Poetry by AUTHOR

Added 24 January 1999

This is a section where I post poems sent to me by people who have found my site and wish to display their own works. I hope you enjoy them as much as I do!

This poem is by Jonathan Hirsch


I a horse of troy,
that in myself feel deceived by concealing my emotions.
I am my own Dyonesius
as I grasp for air to rest
the passion drips from my agape mouth.
I drink my pulsing blood like wine
and as night draws a close and my heart pulses no more
my lids and lips begin to seal.
I feel like Hermias
I a foolish young pride
With a peaceful breath of life
my muse after passing.

A soldier that limps so decrepit
counting on
counting 2,3,4
as if beginning now gone shall not prove the end
but start another story
one of victory and glory.

From where he came
sounds the crash and flintlock in hand,
the thunder sounding plain
reverberates within the grass.
later would he find
there was no roaring
but that of his mind,
counting off numbers in space and time.
Yet it all so clear,
that before had he been here.

We the foolish with pride,
Whitman's children of Adam,
the scarlet apple tree by our side.
As our Grecian lives unfold,
we render worries whence our youthful souls were untold,
and try to tell again
of the wars we fought as men,
and the words we once spoke as elders,
as if in these memories our future would depend.

As I now walk down the shaded alley gallows of a newer age,
I see difference slashed from the gut,
and books torn in every page.
A passion shines upon the crimson blade,
the air hanging from my cigarette but,
and this debt for pride never repaid.