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Thursday, March 24, 2011


When purple morning turns to gold
And little birds begin to sing
I feel young although I’m old
In the hope the new day brings

When friends call on the telephone
Just to ask about my day
I feel like I am not alone
Hearing kindly words they say

When children smile and kiss my cheek
Because they know I love them so
I feel strong although I’m weak
Because I know the children know

When trusted by the innocent
The cynics crumble with their rules
And I defend my time there spent
Away from educated fools

When first buds burst from rosy centers
And the fruit trees flowers bring
I forget the cold hard winter
In the joy of newfound spring

Yes, the world is dark and light
Seasons pass and old age creeps
Remember morning come the night
In your dreams of blissful sleep

An infant’s cry; the sweetest sound;
The voice of happiness ever after
Looms so large that it might drown
The sound of evil tyrant’s laughter

O hope that dwells with faith and love
Restore my broken, bruised infirmity
Then God who rules from high above
Might shelter this soul for eternity

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Wooden Fences

Building fences where others can’t enter
Careful of slivers and wooden splinters
Hands wearing protection; leather gloves
No gate; just a section of fenced in love

One fellow said, “You must build it from stone
If you ever expect to be left alone”
Another suggested it be made from wire
With barbs to deter any trespasser there

But, No, I said, the wood will suffice
I don’t want bloodletting sacrifice
Or anything cold when left in the sun
The wood will be fine when the finish is done

There might come a time on hallowed ground
That I decide to tear the whole thing down
Wire would be treacherous; stone would be cold
It’s not like I’m guarding a heart of pure gold

But a bruised and battered thing rests within;
A life that was shattered by changing winds
Through knotholes I see the ongoing world;
The passing cars and the pretty girls

It’s not here to protect some sacred purity
It’s simply a bit of added security
Some curious person without much sense
Is one day certain to jump that fence

And there we will be; shut off from the crowd
With no lights so bright or noises so loud
She will ask why I’d ever want to build such;
This dear sanctuary where spirits might touch

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

The Yesterday Thief

The days wear on like the tattered coat of a homeless man
The passing of time does little to insulate one from the cold
Torn pockets which kept saved memories produce empty hands
Or only bits of lint clinging to the walls of a worn out soul

We reach; digging deeper in the consternation of our grief
Searching for some stored equity in the balance of truth
We come to the realization that time is a pick-pocket thief
And gone forever are the secret, sacred treasures of our youth

The brown skinned boy that ran playing in fields with his friendly dog;
The fair-haired girl whose blue eyes sparkled with mischievous twinkle
Far away and surreal now; a land hidden by distant fog
Frost has gathered to the hair and the sun is stored in wrinkles

Do you remember his name? I can’t, for the life of me, recall.
She had a pretty party dress; a dolly with go to sleep eyes.
Perhaps I only dreamt it and it wasn’t real after all
Yesterday; suddenly gone, without the chance to say goodbye

About Me

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Poet and musician Fabian G. Franklin invites you to join him on a poetic journey through the soul and nature.