Tag Archives: Poetry
Eye Color
…liar….
What else
Could one possibly conclude
But that I am not worth
Neither then nor now
Telling the truth to
This even God did not deny
So then, won’t I
Outside
So there I was settin’ on the outside stair, put there as punishment, I guess
Though, unlike most youngsters, I didn’t know what I’d done wrong
Left out to live, exposing my skin and my heart to the harsh elements
An occasional smile from a passing turtle or bumble bee sustained me
Probably they spotted my deer-in-the-headlights desperation from afar
Speaking some kindness, they felt, wouldn’t hurt any
If only they knew, scarcity would have me hanging on their every glorious word
Writing of them, strangers, all these years and footsteps forward, later
Filling in the blanks left by the one who left me settin’, sad on the outside stair
The Fates
Why did you act like water and feel like hands
And I, born thirsty with never a progenitor to touch me
Why did I, the reluctant saint, concede nonetheless to True North’s tug
And you, the only lesser god ever worth worshipping
Inside
I’ve not found a whimsy
Riding on The Wind
As the snowflake
Who knows The Direction
So stays the course
And I cannot go outside
Perpetuity
Theater of the absurd
You, an understudy into perpetuity, and not a soul who will say why
Though they know
Sworn to silence by some darkness, by some angel
Enter they, the arena, to take their places, their cues
Applaud, then heckle, then leave without a fight, or even debate
To Walk
I come close to your heart and for me it beats in The Rhythm that eases the doubt that vies for room in mine and what becomes clear but God, who is not at all the tiny god we create to suit our short-sighted purposes and to please our mind’s eye, but instead Who emerges is God who created my heart and your heart, matched them together for glory and gave us a purpose eternal and we enjoy this.
Sleep
I fear the night knows I slink at its entrance, cowering quietly in its presence
I vacillate between prayer and submission, hysteria and acquiescence
I sleep fitfully, sporadically, the night sky screaming at me
I awake thirsting and alone, wanting back more than lost sleep
Repair
You’re not the tea type, to me. Ancient you aren’t.
You think you are. But I think you’re raspberry hot chocolate.
Take this endless cup. With my reckless invitation.
Delve. Repair into the wild, earthen past and the rich insanity ahead.
We, hot chocolates in hand, casting our cares. Setting a spell.
LisaRosier.com 