Be warned that certain aspects of these poems may be disturbing to younger readers. I have included them because many teenagers, even those of faith, are affected by the negativity of things in our society. The following twelve compositions are a sampling of those given me by a young high schooler: MARGARET GUILDHALL
How can you break a sweet flower in two?
Is it possible to have a drone without a queen?
How can woman be so openly blue?
The answer's simple-- with the loveless fiend.
How can you break a sincere heart in two?
Is it possible to have no soft music to hear?
How can woman be so openly blue?
The answer's simple-- it's the endless fear.
How can you break the passion's moon in two?
Is it possible to cause a rugged stone to cry?
How can woman be so openly blue?
The answer's simple-- when love is to die.
How can you break two lovers in two?
Is it possible to have a life without a love?
How can woman be so openly blue?
The answer's simple-- and my song is through.
The wind blows harshly against a tree,
Despite his constant, most begging plea.
Its branches gently clutch the babe
To hide from evil, not yet for Gabe.
Tears of pity fall upon the child
Clothed in weakness, toward creatures wild.
But his mighty hand sweeps them away
To save the infant til the last day.
Bright sweet roses lay upon his head,
But the thorns did deep and he's near dead.
A bolt of fire at inscription strikes--
He flares skyward, in heavenly likes!
The empty tomb beams jubilation
With heaven and earth's adoration.
Dear Virgin Mary of heavenly light,
Please shed some hope upon our dreary night.
Veil us securely between each mild arm
To protect us from evil's hellish harm.
Sweet Virgin Mother of heavenly light,
Please intercede for us to all his might.
Hold us calmly inside your heart of love
To insure our arrival at life above.
Pure Virgin Mary of celestial light,
Please save your children in deadly fright.
Blind us to the temptations of dark hell
To quicken us to the ring of the bell.
True Virgin Mother of salvation's light,
Please insure our victory in the fight.
Lift us by angels so we shall not fall,
To allow that we will follow his call.
Queen Virgin Mary of redeemer's light,
Please shed a small tear upon our hard plight.
Push us more in the desire for his love
To allow the receiving of the dove.
Dear Virgin Mother of heavenly light,
Please lift up our somber souls to his sight.
Place us gently where nothing will dare die,
To adore him in kingdom of the sky.
Outstretched miseries serve to remind
That we forget others of our kind.
Instead, our thoughts drift to our own pain,
And to tasks that ended much in vain.
Man's soul reaches for more-- perhaps God?
But this long path has yet to be trod.
For despite a very meager few,
His house sees neither Christian nor Jew.
We are conscious of the starving horde;
While riches and foods are ours, dear Lord.
"Their begging bellies are far from ours,
But when they are dead, we'll send them flow'rs!"
"Their crying babies are not our own!"
Those who think this are truly alone.
Despite posters that stare at faces,
"Who cares for them, those foreign races!"
A small voice begs, "Shelter, food, and clothe."
But this ancient plea, we've learned tp loathe.
Like bits of ourselves, our private hells--
We try to drown out the deaf'ning yells.
Sunday Christians leave their great churches,
While Satan smiles and briefly lurches.
For where is the Spirit, in their hearts?
Alas, He's left for more peaceful parts.
The command was given, "Feed your kin!"
But Man's response has yet to begin.
Except for a few spit-upon saints,
The stains remain with even worse taints.
In deserts, jungles, and riverbeds,
They lie with just stars over their heads--
Which serve as a crown for the world's poor.
But this doesn't halt Death's wretched roar.
They drown in seas; they dry under suns,
And for us it's worse-- our crimes by tons.
We fear for difference and hate for skin,
And show indifference to grace or sin.
"Who is your neighbor," poor man or rich?
Do you give freely or with a hitch?
Prayers and love are all they can return,
Is not this much better than to burn?
"O Lord, Lord!" they are more than mere words,
And acts of mercy aren't "for the birds!"
Miracles won't come til Man takes hold,
Giving of self in steps broad and bold.
Greeds and lusts are for the waste basket--
Otherwise, Earth's a global casket.
Each seeking hand should grasp another.
Each man should recognize his brother.
No matter whether, he's friend or foe--
Together, we can defeat our woe.
Mystery's End
The jungle of life is a tangle of weeds
Where mankind plants his future in doubtful seeds.
Yet, in all this downright futility,
There lies hope in Man's upward humility.
Upon the shouldered sharp rocks of history,
Man's survival has been the great mystery.
Despite all attempts for his oblivion,
He stumbles still, from each eon to eon.
Slender upon the taunt thin thread does he stand,
Taunting the heavens from his milk-honeyed land.
But the light of mercy is open shed
Upon each and every number-- each small head.
The somber green grass of Man's supposed wisdom
Has often lead away from the great kingdom.
Yet, never in the thorned cross, has all been lost.
This is the Ghost's truth through the true Pentecost.
Since he to man are as forever betrothed,
Then man has only to believe to be clothed.
So man of present, do not be overwrought,
You've only to believe-- and salvation's bought.
Thus, the meek are as strong, the strong as are meek,
And now, at last, the bold answer has to leak.
Wanderlust knights seek make-believe treasures
In stretches of time, only God measures.
Bright flowers bloom and then soon wilt away;
Before one awakens, it's yesterday.
Meanwhile, crazed conceit bargains more for self,
Only to be lost on a dusty shelf.
Screaming slaves are striped with scorched whips of fire;
No longer are workers around for hire.
Icy winds are melted against man's heart
Cause it's colder than the world it's a part.
The red rainbow crumbles into the ground
Where only bones and dreams are to be found.
Upon the dark silk thread of spaceless time,
All's what it was in the forgotten rhyme.
Ponder all ye may upon each still line,
No revelation will you ever find.
Tripping upon each step, eyes closed,
Are wanderers of bewilderment.
They still know not why or how or when,
But speed upon their endless circles.
Do they really see that which they seek?
Laughing upon each small newborn tear,
Stamping out that which fills them with fear--
This is the way they have always been.
Blind eternal to all, blind to him,
Their voices yell out loud, "O Lord, Lord!"
Ah, but they do not know what they say.
Crippled, sightless men that search the night,
How dare they use his great name in vain?
He knows them not for they have all lied.
All forgiven, except for the lie
That wounds his whole heart with nothingness.
They don't believe for they do not see,
And they do not see because they're blind.
Upon the high heaven's swift roaring shore
There lies a reddened heart, all torn with thorns.
It beats but slowly in the hazy mist,
And the blood rushes upon each new tear.
Alas, the cold winters are all enfold,
Dancing upon their fresh newly found gold.
Lo, angels sing a somber melody,
Introducing the bare soil with the rain
That comes but rarely to bring forth its life.
The black clouds cover the stars that applaud
The great raindrops seeping into the roots.
Life a-new! Life a-new! Has come at last!
Fleeting Miracles
Swift little miracles were fleeting
To their Mother-Earth for a meeting.
At first, she held them gently in hand
But the music changed with a new band.
"Small miracles clutter up my land!"
In despite, her love took a new brand.
Stead of loving each magical soul,
She threw out the treasures from her bowl.
From others to self fleeted her love,
Thus, destroying the once peaceful dove.
Jealous love led to evil and hate
And to more atrocities of late.
"Blasted miracles! I'll kill you all!"
She shouted above their crying call,
"Please Mother-Earth, oh, we love you dear!"
She wouldn't hear and filled them with fear.
The miracles were crushed at their source
As their voices died down, very hoarse.
Then there was silence throughout the air,
No more were miracles-- anywhere.
Grasping the hollow soul, then letting go,
Feeling the world's mighty wonders, then its fears,
Chased by the fierce hunter of fiery below,
For masked crying to the Lord, with pointed jeers.
Dancing are the nymphs that fly in the cool night,
Snatching their victims, carrying them away,
Raced from the bright light into dark mortal fright
For falling through the vast void, to see no more day.
Praying are the lost, hidden in the shadows,
Pleading for their souls, despite devil beside,
Laced to the deep, burning in lushly long rows
For craving the world, denying him who died.
Meek little child all alone in the womb,
Your mother has made it into your tomb.
Sought in the craving of personal lust,
Achieved unwanted-- for the passion's rust!
Sleek little soul all lost in the unknowns,
Your mother has left you mere bloodied bones.
Sought in the craving of personal lust,
And grieved yet never-- for the solemn dust.
Weak little babe all alone in the cloud,
Your mother has made it into a shroud.
Sought in the craving of personal lust,
Long-sleeved black demon-- for self, never must!
Peek little life all lost in her blind sight,
Your mother has left you in endless night.
Sought in the craving of personal lust,
Thus peeved more just-- under Satan's Sin Crust!
"Reek little slop all alone on the tray,
Your mother has made it your dying day.
Sought in the craving of personal lust,
Retrieved to dissect-- for man's rarely just!
Leak little sack all lost in bleak limbo,
Your mother has left you a gray rainbow.
Sought in the craving of personal lust,
Now heaved from God-- she against sacred trust.
I have not seen far away places
But still I have dreamed of their delights,
And I've talked to all the great races--
Viewing each of their enduring rites.
Stranger not I to their dreamy shores,
Imagining their eve's horizon;
And I have heard the sea's roaming roars--
Feeling the sun's warmth in the rise'in.
I've not traveled by plane, boat, or train,
Nor have I money to see the sites.
My search-- never stopped by this refrain,
For I have lived through all of their nights.
Cry not I for their reality,
For my mind holds more pleasant landscapes.
Try not I for their nobility,
For my soul craves no blackish dread capes.
Oh, in secret do I wish to be
Traveling like them, in body too?
Lo, I don't know and haven't a key;
Doomed am I, to think and not do.