Guest Poet – Jeffrey

I discovered this young poet quite by chance on Wattpad. He is only 17 but writes with a hint of an old soul. His poetry transports you into a world of such sincere emotions. I do hope you enjoy reading them as much as I have.

Quill Pen

DREAMS

She sits alone- crying, forgotten, mocked.
In her scarred hands, her head she rocked.
She knew not why they kicked and spat,
Why they called her stupid, dumb or fat.

She sat alone on the cold stone floor,
Blades broke, but her skin wanted more,
And with every tired, troubled sigh-
She died in living, and lived to die.

She painted her sorrow in tears of red,
On canvas brown- from where she bled.
And in the shrouding darkness of night-
Knew she was going to lose this fight.

Scourged for being society’s scourge,
Singled out for being unique in this dirge.
Mocked by “friends” for no reason but mirth,
Her Life was winter without fire since birth.

Another night passes, she lays down her head:
The realm of dreams- where only roses are red.
Where she was not different but unique in her world,
Queen of her conjured universe in her bed curled.

Free from the mortal shackles and fleshy nightmares,
She picks daisies and catches fleeting, fluffy hares.
And in society’s nightmare bursting at the seam,
She finds solace from earthly fetters in another dream.

~Jeffrey~

~~#~~

Death of a Dream

The final fading threshold-
Bursting at the seam.
In fiery anguish we hold-
Only to wake into another dream.

The comforting dark shroud,
Caressed by the moonlight.
The shade of a passing cloud,
Through closed eyes- to find sight.

To visit lands and realms unknown,
To be invincible- gods even.
To visit wherever we are blown,
To be ghosts: immortal- unseen.

Then the sky is torn in a bloody scar,
Ichor bleeds from rent darkness.
The reverie fades into something far.
We return to reality’s starkness.

Ra’s infernal Chariot crosses
The virgin darkness- deep and wide.
While sparrows chirp the night’s losses,
I wake in tears- another dream has died.

~Jeffrey~

~~#~~

Merry Christmas, Mom.

Mom,
I know this was hard for you, I’ve had to battle stuff too,
But when all’s said and done, I guess I always had you.
But you’ve never had anyone, no shoulder to lean on,
And I guess I broke yours, over the years that have gone.

It’s always been hard for me, but it’s been harder for you,
So I guess this is it, I’ve found out the whole truth.
I never thought this could happen to you, why didn’t you tell me?
Oh, I remember, it was because I was too much of a jerk to see-

The truth behind the snow and all the gifts- that you were hurting,
That this thing was eating you slowly, while I was busy flirting.
They keep saying it’s never too late to apologize,
But I guess it is now, bet you won’t be able to rise.

I’m sorry, mom. That’s all I wanted to say.
Your life’s been nothing less than a cold winter day.
But it’s the least I can do to stand here and admit I was wrong,
Amidst the cold winter chill and sing this sad old song.

I remember you taught it to me, did you have cancer then too?
I guess you did, you never even told me, did you?
I guess this makes me the worst son you could have hoped for,
But I’m going to sing “Merry Christmas” though you’re no more.

Guess what, mom, I’m going to join you, ’cause I can’t bear it,
So, Merry Christmas, mom, I promise I’ll be around in a bit.

Your son.

~Jeffrey~

~~#~~

Chained By Freedom

The storm’s passed- free at last!
Then why does my weary soul not sing?
This sky’s still overcast-
Now you’ve left- why does my heart not ring?

Why does the world still seem to be mourning?
And every tree sad? Every bird singing low?
Why does my heart still seem to be yearning-
For the blaze of autumn in the immaculate snow?

This love, you had said, was not meant to be,
Alas! I thought- the fiery passion of love yields
To the cruel gust of cold temptation: Yet I’m free!
But my heart beats not, eyes see not- hands cannot feel.

Return, my cherished bloom of life-
Return to the arms of this heart-broken wreck,
Before the night’s too cold- the strife
Too great or the noose to great upon my neck.

But what’s that? You never were mine?
What is life, then? But a dream sublime?
The love we had- was but a hallowed lie?
Then who am I? What is time?

What was it then? But another dream?
To see in waking slumber too?
And in this memory bursting at the seam
To believe in something called the truth?

And who are you? Are you mine?
Or is it but another dream my mind
Has made in this world of mine- or thine?
To these questions Who will answer find?

And He who knew the answers too
Would stay aloof in the run of life-
Allowing love’s farce ‘twixt me and you-
Like a vulture in the dying’s strife.

Wilts this rose on ground so green?
Dies our love in passion tender?
Who has known and who has seen?
Who will true love to me render?

Why are these walls surrounding me?
White as clouds on a summer day,
It was winter but now- yet now I see:
The perfect white of a virgin sunray.

I see so many faces, are they all real?
Is this my life, or my dream I live in?
Why not live a dream with full zeal?
Is it wrong to live in dreams- is it a sin?

Speak, oh you in the white coat,
It is not me, but you who are insane,
It is society- a girl- who cut my throat.
Freedom from her put me in these chains.

~Jeffrey~

~~#~~

Guardian Angels

Slithering serpents writhe in fire
A dying soldier’s funeral pyre,
Blazing across the darkened sky
While innocents and innocence slowly die.

“Die Free” the men in suits had told them,
Myriads of men- children- they condemned.
While in Parliament, money propelled warfare,
On the field- Death was dealt with little care.

Missiles tore through the sky’s clenched teeth,
Wishing upon falling bombs, soldiers underneath
Gave up their lives so that others could keep theirs.
An irony which- at your soul- claws and tears.

It is these men: Cape-less heroes and nameless saints
masked by insignificance- with ne’er a complaint.
These men who work from dawn to dawn
Who are Guardian Angels we always count on.

“Dulce et Decorum Est Pro Patria Mori”
But Wars only end when someone says sorry.
Sitting in safe armchairs- it’s hard to see
The truth about freedom- It isn’t free..

-Jeffrey-

~ ~ ~ # ~ ~ ~

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