phritzie Poetry (4)

What will I leave behind
as I look at my life
how will it be defined
will I be considered kind
or have only caused strife
and others teeth to grind
and a larger land fill
Do I really need allll
the new junk I buy
I Like antiques
they have character
that has stood the test of time
But in trooth
are they not also just junk sublime.
I like my cars
they go fast
but if theres no gas
then they get walked past.
Id rather be remembered
for those I help
A kindness,
if just to a butterfly
in paint of red,
a fish
caught in a bed
of kelp,
or a secret gift to a hospital
that heals a young Child.
Oh' to ease anothers soul
that should in truth
be all's goal.

I volunteered to serve my country
but I never knew what would be
stopping in a desert town
I shot a little girl down.
Running toward us as fast as she could
to beg any food that she could.
We were to wary
of what she could carry,
for some use children as cheap bombs.
Warning shots,
from this tired soldier
to low.
Her curly black hair
and shiny brown eyes,
I watched the betrayal
and loss as she dies.
Always hearing the wails
of her mothers cries.
Tears flowing
from face to face
rocking
hugging
the little body
in her arms.

I remember a little girl of nine
or maybe ten,
chasing me up the hall
and down again
trying to kick me in the shin,
her bouncing hair,
her shining eyes,
her laughteer,
still unknowing then.

I had a chance
I was grown up
I turned away,
a lost dance
my feelings held sway.
As KoKo would say,
I don't know right
I dont know wrong
its a feeling
its strong
and its wrong.

If I have a monster
inside of me
I dont want
how can it be
for life, an agony.
A solo soul,
as a saber,
rolled and tempered,
bendable steel,
cutting,
suction,
twisting,
fighting for release
this feeling,
but so lonely I feel.

I know how she feels,
I have beeen there.

If I cant love
another so scared,
in turning away
she slashed
as a cat of nine tails
my heart
so hard,

I'll love viscariuosly,
though
never returned to me.

There are things
we choose not to change,
rather,
we would hold
the familiar pain
than venture out
for love to gain
without return
lying to ourselves
saying we have won.

To walk through life
so alone
it cuts through the soul
it aches the core
of bone.

When your still held
by invisable chains
shackled and bound
by the past pain
your still a slave
chosing not to love
and never love to gain.

And love so lost
is a greater loss
than any stain
that does remain.

Trying to be a knight
in shining armour,
I answered a call,
to save a daimsel,
in distress.
I went tilting
like old Dom Quichotte,
at a windmill.
Caught in a sail,
spun round and
round,
blind to what was before me,
ended crumpled on the ground.
She didn't want to be saved.
It ended in a bloody mess.
I wound up feeling like a frog,
pretending to be not
what I was,
to make sure
she knew not,
and went away
still feeling
like a princess.