I am an aspiring artist,
painting the world I see;
reality is really just a mist;
I am, what I’m painted to be.
I don’t dab paint on a canvas;
writing is my medium choice;
but still, I am an artist;
words have expressions to voice.
Words turn
…1948 posts by
MontyCaldwell
The present has become a poison to me;
its toxic effects cause me despair;
unwilling to endure that past I still see;
and unable to discover the where.
I used to long for a future place;
surely it would be my where;
But I’m unable to reach that space;
So, we think we’ve had our fill of pains;
we’ve caused even more for our brother;
and to reality, who, over us, reigns;
we’ve given so much sorrow to another.
Greed and envy, always fill up our plate;
pride is a most arrogant master;
and, faced with
How is it that thoughts, deep in my mind;
keep finding new ways to come out;
is that how it all, is somehow designed:
how it is that speech comes about?
It’s as if my mouth fills up with thought;
until it overflows with words.
Without considering what it
I am never too old to tell the truth;
truth has no age limitation;
never too old to visit a church;
make friends with a new congregation.
I am never too old to tear up and cry;
for tears have great cleansing power;
I am never too old to be
Words have lost all ability to explain;
loneliness and my depths of despair.
Are there still words, that yet, remain;
as evidence that others still care?
Are past love’s thoughts and words;
vacuous thoughts and empty faces?
Or have all of the past been blurred;
by new loves, which
Life’s Summer has gone, long ago;
and Autumn passed by, too;
I feel the effects of the Winter’s snow;
love’s warmth, no longer my view.
Perhaps its the cold of loneliness;
I just don’t really know;
my writing; shifted to poetry;
like the rain turns into
In reality, life; is a war of attrition;
Evil facing Good; in order to survive.
Each battle fought is a form of division;
all participants trying, to stay alive.
The dirty secret is that all life, lives on;
we cannot, our enemy; kill.
And, Evil, itself, will never be gone;