darkguardian's blog: "poems from different people"

You look into my eyes and see things you don't understand. Am I a mystery? I think not. You look at my smile; You search for something that isn't there. Am I a mystery? I think not. You listen to my voice, and call me an angel. This angel is flesh and blood, Not a doll to be put on show. You see - I'm not a mystery. I am me. I am flesh and blood. Touch me; I wont break. There's no mystery here. Caress me; feel the warmth. I'm not a mystery; I am Woman. Here I am - desires abound; Relentless and sensuous - yours to caress Like a flower; make me bloom. Don't stop; not even to rest! No mystery here; Just a Woman. I feel the weight of your body against mine; Your heaving breath upon my skin. The most gentle touch on my thigh, The soft nibbling on my breasts - Moving slowly in a downward motion. Now you see, I'm no mystery; I am YOUR Woman. I am all Woman. by Gothic

In that forgotten part of town Where wasted hopes and dreams abound, A wrinkled man with life near end, In hopes to have at least one friend, Fashioned bits of wood and things And made a dummy run by strings. He sat alone for hours on end, Conversing with his only friend And found delight within the fact That he controlled it's every act. He told it how he never had A chance, since all his luck was bad Although he'd tried so to succeed - The dummy nodded and agreed. And how his journeys in romance Had never given him a chance, And wasn't it a crying shame That he was always held to blame When everyone knew, oh so well, That life is but a living Hell, Controlled by lust and power and greed? The dummy nodded and agreed. With patience that would rival saints, That dummy sat through all complaints And, with each little expert tug, He'd droop his head or bow or shrug And give some comfort to the man Who held his lifelines in his hand And helped to fill a lonely need When he just nodded and agreed. Senility increased with time As did the old man's phantomime, And feverish fingers pulled with glee The dummy's dance of misery. They never left each other's side Until the day both stopped and died. We found them lying, hand in hand, The dummy - and his wooden friend. by Michael Mack

The soldier boy was sitting calmly underneath that tree. As I approached it, I could see him beckoning to me. The battle had been long and hard and lasted through the night And scores of figures on the ground lay still by morning's light. "I wonder if you'd help me, sir", he smiled as best he could. "A sip of water on this morn would surely do me good. We fought all day and fought all night with scarcely any rest - A sip of water for I have a small pain in my chest." As I looked at him, I could see the large stain on his shirt All reddish-brown from his warm blood mixed in with Asian dirt. "Not much", said he. "I count myself more lucky than the rest. They're all gone while I just have a small pain in my chest." "Must be fatigue", he weakly smiled. "I must be getting old. I see the sun is shining bright and yet I'm feeling cold. We climbed the hill, two hundred strong, but as we cleared the crest, The night exploded and I felt this small pain in my chest." "I looked around to get some aid - the only things I found Were big, deep craters in the earth - bodies on the ground. I kept on firing at them, sir. I tried to do my best, But finally sat down with this small pain in my chest." "I'm grateful, sir", he whispered, as I handed my canteen And smiled a smile that was, I think, the brightest that I've seen. "Seems silly that a man my size so full of vim and zest, Could find himself defeated by a small pain in his chest." "What would my wife be thinking of her man so strong and grown, If she could see me sitting here, too weak to stand alone? Could my mother have imagined, as she held me to her breast, That I'd be sitting HERE one day with this pain in my chest?" "Can it be getting dark so soon?" He winced up at the sun. "It's growing dim and I thought that the day had just begun. I think, before I travel on, I'll get a little rest .......... And, quietly, the boy died from that small pain in his chest. I don't recall what happened then. I think I must have cried; I put my arms around him and I pulled him to my side And, as I held him to me, I could feel our wounds were pressed The large one in my heart against the small one in his chest. by Michael Mack

Upon the stairway of despair, Complete with broken love affairs And promises that never came, But faded with a touch of shame, A pretty girl with golden hair And innocence so sadly rare, Strove to keep her head above A way of life devoid of love. Feeling pinned against Life's wall, She chanced upon a robot tall And said, "Please come and share with me Whatever Fate has deemed to be. I'm through with love, done with chances Spirit crushed by past romances, Just be a friend in word and deed. That's all that I shall ever need." "There's not too much from me to learn," Remarked the robot, in return. "Emotions do not form a part of my cold, solid-steel heart. Whatever maker fashioned me Did not permit my circuitry Responsiveness to love or pain - You're thoughts for me would be in vain." "No matter", spoke the maid. "No more Do I wish passion to explore. Be someone I can come home to When my exhausting day is through. Count yourself a well-worn shoe - A friend that I can slip into . . . Protection from a stone cold floor . . . For this I ask and nothing more." Agreement made, he took her hand And lived the life that she had planned, Always willing, not demanding, Aiding her with understanding He made her smile with humorous wit (As his restrictions would permit) And, bit by bit, she came to feel That he was more than iron and steel. "I love you, robot", she at last Replied when several months had passed. "You're strength and quiet dignity Have brought a wondrous change in me. No more do I feel all alone, And pray you must be flesh and bone. Deep-set emotions you MUST feel Within that outer coat of steel!" "If I were able, I would say I'm sorry I was made this way But my design and programmation Does not provide for that creation Of feelings normal men may feel That were not born of iron and steel. I told you all this once before. You have no right expecting more." "Go, then!" cried she. "I will not live Beside a fiend who cannot give! Though I be battered by misuse, Misguided trust and strong abuse, At least the men I chose were real And had the power to love and feel. Of all the lovers I recall, You are the cruelest one of all!" The robot, indestructible, Continues freely and at will. Emotionless, apparently, But, bearing closer scrutiny, One can see a small tear streak Down that cold, metallic cheek As I reflect upon my life . . . That lovely lady was my wife. The robot, of course, was me. by Michael Mack