To the young stay strong
I pen this poem for the young to come,
for those far from now above the star.
So when my years are eaten and stolen from me
I know I used my gift so wonderfully to shed
light to knowledge given me from the king
so listen up to doctrines I bring.
The battle is of the mind, I declare with my voice
Im not a preacher, the calling is not for me
though I may have the gift secretly
Im not a minister or prophet, I dont want to be!
Im not a lawyer or doctor or high judge.
Im just a farmer, a nobody, though lazy at times.
Im a writer! Im sure of it, a poet is what I am.
I write of life and what I feel within me, around me.
Im a philosopher, im all about nature, im the animals
locked in the zoo, im tamed in speech with words few,
but with the pen I commit the most atrocious crimes.
Im a teacher most of all- one to one is my call.
Im just a boy, im not the president, but in words
I find pleasure, in thoughts I escape.
I dont confront, I write. Thats how I fight.
Still, money is calling my name, asking my
hand in the marriage of her game, the world seduces with kisses
and promises finer things. Should I run the race
of her love or stand still and finish dead last.
Should I save myself using my better gifts or fall with the masses.
Should I stand on the mountain top and turn stone to bread
hungry as I am
or end it all my misery- to make a choice is my destiny.
What will my future be, money is evil, but who dont love her?
She deceives people and gets away. Oh, its crazy
I say
Do the young care of heaven
of a day not yet seen
of sufferers and weary laborers?
Do those born wish for hell
before age is ripe
for them to spell?
Do the old keep secrets
do they mirror the young with regrets?
Why cant things just be
heaven a fantasy
hell a calamity
time a reality
the clock is ticking
its speaking!
Think!
Which brain would wish of hell
and eternal torment?
which soul could turn down heaven
on a silver plate- the pearly gates?
Some things are better left unsaid
For heaven too is on earth
and hell has its home on the soil.
I say what is the worth of man?
Name your price!
To whom will he sell his goods?
who will buy his gifts
Where will his influence rest
Which side will he take, head or tail
or rather live in a mental jail.
Heres what I see... holy warfare
Catholics fighting Christians- all other religions
parties fighting parties
Gods people fighting Gods people
to my sleep I say wake up
somethings messed up.
Why do we fight is it not to survive
why do the people live a lie.
This prophet wont risk his life, no
this prophet will sit back and watch
why should a good man die.
So my thoughts take me to heaven
I live in the hills
I try to forget societies ills.
Its confusion all around
thats how its meant to be, dont ask me why
even souls are bought and paid
you loose hard O friend if be afraid.
To the young -stay strong
use your days before too long
To the young forget of stress
of time of pressures and troubling tests.
A poem for the young whose
eyes are dreamy, whose arms are
mighty and wishfully selfish.
The elders do envy the oil of
young for they know it dont last long
who seek pleasure but torn
and severed by a youth long gone.
Oil is expensive and precious as time
more valuable than gold and earthly treasures
Be careful how used.
To the young, go your way
follow your heart however astray
it may be that the weather may
shine on thee wherever thy path
will lead- to the young I plead
For I plead to myself not to waste
my health of strenght and days
but to use my glory for praise
either to me or the one who gave
because the lead for all ends grave.
To eat my food while its hot
and to drink the milk before it spoils
to use a ticket before expiration
My poem for the young generation
To the young seek out wisdom
for wisdom will kiss thee in the lonely
night even when age is bright
and whisper to thee the most tenderly
of whispers and make thee laught
at the folly of others.
To cover thee from the stormy rain
to plant thee like a seed to grow firm
and with tender care and produce sweetly
A poem for the young- look within!
my only care is of time wasting
for its all within, hopes, dreams,
fears, happiness brings tears
but only for the eyes that see.
So to the young I say
forget of pressures, forget of tests
forget of pains, forget the rest
forget tommorow it is not here.
live today and have the best
the best is yours.
For it is all folly and useless
to many, even those with plenty
whose hearts empty like open hands
our graves are waiting but not for long
so why with worrying- to the young stay strong.
Mythical_Poet- 30 April 2012- draft 1
last poem for the month. (No more- I will give it a rest)
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