Malcontent

As morning arrived, this was the day;

nothing to deter him, he was not to be swayed;

his mind firmly fixed on his task at hand;

today would be the day he made his stand.

The internet was his source of unending knowledge

to obtain his instruments for the eventual carnage;

tediously he painstakingly went over ever detail;

gloating with confidence, he would not fail.

The usual suspects he didn't represent;

unassuming his appearance they didn't have a hint;

inflamed and horrified as the beads of sweat appeared

his heart pulsating as the conclusion of his destiny neared.

A young girl glances his way and smiles;

acknowledging her with a wave staying focused all the while

bobbing his head to the beats in his ears and

in the mass of people he quietly disappears.

Backpack in tow the countdown has begun;

in his mind he believes that he’s already won;

trifling establishment will be forced to recognize

with the fear and dread he imposes on their lives.

In a blink of an eye, the sound is deafening;

the destruction his day of reckoning;

stained streets and twisted metal abound as

only bits and pieces of flesh remain on the ground.

Painstakingly the evidence is slowly revealed;

his reasons and beliefs no longer concealed;

as people ask why and contemplate the unknown;

one thing is painfully clear, he is not alone.

Copyright by NewLife2008

Purpose

Struggles that go unseen

amongst billions of lives;

each must decide

between heartache and happiness;

trying to find out

what life really means.

Copyright by NewLife2008

My Reason for Poetry

On the day I was born, I

didn’t know what went on;

just out of my mother’s womb

to ask that of me is really too soon.

What I can say is I’m sure I was crying;

anything else would probably be lying.

It was an early January 13^th morn

of 1966 on the day I was born.

The earliest memory that I recall

is having TB at the age of two ya’ll;

two weeks being away from my home

though by myself, I never felt alone.

My bare chest pressed up against a cold metal plate;

told to look at a toy monkey to keep my body straight;

taking x-rays making sure it didn’t reappear and

swallowing horse pill meds for two whole years.

It seems I got comfortable at enduring tribulation;

no matter what it was I could handle the situation.

Developing a calm disposition beyond my early years;

enabling me to bravely cope with my hopes and fears.

Friends helped my mother out during her pregnancy

as my brother and I stayed with their family;

during our stay we realized their house had evil beings;

as young kids we couldn’t believe what we’re seeing.

TV’s turning off and on and things being thrown about,

even with a God fearing family they would still act out.

Worst of all at five years of age I remember vividly seeing

at the top of the balcony there hung a dead human being.

Despite the family saying their aunt was depressed,

with all the happenings going on it made me guess

how would I have felt it that had been my mother;

by doing so it helped me to feel the pain of others.

Looking back I realize my reason for poetry, it’s from

all these feelings I’ve carried around since infancy;

no matter how much I write I will always be torn;

as I was from my mother on the day I was born.

Copyright by NewLife2008

Strands of Time

The strands of time weave memories

so delicate a blanket bringing me warmth

from fond moments but have been torn and 

tattered by events throughout time leaving

me cold in this journey called life.

Cruel on the one hand, time stands still

making every moment agonizing knowing the 

future of our cherished ones lies just inches

away from our very hands – left only wringing 

them together; holding each other in consolation 

knowing they’re tied – hopeless to render aid

to the ones that need it most.

From it this delicate blanket is torn but I’m not able

so sew it back together since its tear is not at a hem

to be repaired so it remains a constant reminder like a

wound that never heals – trying to minimize the damage 

I fold it within the rest of the fabric and pray with the

passage of time I never have to feel the coldness of life

seeping through again to make me shudder.

Loving on the other hand time pours expressions of elation 

and sunny smiles that have helped cover some of the tragedies 
that have befallen me; with fondness and affection; occasions 
pleasantly filling the photo book of life literally and figuratively, 
people dear to me, sharing time spent together and of places visited;
leaving me so thankful for the ones who've provided it in my life. 

Yet my blanket isn't left without consequence; good or bad

it has through time become weaker and weaker, thinner 

and thinner until they disappear. The thousands of strands no 

longer can serve the purpose they were meant for; each one of those 

strands representing the ones lost from unforeseen occurrences, 

disease, accidents, sickness, and our mortal enemy death. Now I 

too have become old and feeble, my power fading even though this 

blanket of life is no longer mine; the memories and moments is what

I will remember just before my strand is no longer here as well.

Copyright by NewLife2008

Skimming Rocks

confined by silence

shattered by launching missiles

ripples slowly fade

Copyright by NewLife2008

A Sinner's Prayer

A sinner’s prayer is all this is

perfunctory in effort at best;

I can’t remember when I really tried.

Going through the motions it seems;

In a whirlpool of redundancy

my life is a total mess.

Wave my hands in a certain motion,

upward gaze in mediocre reverence

as if it would increase my chance.

Repeating words like a broken record,

I probably can say them backwards;

I wonder if I’ll get any points for that.

I don’t claim to be perfect;

like everyone else, it’s fact I can’t deny.

The fact remains that it’s so easy to lie;

I wish I had something to move me;

to believe I could garner true forgiveness

but the truth is I don’t believe anymore.

Eyes wide open to all that I see

for all the badness I’ve done,

but I know I’m not the only one.

Two sides of my mouth I tend to speak

as if a sinner’s prayer carried any weight;

my future should be easy to deliberate.

I’m not a bad person, but I can be mean,

selfish and brooding even at times;

violence sometimes gets the best of me.

Those few moments when I succumb,

leaves little to anyone’s imagination

the reason I pray for my salvation.

I think I speak for all when I say

I truly wish I didn’t live this way;

sometimes my reprieve exists in a cup.

Maybe yours exists in some other faucet,

but when I bend my knees and look up;

this sinner’s prayer is all I’ve got.

Copyright by NewLife2008

Kiss

Soft warm pillows of flesh

quivering in anticipation.

Inviting shorten breaths;

the space between closer yet.

Cerebral sensuality;

physically transferred;

forever remembered.

Copyright by NewLife2008