Ephemerality, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Ephemerality
Wispy cirrus clouds of height whisking by,
While countless diamonds dance on the water,
And swallows do somersaults in the sky.
Like children there is a constant banter.
Sitting in the cool comfort of the shade,
Quiet as a lion stalking its prey,
I wait for the fawns and does to invade,
To drink the water, but long they’ll not stay.
The wonders of this day soon to depart,
To return only as a memory,
Bringing subtle warmth to my beating heart.
Tis my wish these memories never flee.

On the Boardwalk, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

On the Boardwalk

She stands there staring motionless,
As a mannequin in the store.
The wind blowing against her dress,
Her hair like waves against the shore.

Her neck is fully stretched upward,
With her softness shown to the sun,
While her lips formed to say a word,
An expression without burden.

Wondering if she is aware,
That I stare at her pensively,
Or maybe she does but doesn’t care,
That I’m drinking in her beauty.

More intoxicating than wine,
Making my mind begin to sway.
Deep in dreams that she could be mine,
But she smiles, turns and walks away.

Such a gutless buffoon am I!
Nothing but a straw filled lion,
Lacking courage to even try.
This is why my life’s so barren!

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.