Biography of Richard Betts
Born on December 8,1964, in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, Richard Betts, was raised in the Mayfair/Tacony section of northeast Philadelphia.
In December 1986, he earned a bachelor's degree in journalism from Indiana University of Pennsylvania (IUP) .
Richard Betts's Works:
The Poetry of Richard Betts, Jr.
Richard Betts Poems
As I stand here in the chapel Praying for God to grant you His peace, A deluge of questions rains down, But the answers provide no relief.
Do you know what I remember About that final, fateful day? I recall how blue the sky was As I watched you walk away.
People we love are a lot like flowers, And we are the gardeners who reside. We get to choose which flowers Are the centerpieces of our lives.
If the moon and the sun waged a war, Who would win? The moon, I'm sure. The sun would fight face to face,
How many ticks does He permit? How many beats does one heart hold? How many spring showers will I see?
When the night refuses to relinquish the dawn, Your love inspires me and makes me strong. When heaven's breathe has turned harsh and cold,
Your most loyal lovers seem to Loathe your most basic commands. Your most faithful followers Fail to meet your simplest demands.
When you mock me, Do you feel like a bigger man? Do you not know that your words Sting like the back of a hand?
I have never been this consumed, And worn such resentment on my face. And in our united sense of purpose, I can feel His hand of constant grace.
Years ago, when I was young, I often dreamed I possessed the power to fly. At night, I would shed the weight of my fears And slip into the wonderful sky.
We keep your secrets And all your sins, Close to ourselves And away from him.
He decided to leave her past behind, And keep her love a little more confined. So they slipped away with no farewell,
You told me of your demons, And how they taunted you. You fought to be strong, But your weakness; it haunted you.
When I was young and brave, And my world was fun and new, I'd pick a bunch of dandelions And offer my flowering hands to you.
How did I manage to make it?
How did I somehow survive?
I look at the others who perished,
And I ask myself, 'Why? '
Why was I so fortunate?
Why not me instead of them?
I often see their faces,
A silent roll call of our dead.