Of fame and names

Image via afrodelia

Between the door and the world
Two lives, maybe one.
Do you know who you are?
Ordinary people living ordinary life
You are more, so am I.

Come near and listen to its whisper,
What does it say?
It is a shadow
Longing for the unknown,
A world out of grasp.

Of what worth are we for?
For the land you conquer,
And the city you built,
Fame and names are yours.
Alas! These hands are only human.

In Waiting: A poem

Here is a poem,
Weak yet undeterred.
Between you and I
Who holds the truth?
Pray, not I.

Have you ever wondered
If you’d ever see
ideas and ideals
told in different tales
blooming at noon in May?

The breeze from the East blew
bringing a sweet aroma of home
A hint of days long forgotten.
You close your eyes as you recall
the pictures departing into the blue.

Here lies the sea
but wait,
’tis too soon to retire
To land unknown.

Of dreams and fancy

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Engrossed in, day after day
A celebration of dreams and fancy, revered
The dwelling long to retire
to a distant land.

‘Twas a visitation I have long design to ignore
Leaf after leaf, the pen engaged
Like a feather in the open wind
whispering to mine ears.

On a dewy day in spring
As the primrose bask in the morning sun
Allure to the serene countryside, none to remark upon
Seven, I was.

In summertime, the cold is not condemned
Don’t you fear the rage of winter?
The innocent lamb to lead the way
For a lesson too dear.

The Wait

My first attempt at poetry. Comments are welcome and highly appreciated.

the wait

He waited
Little birds all round him
As they sweetly sang their summer song,
In the bliss of the setting sun
His heart in pain.

Not a single glance,
Not a single soul cares
The story of endless struggle
As he waited day and night
Alone.

Summer and winter, spring and autumn,
He waited.
The birds left him for the warmth of the south.
Beards round his face
He droops.

He knows not his name,
He knows not who he is,
He knows not what he waits for,
He sat there
His eyes a story of a once glorious youth.

The years went by,
We ran to the hill one day
He still waits,
But now in his grave.