Meeting Death, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Meeting Death

I can hear the sound that is coming near
The galloping feats of countless hoof beats.
They’ll bring no merry cheer is what I fear.
Rushing heartbeats are louder than drumbeats.

I hold my breath. The chariot of Death
Is here to slay. This’ll be my final day.
I’m in Death’s footpath. There’ll be a bloodbath
For there is no way he will let me stay.

There is a darkened despise in his eyes.
A frigid fear runs down this spine of mine.
Just another sunrise Death now denies.
Without a whine I quickly made the sign.

There isn’t a sound as I fall to the ground.
It’s truly profound the love that I found.

Division, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Division

The loud sound goes through me like crying pain,
Feeling like the earth is coming apart.
Sounds continue with a sense of disdain,
A grinding aching sound begins to start.
The glacier stood solidly for decades,
‘Til the stress, a very dangerous stress,
Created a deep crack from the tirades.
A severing split that starts an egress.
I watch as the gigantic iceberg slides,
Away to an unknown destination,
For upon it there are not any guides,
To direct it with logical caution.
Can the iceberg and glacier both survive?
Distance between them neither will revive.

Fighting With My Soul, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Fighting with My Soul

Trying to control,
The strange actions of my soul.
Giving me no voice,
Of what my life is to be.
From it I would like to flee.
Bickering always,
Upon my conscience it preys.
No matter the time,
It starves me from what I need.
Roadblocks so I can’t proceed.
Applying restraint,
Pushing me to be a saint.
It’s impossible!
For against sin I am weak,
Besides it’s not what I seek.
The joys of living,
Is that which I wish to cling.
To quench my huge thirst.
Label me self-indulgent.
For pleasure must I repent?

Spring, 1889, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Spring, 1889 Edvard Munch

The winter winds have paved the way for spring.
It is now time to open the windows,
To change the stale air and hear the birds sing.
Like sails, the white curtains the soft wind blows.

Silently she sits staring into space,
As her mind tries to remember the past,
While the sun’s warmth falls upon her pale face.
Blank without expression she is downcast.

To the question she can find no answer.
So weak is she her soft voice does not speak.
Will there be joy for her in the future,
Or like foretime and today one that’s bleak?

The birds went silent, her arms by her side,
There’ll be no tomorrow for she has died.

Spring Landscape, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Spring Landscape

Outside the window
Is a dissimilar world
Of white and tense gray.
Absent the sun’s warming glow
The tired snow remains unfurled.
Waiting and wanting
For the water to set free
As it is now spring.
Many colors will it bring
And will put leaves on each tree.
Every day I watch
Praying for the warmth to come
Quickly to my place
So I do not see a swatch.
To see the ground will be awesome.
My drab winter coat
Is now stored in the closet.
The sky is bright blue.
Out of storage comes the boat
There is music in my strut.

Under the Tree, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Under the tree

There will come a time
When I shall no longer be.
No more than
Food for the waiting tree.

In so little time
I shall be but a memory.
Fading ever quickly
As the winter’s sun.

Hear the tick of time
Rushing into the future
With so little regard
To the call of a beggar.

Love has little time
To deliver its tender touch.
One to last forever
From her I love so much.

From death there’s no retreat
Yet I shall return
As a scented flower
That grows under the tree.