Out of the Sunset’s Red
by William Stanley Braithwaite
Out of the sunset’s red
Into the blushing sea,
The winds of day drop dead
And dreams come home to me. —
The sea is still,— and apart
Is a stillness in my heart.
The night comes up the beach,
The dark steals over all,
Though silence has no speech
I hear the sea-dreams call
To my heart; — and in reply
It answers with a sigh.
Hope is the thing with feathers —by Emily Dickinson
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
Today throw open your blinds and windows,
Enjoy the beautiful light the sun shows,
Though you can’t always control who enters your life,
Have a good window to throw out those who give you strife.
This poem is dedicated to anybody who has fallen in love with a narcissistic person. Let the pain go away. The deceiver will never stop deceiving!
This is a paradox.
-you are a bad man-
You lie like you breathe You cheat and deceive
Your smiles and your jokes Are in fact just a cloak
The sparkle in your eyes As you take pleasure in my cries
And the way you rejoice Hearing the pain in my voice
Made me understand That you ARE a bad man
Under that polished facade, You believe you’re a god
I’m tired of your neglect And of your disrespect
So I pen these words Hoping you’ve heard
That at the end of the day Those games that you play
Maybe you are fun But my dear I am done!
Leslie Bertrand ©Paradoxical Phoenix