At the Roulette Table, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

RouletteAt the Roulette Table in Monte Carlo, Edvard Munch (1892)

At the Roulette Table

For all, life is but a game of roulette
Every decision we make is a chance
Sometimes we’re hesitant to place a bet
Especially when it comes to romance

With every spin the outcome is unknown
Romance is always a game of what-if
Often the choice made by testosterone
That easily points to the nearest cliff

But what if we only stand by and watch
To smile gleefully at others’ great joy
Thinking of the chances, theirs we could match
Or the opposite, us, it could destroy

It’s now time to place our bet, red or black
Quick, once placed there will be no turning back

Train Smoke, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Train SmokeTrain Smoke, Edvard Munch (1900)

Train Smoke

Life is like a train ride, from birth to death.
We all know our final destination,
Yet there can be solace along the way.

The train makes many stops on its journey,
For its passengers to gather postcards,
And bright stickers to place on their baggage

I see many babies coming aboard,
Held so securely, in their mothers’ arms
With no understanding of the event

At stops, relatives and friends disembark.
Some wave joyfully as the train departs,
Others trodden off, all I see are backs.

I look at my disheveled bag, and smile,
There is not anymore room for stickers,
Then I close my eyes, to see my postcards.

Awakened, I feel the train slowing down.
It makes a grinding, screeching, ugly sound.
Oh, this is my stop, I must now get off!

The Brooch, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

The BroochThe Brooch, Edvard Munch (1903)

The Brooch

A gift for you I wish to find
One that is beautiful as you are.
But I could travel around the earth
And only have what is second best.
No diamond could have a sparkle
Of that which is in your eyes.
No ruby of the deepest red
A match for the color of your lips.
No karat gold to be so pure
Of the love that you provide.
Yet a selection I must make
As a symbol of my undying love.
You to wear close to your heart,
For that is the place I want to be.

Summer Days, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Summer DaysSummer Night, Inger on the Beach, Edvard Munch (1889)

Summer Days

Like a fish caught in the harrowing net
Trashing and dashing, to no benefit
The more resisting, the weaker I get
Now where I must, unwillingly submit

Only if this path, I did not travel
A different ending, there’d sure to be
But now my life, begins to unravel
Never again, shall I ever be free

Would have been better, if we never met
Your soft warmth and kindness, I never felt
But am I, the true fool, to have regret
Allowing you, my heart to quickly melt

Such is the case, we go separate ways
In sorrow, I’ll recall our summer days

Evening Talk, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Eveni talk black and whiteEvening Talk, Edvard Munch (1889)

Evening Talk

Even in the daylight there is darkness
The heavy leaded shield that hides the heart
Not allowing in loving tenderness
Suffocating any flame that may start

A woeful choice to request such a life
Forever absent of a human touch
The ever presence of deafening strife
Keeping a distance, avoiding a clutch

But why should one accept such drudgery
To wait for the day you are in a grave
Being lonely for an eternity
If only with a loving heart you gave

Resisting all love will not set you free
Instead, makes you a slave to hollowness
Thinking you are taking life so bravely
Your thinking is filled with much foolishness

The Storm, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

The Storm MunchThe Storm, Edvard Munch (1893)

The Storm

Oh the howl of the whirly wicked wind
Tormenting the tree roots at every turn
The cruel objective to tear them out
Like the tree I refuse to yield an inch

To confront face to face the angry storm
For with it comes all evil that was born
Will not let it destroy what I believe
While many others willing to concede

It is glowing white I wear on this night
Not to be a symbol of surrender
But a target for all evil to see
To fight to the death so I may live free

Hands Across the Table, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Hands Across the Table

Hands Across the Table

Sitting together in their still corner
They feel on this earth they’re the only ones
Laughing so hard what the other has said
That now pausing to wipe away their tears

Life spins frantically around these two
But they dwell in their simple universe
Just sitting there calmly without a fear
With only thoughts of this very moment

As if cued, across the table hands met
A cherished moment, never to forget
The soft tingling that travels up and down
At the very moment they traded hearts