Last Liked Beat Poems (92)

Barely three with a gentle heart,
always wants to play her part,
an apple fallen from the tree,
always awaits what life can be.

Seven now and real tears come,
life is still simple in the home,
but away the evil babes do wait,
hoping she will take their bate.

Eleven and the eye sees clear,
no more days of silly fear,
the babes still flock but only by day,
to her parents she cant come to say.

Now fifteen and all hell falls,
she ignores the taunting boys who call,
sitting quiet unlike the rest,
holding her pain in her breast.

Sixteen and oh what can be done,
She doesn't know now where to run,
Sitting waiting to be found,
They approach without a sound.

Seventeen, and all is quiet,
There is no mention, no riot.
The babes are leaving, going far away.
She cant find words now left to say.

Eighteen, the year now of present,
Something has come, something pleasant.
She is still quiet but her eyes are open,
No more words need be spoken.

She is a girl, like any other.
Nothing special other than she came from her mother.
But still she finds care in a man,
And if her mind opens, then surely she can.

Something so sweet is in his word,
with gentle phrase she is fully assured,
he holds her hope with gentle hands,
If only, they were not separated by lands.

But still she smiles, she knows all is well,
because no longer is she living in hell,
no now she has known something new,
Something she knows, only experienced by few.

I see you sitting by the shore,
Your lullaby rings in my ears.
I knew our love was ever more,
But still you saw my tears.

You coddled me with plea and silk,
I sang our song in turn.
I found you to be a strange ilk,
I took my chance to learn.

We walked along until sea’s end,
And turned on tip and toe.
We smile once and then we bend,
My memories faint are so.

So sweet our love we hope to keep,
Like bird sweet to ear and sight.
We thought our love would surely reap,
Like a lovers special rite.

We walk around in circle clear,
The elements bless our accord,
Sweet to smell the sage does sear,
Any consequence we find we afford.

Our song is soon bound to soul,
Your lullaby is our duet,
As years go on our times will toll,
Just like Russian roulette,

Year seventy is the first shot,
That bug held my heart,
Seventy-five is the slot,
Where I read your surgery chart.

But soon we hear those faithful bells,
Of course right before the bang,
We will hear the cleric tell,
But I only heard what you sang.