My Desire

As I close my eyes and squint into the night
I see a butterfly consumed by fire
I try to catch my breath as the fear creeps in
I see that butterfly flying again

The eternal fire is not my desire
The eternal fire is not my desire

Why do I go through my life doing wrong things
When I know what is right

Why do I struggle in the dark
When I know about the light

I see that butterfly floating in the wind
I ask you to get rid of my sin
I see that butterfly again and again and again...

The Charge of the Light Brigade

THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE
by: Alfred Tennyson

I

Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
'Forward the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!' he said.
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

II

'Forward the Light Brigade!'
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Some one had blunder'd.
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die.
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

III

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of hell
Rode the six hundred.

IV

Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turned in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wonder'd.
Plunged into the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel'd from the sabre-stroke
Shatter'd and sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not,
Not the six hundred.

V

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.

VI

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honor the charge they made!
Honor the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!

E. A. R.

My favorite poet, hands down, is Edwin Arlington Robinson. I don't get on that facebook thing much but if you check my picture out - it is Edwin and not Wade.

so for your poetic enjoyment....from 1920...here is

The Dark Hills
by Edwin Arlington Robinson


Dark hills at evening in the west,
Where sunset hovers like a sound
Of golden horns that sang to rest
Old bones of warriors under ground,

Far now from all the bannered ways
Where flash the legions of the sun,
You fade - as if the last of days
Where fading, and all wars were done.

Hope = Life

Hope = Life
I feel the waters flowing over and in me.
Life.
Breathing deep and feeling your existence within me.
Love.
I am nurtured and cared for.
I am growing and benefiting others.
The sun is high and I start to feel a wither.
But I have enough life where I will not fall.
A day passes and no rains fall.
The sun is hot again and I droop more.
The surface around me is tightening.
I am starting to feel the struggle.
I pray for the life giving rain.
The sun is high and shining again.
And again I feel more deflated.
Where is my rain?
Where is my life?
Where is my love?
I feel wet drops.
I have hope.
I feel life.
But it doesn’t last and the sun dries all of the wetness.
Despair.
My surface is hard and crumbly.
I can’t breathe.
I am losing my hope.
My face is almost on the ground.
I close my eyes and almost let go.
It is getting dark, but it is still day.
I smell the rain.
I smell life.
My hope is restored.
Did I really lose it?
It rains.
I have hope.
I have life.

May 2009