Prayer
The Passing of Time…
Note: Someone I admire very much is having some health problems, I had written this short poem before I knew of this and now it seems that thoughts must have transferred through a time slot and inspired me to write these words. ajm
The Passing of Time
My body aches, after years of “beating it up” this is what it has come too. Giving in to the grace of gravity. I do not live these days in awe or fear. Yet, a baby’s breath can take mine away and these troublesome times we live in can instill fear in me for the future of this wonderful world. My spine tingles in the presence of a gentle man both young and old. I know that the passing of time is like a cool wind on a hot summer’s day, I no longer count the hours or days. Love still leaves my heart leaping.
©2014.annjohnsonmurphree
Tongues of Fire..
The mind in a caged sleep, tears shed,
the thoughts of false caring that others
portray is a lie. Their spitefulness in
thought held captive the sleeping mind
not allowing it to wake. There are those
that cannot be trusted, they show concern
for their own selves and their own greed.
They are always on the prowl to take, take,
and take. They cause pain to the minds of
the blameless and find in it joy, their tongue
of fire knows not the truth. Yet, they will ask
you for your prayers, to engorge their own
needs. If they touch your life, it will never be
the same. Run, Run, Run…
©2014.tongueofflame.annjohnsonmurpree
A Single Violin…
A bronze box dressed in a garland of
magnolias, gloved hands, no longer
moving with grace, pale is the cold
emaciated face, no longer slim, showing
deep folds, no one can see the beauty of
her soul. Profiled by a stain-glassed pane,
the only people there were those who would
gain.
Once flesh and blood that charmed the most
handsome of men with her rosy cheeks finally
became old, feeble and weak. Relatives sat
troubled with bitter sneers, and unread “Will”
drove them to fear, her last thoughts about
them unclear.
Sitting in the front pew her withered old lover
was on everyone’s mind, to her his heart he gave,
stood by her side ever so brave. It was he that
watched the skeleton form, no longer omitting a
beautiful scent; it was he that watched in horror
as her beauty went.
When death appeared at the door, tears he finally
wept, yet the old lover did not sway in the constant
vigil he kept. He lit a candle for hope, his violin
soft and clear filled her room; he fought imminent
doom.
Once irresistible lovers lying face to face, he did
wonder if she were paying for their lifetime of sins.
One last time she opened her fathomless eyes, her
smile gripped his soul, he could not live without
her, he too would die and their story would never
be told.
The relatives that watched as he leaned forward
seemingly in prayer, their hearts filled with fault
and foolishness they did not care. Sate-less was
their greed, serpents that had waited for this long
awaited death, missed the joining of two lover’s
souls when the flame of life left his heart.
He and his Lady would walk together in eternity, the
lovers who were destined to be together from the very
start. Proud lovers that lay side by side, and danced to
the sound of a single violin, together again…husband,
wife, lovers and friends.
©2014.asingleviolin.annjohnsonmurphree
Creating Possibilities…
Let me find the river of forgetfulness,
give me a small patch of idleness,
and someone to love, pure air, serene
unexploited oceans. Send me angels
with hope, time filled with mystery, the
means of understanding. Let me
appreciate tearful prayers, lift the winter
and bring the spring light. Let me not
fear the powerful ghosts in the nightfall;
let the extended hands of God shroud my
aching soul. Let me gather beauty, have a
prideful heart, be a defender of those with
heavy hearts; lighten madness to match that
of a butterfly wing. Let me mirror happiness,
be unafraid of nightmares and unknown
things. Echo my thoughts to the Heavens, let
me be an earthly beacon of dignity; help me
walk purposefully from age to age before dying
on the glittering sands of eternity.
©2014.callingupontomorrow.annjohnsonmurphree
ann johnson-murphree 