Poetry2ponder's Blog

“I pour my heart into a wooden chalice” by Trevor Witt

I pour my heart into a wooden chalice,
A cup for all to savor a refreshing sip,

The flow of my soul down the gullet,
Is not enough to ease the pain of the zeitgeist,

I am trapped in tar, as my fellow dinosaurs die,
I am wrapped up in my ego, as I complain and wonder why.

Why me? Why am I suffering so?
I am a broken record, a stubborn crow.

But even the crow learns to build a nest and to grow,
And even the moody, old cat catches himself a rat.

I sit here sunken, with wings that feel like weights,
But I am not so unlucky that they have been clipped by fate.

I will learn to soar again,
I will crawl and fly and slither,
I will roar again.

I will learn to howl at the moon,
And I will bellow and growl,
And I will cackle and chuckle and smirk,
Like a giddy, mischievous fowl.

I will whisper the sounds of the owl,
And relish the meows of the kitten,
I will return to my animal instincts,
As the rawness of life has me smitten.

Like a zombie, bit by the infected,
I have a hunger that cannot be deflected,
I am alive, I am alive, I am alive,

And I am ready to be self-respected.

“Working (in my room)” by Trevor Witt

Upstairs in my room,
Working on my computer,
While the parents watch TV,
Is this what I want?
To face a daily grind?

What else is there?
What is the Grand Plan for me?
The future is what you make it.
And I am building it brick by brick.
While I struggle, I succeed.

In each hour of service,
There are sixty minutes of love.

In each year of dreaming,
There are 365 days of work.

If you want the tree to grow,
Take care of the seed and sapling.