Of Wanton
Of wanton passion
to have but not possess
to hold but not caress
to tell but not confess.
Like gifts not gotten
or hopes forgotten
or even like the love you've got in.
It was there but lost then.
of wanton
passion! !
poem by S.W. Clark
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Gossamer Son
Take the path
Question none,
Gossasmer Son.
Float along
enjoy the sun,
Gossamer Son.
Feel frivolous, faint and free
See the songs, sail the sea
be the big, beware the bee.
A Gossamer's you
and you is he.
So live this Life as God's given tree.
Eat it's fruit
try this gift
you are the one
Gossamer Son.
poem by S.W. Clark
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Play for Me My Dream
In the wake of the sun bright early morn
dreams still travel, they are never lorn
thrusting ill fate to the place of the deep
and uplifting all you wish to keep
Your dream was made of good tomarrows
of a world of love and no more sorrows
of peace, and hope for every soul
no matter where evil took its' toll.
Your hearts' stretching forth
a grasp to eternity
trying to give the drought
of fate a plea:
'Please, please
play for me my dream.'
poem by S.W. Clark
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Yesterday's Child
Yesterday's child
I remember so well.
So young, full of hope
of good things they tell.
Yesterday's child
future of life.
Free from the pain
of discord and strife.
Yesterday's child
innocent gift
running free and wild,
mind adrift.
Yesterday's child
soft and pure.
If I wonder away
you're loves' great lure.
Yesterday's child
an adult today
neither soft nor pure
but gone a stray.
[...] Read more
poem by S.W. Clark
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Poetic Sayings
The best part of reaching a goal
in not attaining the end,
but lies in the grappling and
searching: those hardships you spend.
***
One who finds their destination
also loses their determination.
***
Retirement is not to be comfort, and rest,
but a time for one to be at their own best.
***
The greatest pleasure one can give
is to tell good stories of how they live.
The greatest way to feel old,
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poem by S.W. Clark
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In the Absence of Love
With extreme prejudice and a haunting gaze
a continence shakes with withered distress,
steadfast, unmovable, in a single minded
impassioned face neither glint nor glum,
repeatedly, again and again, thinking
'How I despise thee
foe of my being,
destroyer of my heart
mine enemy-
thou accursed lust.'
without waiver- without reconciliation
taking the insatiable hate into the dark abyss of insanity.
The soul was forever lost
and again with tools of deception,
greed and pride.
The devil has again conquered
another unforgiving piece of humanity.
'But with one, ' snides Satan joyously,
' I will convince the multitudes.'
'And with one- armies will gain reason to
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poem by S.W. Clark
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