Isadora Quagmire Poems

There are angels in this mortal veil.
Gems glittering in this world's grey shale.
Their lights shine out in this dark land,
Like a lighthouse's sparkle upon the sands.
...

To love is not for praise or earthly fame,
It asks no monument, no song, no verse,
But pours itself, a sacrificial flame,
A silent gift, to heal a world's deep curse.
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Friendship is a precious art,
A steady beat within the heart.
It's not just presence, near or far,
But knowing who you truly are.
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Should shadows fall upon your way,
Or sorrow cloud your light and day,
My hand is grasping, forever near,
To expel every doubt and fear.
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A tiny spark in darkness, faint and frail,
Can shift the future's unrelenting tide.
Though shadows lengthen, and dark forces wail,
A single deed can turn where fates preside.
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When I was younger I used to lie,
In the long and cool grass under the sky,
I would watch the clouds sail across the endless blue,
And see them pass away into places I never knew,
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The grey of mountains cold,
Is melting into gold,
The rough—barren quarry,
Dawns a robe of glory,
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It is a sad thing, to see so many works,
Penned by technology, rather than the human mind,
These poems are flowery and have good rhymes yet lack a heart.
And as the days pass, more and more poems of this sort I find,
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The long sore day now gently fades,
The cool river calls, as evening shades.
With family, I splash and play,
Washing the world's fatigue away.
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Upon a tender night fair,
Beneath the moon's soft and silver glare,
I made a promise to which Ill hold true,
To guard and cherish you.
...