Ron Poetry Poems

INK FILLED TEARS..
INK DRIPS FROM MY PEN LIKE TEARS, MY PEN HOLDS MY POWER AS WELL AS MY FEARS, MY PEN WRITES OF LOVE AND FAILED ATTEMPTS.. YET I FEEL A DISCONNECT, MY PEN CARRIES A SADNESS I DO NOT.. I'VE TAKEN MY PEN THROUGH A SERIES OF EMOTIONS.. I've healed but my pen drips INK FILLED TEARS.. Pounds of pain punctured my progress.Tons of trouble terminated my tranquility.. Swarms of stress subtracted my substance.. My heart exploded like a thousand thunders. My mind melted and my spirit splintered...MY PEN..Hanging by a thread destined to burst..
I tried to wash away the spilled ink with words, But the stains were deeply dyed in concrete colors..Verbal detergents were badly and sadly defeated verbosity crumbled, fell at my feet and retreated Internal torment was the architect of my demise terrorizing my thoughts and hijacking my hope... I once traded my POETRY FOR SONG WRITING..
Music tried to massage me out of my misery.. But though the words were so wonderful and the melody so moving and majestic misfortune only mushroomed and multiplied..
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If we take things a little further than say Aristotle's table of opposites when we have learned to embrace them to make or give the picture to the ‘whole' we turn to the silent partners the nun, the nurse, the wife who does equal if not more in the background to ensure the smooth sailing
we carry it further with the researcher or the researched for the completion of the pattern if we could only then understand giving back to the individual it is understanding there is God
we may then explain intuition that unexplainable something that leads us to the answer to the problem
that the problem is not a problem any more that it is the solvable the sav'able the saviour-able the copable and there is Abel calling us clean and bright and shining it is Jesus who gave us our sight it is we who are not lost just moving in the dark it was Plato in his Symposium who admired poets who felt he couldn't measure up it is Shakespeare who gives us the answer who led us to the Holy Books it is the educated embracing the uneducated it is the unknowing who is drawn to the all knowing it is the lost who will be found the scientific finding that gives the jubilation: there's no measurement of time in the surpassing
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Before you showed this path..
Pounds of pain punctured my progress Tons of trouble terminated my tranquility Swarms of stress subtracted my substance My heart exploded like a thousand thunders My mind melted and my spirit splintered Hanging by a thread destined to burst...
I tried to wash away the wounds with words. But the stains were deeply dyed in concrete colors. Verbal detergents were badly and sadly defeated Verbosity crumbled, fell at my feet and retreated Internal torment was the architect of my demise Terrorizing my thoughts and hijacking my hope...
Poetry tried to massage me out of my misery... Music became my mistress, but though the words were so wonderful And the melody so moving and majestic Misfortune only mushroomed and multiplied...
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The Black Angel

The black angel in my blood tells me it's time to die, go, disappear from myself into the next loveless oblivion like rainwater down a snake's hole. The black angel in my heart laughs and reminds me how worthless I am to any of these who keep dying like rivers in a desert everytime I look to see if there's anything real to drink behind the mirage of their smiles. Look how they all salt their own gardens, killing anything green that had a chance to grow with their incessant no to anything that isn't a straitjacket they ripped off one of their mental dolls. My heart says die, my heart, too hurt to cry on anymore fires, says die and be done with all these shifting sands and lies that look like life but turn out to be nothing more than nothing more, black match heads trying to bloom in the dark, extinct flowers cut off at the root of being by their own refusal to open.
PAGE TWO..
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THE HEART OF A POET..

To look at the ocean, and envision a universe, To compare a flower to a lovely woman, Putting in words a metaphorical flight... Expressing happiness would make all a poet...
But it takes a poet to express pain, To look at hurt in a different light.. To search for joy in a sea of sorrow, A lonely plant in a dead battlefield...
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MY POETS PRAYER..
... Heavenly Father.. at times words refuse to flow out of me, they await an inspiring soul, I am waiting to write, with the wings of your inspiration...
I find myself trapped in a dictionary, Every step I take goes wrong, I need to see through the darkness within the meaning, I need a fire from your enthusiasm...
My shoulders droop, head held down, Every step I take goes wrong, The gift of knowledge is what I lack, I need a lift by your encouraging hand...
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... UNSAID....There are some things that meant to be unsaid and some that were meant to be said but hidden. There are many word to say to bring this up but i curve my question and answer to another direction. It is better to keep the things as they are... There is no need to say the truth to make another person uncomfortable. Lips sealed are better than wide open. To say I Love You and not mean it is meant to be UNSAID.... I dreamed a dream, one so full and new
And woke up with thoughts of being with you..
I dreamed a dream, where I held you close
kissed your lips and whispered why I love you the most..
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My Beloved Mother...
As a child I'd place my head on your lap, You'd caress my hair, I'd lose myself in your gentle touch, my love for you grew more love, the love I did not desire to share with my father nor sibling..
You are like the sun of the morning.. Welcoming me with your warm embrace on a cold day.. You are like the full moon by a delightful night, Keeping me placid, Glimmering my face..
Though, we battle with our colloquy swords Though, we disharmonize.. You approach me, with your anchored, adept, affable mind Implanting morals inside me, Authentic, Noble and Kind...
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