A timeless moment captured between then and now
reveals the sacred portal of time
that beholds the beauty of love’s radiance.

Two spirits whisper vows of ever after
while sharing the innocence of yesteryear.

The power of misgiving
cascades into a whirlpool of darkness
protecting them from the bounds of disbelief.

Trust carries their dreams
into the reality of their heart’s thirst,
casting them into a season of abandon.

Their bond frees them from the cages of despair,
leading them through the chambers of hope.

The fifth season lives
within the walls of serenity,
beyond the doors of unyielding love
and among the fields of faith.

It’s the bridge
through time’s unbroken promises,
the cycle of infinite emotions
and the age of endless surrender,

and while the vestige of its existence
will always remain locked
within the hearts of those who have loved,
the fifth season will never be forgotten.

Written by Published Author, Angel Logan
Excerpt from the book,
Wings of an Angel Poetry Collection by Angel Logan

COPYRIGHT © 4/29/03 BY ANGEL LOGAN

What say you silent sentry as the earth you softly watch

Can you tell of years and days departed? Or dare you?

They left you here dread sentinel your spirit barely missed

The castle walls you tread upon merely ancient stones

Humans left this place when destruction oft visited

And taking life from vital bodies and breath from dying babies lips

Tore walls and roof asunder with ease such ease

That all who lived to tell the tale stood speechless

Gone the time of wretched kings and reaking plots

Stand you now in the newer time

Your cape of wool you closely pull about your shivering frame

Your spear years redundant rusted by the spit from twisted truths

Your sword once shone with fury and the tempest it encompassed

Now grease worn and stone sharpened nothing but a skins prick

Against the subterfuge of the new Machiavelli. How could it lay so tame?

You stand there silent sentry as the years have passed you by

Stand fast old heart you are needed and all you bring to the battle

Your heart, your sense of honour and your need for justice

Will once again in these days of madness prevail.

These are the opening lines to a full length narrative poem titled “Odysseus-The Epic Myth of the Hero” by Marc Ladewig, published by Infinity Publishing.com.

Sing about that long lost man for me, dear Muse

of epic song, about that man who sacked

the sacred citadel of Troy by means

of cunning mind when force of arms failed,

whose journeys pushed him far and wide to distant shores

beyond the ken of wise men of his day,

who sought to win homecoming for himself

and dear companions, but ended up alone

and naked, swimming in the raging sea,

wondering how and why it all had come to pass.

Of versatile Odysseus,

sweet goddess, child of Zeus, pray sing,

beginning where you think it best to start.

This is the preface to Odysseus-The Epic Myth of the Hero, a novel length, narrative poem by Marc Ladewig, published by Infinity Publishing.com.

Take a cup of your sweet favorite O Be Soulful. Wet your lips and read this tale aloud to kith and kin or by yourself to break the glowing silence with a song. You know this myth by heart; the start, the run, the end. The hero here is modern down the ages though he lived one hundred lives ago in ancient Greece. His woes in wave and war could be your own at heart. And if this work could beg the blessing of a god, let Hermes, the messenger of Zeus, love my words, for he will guide my soul to final rest, the god of sons who rob their fathers.

Sheltering…

Like a Fragile childIn the corner Of the roomSubdued

Great life looms!!

And this

So aptly aired!

Thus recognisedBy oneWhose causeIt was toSeize it.

Whom never…

Really… Cared?

And where to go?And whom to trustIndeed!If needs be met.

Not Upon your shoulderHave I

Ever wept.

Still crossedAnd cursedAnd vexedYou speak

Great ill’s of me!

And allThe evilsPartThey have Not

Honoured you.

Yet thus Have bore me Pain

As muchCould I Sustain!

Though not…

Defeated me.

Has this notTaught you much?

Your kissUpon myLipRemoved?

For lifeI ere

Undaunted.

And yet

And stillAnd by

Have you Not

Learnt?

No joy is metTo fondAnother’s cry.

And thoughI layAccuss-ed

Of what!I do not Know?

I will not faintReturn attack

Relay One word Of loatheUpon you!

For this

This is not love.

For love

You have not

Met.

© Deborah Gordon 2008

My Self.
A living man is blind and drinks his drop.
What matter if the ditches are impure?
What matter if I live it all once more?
Endure the toil of growing up;
Th e ignominy of boyhood; the distress
Of boyhood changing into man;
Th e unfi nished man and his pain
Brought face to face with his own clumsiness…
I am content to follow to its source
Every event in action or in thought;
Measure the lot; forgive myself the lot!
When such as I cast out remorse
So great a sweetness fl ows into the breast
We must laugh and we must sing,
We are blessed by everything,
Everything we look upon is blessed.
William Butler Yeats — from A Dialogue of Self and Soul (1928)

By Anonymous

So, so you think you can tell, heaven from hell?  Blue skies from pain?

Can you tell a green field, from a cold steel rail?  A smile from a veil?

Do you think you can tell?  Did they get you to trade, your heroes for ghosts?

Hot ashes for trees?  Hot air for a cool breeze?  Cold comfort for change

And did you exchange, a walk-on part in the war, for a lead role in a cage…

How I wish, how I wish you were here

We’re just two lost souls swimming in a fishbowl, year after year

Running over the same old ground, what have we found – the same old fears?

Wish you were here.