stevesuarez8480

The world flies by in a flurry of activity. My efforts to assist meet staunch disdain. While my forced inactivity brings only complaints. I wonder whether this love-hate relationship will continue. But I can only hope and believe it is temporary. The stress on the others is more than they're accustomed to. I ask not for much, only that my stress be acknowledged occasionally     with an understanding touch. Date:  probably senior high school.

Now I face the side I hide And see through eyes of my demise. You see, in verse, my thoughts are often softened. I’ve written that by love I’m smitten. But truth be told my soul is cold And shuns the pain that here does reign. The empath here is nowhere near He’s chased away and kept at bay Sickened by the egocentric. As compassion falls from fashion Love of neighbor becomes too great a labor. So what is left of life bereft Of loving one another? A lonely empty hell-like shell Of love unknown and hearts of stone. The Sacred Heart is now apart, So life, alas, can kiss my ass. 8/28/99

  While with pen in hand I fiddle, thinking up some brilliant riddle, A thought that strikes like baby spittle makes me ponder just a little. Could a verse be so obtuse, and yet so clear as to induce, The startled reader to deduce a secret as from Dr. Seuss? “I know!” said I with evil snicker, “It truly would be quite a kicker, and maybe somewhat sicker, to speak the secret as a tricker!” “No,” thought I “That will not do. Maybe I’ll confound the crew With a clever tale. They’ll stew until the secret’s found in open view!” Then listen close, and follow now this tale I tell: Every day the cat would feed her faithful friends  Some tome, some prose, sometimes a rhyme. With blazing speed and papers and pens  She etched out words to transcend time.  But now she tread on ground untrod A new production at her stomach gnawed. She could scarcely conceive a thought so scary, Yet faced it bravely with ne’er a tarry. While her friends waited to hear the mystery Gathered at table...

Soaring peacefully, unobtrusively, reigning in isolation. Circling quietly in sensory desolation. Silent sounds abound. First one.  Then two. And more. Lost. North is new. Goal at all cost. Led to the dead. In perfect formation  folly takes flight. Mark one; exhaustion. Mark two; mental blight. Mark three; errantry. The flock in flames consumed. A more distant peak is found by heartfelt wound. In circling bound, Whielown’s prayer now known. 10/07

When Dad goes home, I’ll hope I took the time For love to bloom like heavenly rhyme. I’ll hope he knew I admired him so, That he had a clue how he helped me grow. Still, I’ll wish I had just one more day To be with Dad- may peace with him forever stay. 3-03

I write to you, readers dear, To give some words of hope and cheer. For you no longer will labor long Reading between my words of song Stating what I am. Be I concrete, snail or stupid... It really doesn't matter, be I dense or lucid. You see, I've found the answer quite by chance- I am, that's all that counts. 3/20/84