This is probably my favorite of my poems, if I had to pick one. The last lines are featured on a bumper sticker which you can check out on my website poetbryanpaul.com
WE SHARE THE NIGHT TOGETHER
It is cold and night is here,
I sit on a bench alone,
After leaving the movie theater.
Those that trailed behind me,
Chatting and laughing with their friends,
Have gone and passed me.
There are Christmas lights,
And I hear music coming from the restaurant.
It is beautiful and I want to tell someone,
I tell it to the paper with my pen.
We share the night together.
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This poem was written a few years ago. It was untitled originally... I'll call it...
Fantasy Angel
I.
Tune your instrument
To follow the beat
To play the right song
To lead your soul.
I’ve heard this one before
When I was a child
And it was new like
The whole world I saw.
II.
Alone listening again
With an ear pressed
Against a locked door
But the energy behind it
Is felt inside me.
III.
I imagine a girl
With a tie-dye shirt
Who plays guitar.
Out of thin air
An angel I create
To fly with me.
IV.
I see commotion and traffic below
And I leave my fantasy
V.
It was nice to share
A song with you
And I will remember the dream
As if it weren’t one.
*
My first fubar blog entry! I'll use this blog to share some of my poetry with my fubar peeps. To start, let's do 'The House of Poison and Smoke'- I performed this one on a radio show http://youtu.be/pcwXo1ODnI0 and it's one of my favs. If you're a fellow poet, comment, like me, send me a glass of wine, show me love. Share poems with me at my site poetbryanpaul.com, if you wanna too.
THE HOUSE OF POISON AND SMOKE
The other night in the park,
I sat amongst shadows,
Alone-empty in the dark,
And I would have chose,
A house of poison and smoke,
Over lonely thought,
Bottling tears as I choke,
Inner battles fought.
Finding myself lone again,
Had to leave-to go,
To let those hurtful thoughts drain,
I’d descend below,
Underground to meet the crowd,
with poison and smoke,
under the chill of a shroud,
as I breathe, I choke.
The ghost flies above,
It flew from its host,
As a free white dove,
Now hovers the ghost.
You may wonder, do I speak,
Of heaven and hell?
Of the house I say is bleak,
And skies which to dwell?
I speak only of shadows,
Of which make me whole,
One represents my sad woes,
The other-my soul.
A figure stalled in his place,
I stay like a stone,
Thoughts of a beautiful face,
She remains unknown,
And she is not beside me,
Though I dream while I’m dormant,
Part of me’s gone free,
The other thrives in torment.
A white dove released,
And who with me flies,
above the deceased
-in the clean air skies?
I remain in toxic haze,
Swallow down a drought,
At the dead end of the maze,
I linger about,
With ghost above hovering,
Both my halves alone,
Want for what a lover’d bring,
To warm my chill’d bones.
I would cry out to be heard,
But I will not try,
I can think of not a word,
My mouth has gone dry,
From the poison and the smoke,
In the house that’s bleak,
And bottled tears that I choke,
prevented to speak.
Where now is the ghost,
Of my conscious soul?
-flew back to it’s host
so I can be whole.
*