Robert L. Bixler III

Rookie (February 14,1985 / Tulsa, Oklahoma)


Poem by Robert L. Bixler III

What power has a word
Rather spoken or written?
In any other cause forward
Of Honor, it is merely intermittent.
One can speak brilliant ignominies.
False, hollowed words left to wither
On hopeful airs of promised ceremonies.
As the child’s heart sinks, and lips quiver,
Deprived of the joyous aforesaid,
So does the Honor one had obtained.
To say booming thunder has led
Forward storms that leave one stained,
Is not but an inferior assumption.
Forgot not the silent creep of winter’s bleak.
Warm sunny days find slow consumption
In icy winds allowed by the sun’s waning seek.
Even imbedded in signed parchment of three,
Does the power of a word disintegrate.
Clean-cut paper slowly turns dust in an air sea.
As time allows these words to come of late.
With guarded tongue and unwavering presence,
Can one begin to feel Honor, a word’s essence.

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Read poems about / on: power, winter, child, sea, sun, time, heart, children, wind

Poem Submitted: Sunday, November 7, 2004