Feeling as if there is just one tomorrow
Inside this ache filled with sorrow. Wishing it all to be a bad dream
Apparently, though it is as real as it seems.
MwsR
Category: Poems
No One, by MwsR
I feel it crush me from the inside
It gives no room for comfort or relief
Constantly grinding and replaying the same way
I feel as if my chest will crumble under the weight of it all.
Looking around for one person strong enough to help
Yet never finding one
Swirling around, they are, from the winds in their own lives
Not able to grasp their own remedy, let alone mine
In one moment, things change
It can go from comfort to distress in the same minute
Sometimes, it comes as if it were a thief
Sometimes, it comes in as cold as ice
This is the life of a person torn into different frays of their life
This is how it will come, how it presents itself
No one is safe from this.
No one, not no one.
Poem by MwsR
Not right, not fair
Have I not always been there?
How come, why is that
You should not treat someone like an old hat.
Whose fault is it
Are you not to blame?
Why must you have to curse my name?
Did you forget it was me
Who loved you unconditionally.
What’s that you whisper
I can not make my feelings any clearer.
Of course, it is mute
I am the cracked flute
Still here but cracked by all your lies
All the deception,
I need a resolution.
Sooner, rather than later
Make me know that I matter
Tell me how important I am
Hurry, the door will slam!
Hurts And All That, by MwsR
A seemingly nice morning,
Moving through mundane chores and so forth
You enter my mind
It is as if it all comes to a screeching holt.
I understand very little of what it is that perplexes my soul so.
Hurts and all that stuff that makes your day change.
Enjoying my favorite radio station,
Jamming with the artists and the tunes,
Feeling great and reminiscing about younger days
When those tunes were the first time played.
Then, it all changes
Because it takes me back to a torment of time
Hurts and all stuff like that.
Why must the best of days be chased away with the worries of tomorrow,
Have I not re-arranged my feeling so much, already?
I have gave up some of the best times
For the haunting presence of the worst of my life
For all those hurts and all that stuff that makes us or breaks us.
Poem by MwsR
As Real as It Seems
By MwsR
The day was unlike any other
It was new and uncomplicated
So far it seemed
The silence was so deadly though
It brought thoughts of panic or disarray
Not much to my liking in any way.
I am naïve and young and foolish at heart
It serves me well when on a new path, that I embark.
Never really stopping just to look around
And see if my inner yearning should be bound.
I’m typical in almost every way, as others
Both complicated and sweet, never would bother another.
But sometimes I wonder to myself
“Why is it the world wants us to be put up on a shelf?”
Sorted and managed and never our real selves.
Why can there not be beauty in complex things?
Beauty that roars, instead of just rings.
I want to have that, I often said of myself.
But I wasn’t a wizard, warlock, or elf.
What do you do when your passion, your drive
Takes a most unexpected, navigational dive?
What can make your load easier,
Does it not start with being a believer?
Can we ultimately change our own destiny?
Why is it we leave it to fate and to just anybody?
It is ours, all by ourselves…
Not any ones to claim or pre-sort on that shelf.
In time, I would take my own things and make them better
I would determine the now, the why, and the who mattered.
It would be unglamorous or highlighted, but still special
That is when I would make it mine, for real.
No, this day is not typical but I’ll have others
It is real and complicated
And always as real as it seemed.
Famous Poem
In valleys green and still
by A. E. Housman
In valleys green and still Where lovers wander maying They hear from over hill A music playing. Behind the drum and fife, Past hawthornwood and hollow, Through earth and out of life The soldiers follow. The soldier's is the trade: In any wind or weather He steals the heart of maid And man together. The lover and his lass Beneath the hawthorn lying Have heard the soldiers pass, And both are sighing. And down the distance they With dying note and swelling Walk the resounding way To the still dwelling.
Poem
If by MwsR
If I’d known it would have soon been your end
My badge of pride I would have made bend.
If my heart knew it would lose a piece of itself
My notes and letters would have left that shelf.
If you ever knew that I cared…I wonder.
If I’d been more vocal ….ah but that was my blunder.
If life could have been kinder to us
Maybe we would have had less fuss.
If you hadn’t let guilt drag you away
My life would have turned out another way.
If people knew the struggle we both shared
The consequences and actions we both dared.
If the rejected soul of mine had found a home
It would have changed my inner need to roam.
If lost and hopeless was how you felt… as I had
And sleepless nights thinking of all the bad.
If anything, we shared that and had the same dreams.
Longing to change the impossible
If only that would have been possible!
If dreams had made wishes come true…
It would never be without you.
Alright by MwsR
Life is like a thief to our souls
It pretends to offer us a million chances, a million dreams
But it is never really that way, or so it seems.
Life is so complicated,
Not by choice but rather by right
Some have a whole year, some have only a night.
Who is to say who deserves this or deserves that,
Why must it be this array?
Has everyone not came into the world, the same way?
Life steals all that it can
It pretends to matter, it pretends it doesn’t demand.
Secretly it plots and delivers each blow
I bet you all have experienced this,
I bet you all know.
Life shows us beauty, that lasts for a little while
It displays smiles on the faces of babies
But after that we only have mere traces,
Of the thing that once brought us that smile.
Our minds are the worst pawns in this game
They often forget,
But always seem to remember a regret
A shame, a forbearance, a pain.
That is why we all are the pawns in this crooked game.
Sure we have good followed by fair,
Sometimes we have wishes, but only if we dare.
We may all succeed in what seems a personal challenge or contest
But are we ever truly able to rest?
Will our legacies be enough?
How about all of our stuff?
Maybe just ourselves, will be enough.
Will having the upper hand,
Make us a very content and happy man?
In our courage or fame,
Will we be offered more of the same.
Is all that we are, under our birth name,
Or is it how we survived all our pain.
How we dealt with it,
How we rose despite it
What we learnt from it.
I am not sure
Sometimes even writing is a chore.
Perhaps there are other things for which to write,
Alright!
Mws R Writings 