Poems by James G. Pitts
I am the dreamers’ eyes,
beauty and pain are mine to see.
The better to see life,
and death, as it may be.
‘Tis I who am the dreamers ears,
to listen to what my dreams confide.
And to discover the lovely symphony,
life often tries to hide.
I often am the dreamers tongue,
that likes to sing and dance.
Always believing, that when next I speak,
it will bring romance.
‘Twould be I who am the dreamers heart,
that always seems forlorn.
For, ever will I love in vain,
to tell of my lovers scorn.
I am the dreamers’ soul,
that watches the stars with widening eyes.
As the constellations come to life,
to sparkle and blaze, in their fiery guise.
I also am the dreamers’ hand,
too hurt and cramped to write.
As I work to record my dreams,
deep into the night.
Alas, the end draws near,
for now, my sight grows dim.
Perhaps, just a brief respite,
and return, anon, to my whim.
For an end that suites the quill,
that suites the quill it seems.
Is an end, that ends the parchments fill,
but never ends the dreams.
I awake, the sun streaming
in through horizontal slats.
Climb I slowly to the windows pane.
And reach my hand, to that which controls the seeing.
Twisting, I shut out your world.
Now to view my venetian blind.
It is dark within my room.
Not foreboding, but comfortable.
This is my space, no one sees.
Thanks to the lids of my venetian blind.
The world cannot view my life,
save the bits and pieces I allow.
I, and I alone control the venetian blind.
With a twist of my hand, I can bring the world.
Or cast it away with but a turn.
Who else has the power I wield?
Not God, for he has not my venetian blind.
It has always been here,
within my room.
My blind is mine, for only my use.
So, bring your worst, Gods and fate.
For I am my world, and my blind you may not take.
I do not have to be in your world,
as long as I have my venetian blind.
Slowly, I open my venetian blind,
only to close it again.
Full of the power,
of my venetian blind.
What is love to me,
but the flight of a dove.
What are the feelings within,
the bright flash of a shooting star.
How brief is my adoration,
in love, everlasting.
It is not my want,
that these crumble before my eyes.
It is not my hope,
that love quickly dies.
I have a wish for forever,
a true heart that never ends.
I have a dream of light,
though the darkness is eternal.
How do I say the words,
and believe them in my soul.
How is it possible to first enchant,
then repulse, within the same bells toll.
It is my gift, to stay alone,
to walk the road, a single echo.
How can I love,
when it is just a word.
I walk among you,
untouched by the heart.
I stand within you,
Upon a twig, rests the bird,
to sing its heart content.
So, I sat upon the ground awhile,
before the song was spent.
I began to dream of far better things,
than life is want to give.
And I realized that life, in fact,
was not so bad to live.
I stood and sang along,
very quietly at first.
Then raised my voice up willingly,
'till it felt my lungs might burst.
My voice, though quite off key,
did compliment the theme.
And in the song, though strained, but strong,
came a wondrous dream....
Light, warm upon my face.
The sun, seeking company with the clouds,
as they blush a uniform shade of red.
Brought to life, the colors of the world.
Dew rushes to cover the land,
protecting all from the first rays.
The trees rustle with grateful enthusiasm,
stretching their limbs in silent salute.
As the flowers strive for perfection,
each seeking the attention of their own.
Delighted are the birds,
who roosted through the cold night.
As their wings warm, their voices find song.
The moon, envious of the brilliance,
takes her leave with feigned indifference.
Pale in comparison, is the heaven that we wish for.
Such is the beauty of the day.
The bird then quieted its lovely song,
and flew into the sky.
And with the ending of the song,
I found that dreams don't die.
Walking into the veil
of another hope
My hearts pleading
for the sun
Still I walk
through the wet air
Intermixing with mine
as I walk
To see the new day
that hope may bring
of loving you
Wash away the pain
of the past
Will you walk
with me through the dark
Biographical sketch: Living in Memphis, TN.
James G. Pitts recommends:
Poems We Love (1908) by Leigh Mitchell Hodges
Reason: The poetry within fits my every mood and always leaves
Recommendations for writers:
Write what you feel, write for you and you alone.