Broken Bones--Lyrical Poem

Broken Bones

on the ground lay the dead dreams,

up in the clouds soar the runaway hopes,

in one's heart there is still love,

but on one's face shows the bitterness of the past,

upon one's soul collects the dust of pot shards,

but on the potter's hands is wet clay,

fixing broken pieces was child's play,

tread lightly, for you tread on broken bones...

sing the song of the lost people,

hear the poetry of the dead society,

feel the whispers of the uprising,

all the dreams may be dead,

and all the hopes may be gone,

does it give you cause to give up?

tread lightly, for you tread on broken bones...

maybe it's too late,

to say the things I always wanted to say,

maybe it's too late

to heal the shattered pieces of art,

time is of the essence, waste it or don't,

tread lightly, for you tread on your broken bones...

tears falling, hand trembling, grave stones screaming,

screaming, screaming out in pain,

they gave up their dreams and let hopes fly,

and when nothing is left to live, then everything is dead...

tread lightly, for you tread on broken bones...

Regenerate -- by Cherise Taylor

Regenerate

by Cherise Taylor

Something happened.

Somewhere between conception and war for existence.

Somewhere between merely existing and giving meaning.

And I know what it was.

Somewhere along the way it was lost—the meaning, the reality,

Then even the conception.

Somewhere we lost meaning and we forgot that Literature--

Is not an escape but an expression.

And when we lost that, we lost the truth of what it means to be human.

Somewhere on that path we lost ourselves when we turned to believe

That humanity and worth is only what we do, what we accomplish.

Literature once reminded us—the beauty of humanity is what we be.

Oh, for these truths I long that we return,

That we would be, that we would see

All the things we lost when Literature betrayed humanity.

What happened?

What changed?

Was it Literature or was it us?

Can we change it again?

Maybe if we--

Regenerate

Revive

Renew

Rewrite—First Literature, then History.

Circle

Hurricane

Cold Coffee

s c a t t e r e d

s c a t t e r e d

on the ground lie those bones,

on the soil,

on the stones,

and just above life's toils,

and love isn't a game,

to be played with fragile fragments,

it isn't something of shame,

to be handled like glass bits,

and the crayons melt,

as the blood sheds,

the art gone; killed,

as the birds nest in their beds,

the passion gone forever,

the sacrifice laid to rest,

as obsession fades to a burning fever,

death being our very own guest,

the thoughts of men are scattered,

darling you live in a cruel world,

all who walk the streets battered,

lost souls just looking for gold,

there on the ground lie our bones,

the ones that were once held by flesh,

where blood pumped through with musical tones,

and where love bloomed with a hush...

Skeletal Breeze

Skeletal Breeze 

there were whispers through her bones,

there were chills through her skull,

an unseen intuition, maybe?

What was this feeling of a skeletal breeze?

Her carcass sings out in the dead of night,

her thoughts left alone to the lonely world,

was it just intuition, or a holy spirit?

Was the feeling simply just a breeze,

or were these chills something to heed...