such beauty in this world is a thing quite rare.

Royal – above any aristocratic title
Petals of velvet fold and soft contour
Deep hue no painted lips can ever rival
Its fragrance, like perfume, adds to its allure.

Neither the sparkle of the brightest diamond –
The woven pattern of the finest clothes –
Nor the placid stillness of a mirrored pond
Can compare to the perfection of a rose.

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