A Time To Act

There is a time to tremble and a time to fear,
A time for love and a time for tears.
There is a time to ponder and a time to act.
There is a time to acquire the traits that you lack.

poem by Preston Simmons
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The Daughter Of A King

You are the daughter of a king.
Trapped in a stately tower, to the world you sing.
You have power and authority,
My precious majesty.
You are the daughter of the king of all Kings,
A King who created the heavens and the earth,
And all that shall remain in its worth.

poem by Preston Simmons
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I Hate and I Love

I hate and I love, I laugh and I cry.
Perhaps you ask me why I do this.
The reply I give may be confusing to some,
but why does an angry snake hiss?
Learn what you don’t know,
And remember what you forget.
Say goodbye to ones you’ve tortured,
And greet the ones you’ve met.

poem by Preston Simmons
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The Moth and The Mirror

We have the mirror, which shows unseen traits of beings.
Even the trait of the greedy moth,
Who attempts to teach absurd meanings.
The strong and reflective mirror, uncovers this self-proclaimed prophet.
Teaching of false and foolish things,
His only focus is to taste of the gold-rimmed goblet.
So the next time you gaze into a mirror,
Your unseen traits may become clearer.

poem by Preston Simmons
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Warning Of The Lark

High in the treetops, silent as ever,
Sits the foreboding Lark.
Its cries foretell danger, its wings flapping in an arc.
Its cries are heard everywhere, but not everyone hears its cries.
A cry so soft and gentle
Heard only by the humble and wise.
Study this quest you are about to receive, and with courage you will embark.
So my brothers, hear this plea, and heed to the warning of the Lark.

poem by Preston Simmons
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Upon The Silent, Lonely Hill

Many sleepless nights I spent
Upon the silent, lonely hill.
An invitation for others to join,
But I was the only one who went.
Silence is golden,
Especially in a crowd.
But having no one to share the silence with,
Cannot possibly make a man proud.

Silence among the trees,
Silence among the lakes.
And only by distraction silence breaks.
But overall,
Silence is desolate.
And bitter to the end.

poem by Preston Simmons
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