|
|
|
Best Poems From
GREENWOLFE 1962
(MARCH 23, 1951)
|
|
| |
|
|
89.
|
To My Love
If I could speak in simple words
The love I have for you,
And reach your heart so you will know
How much my love is true.
I may not have to write these words
To say what you should know.
You'll always be my one true love
And I will never go.
You fill my life with joy and mirth,
Your kindness soothes my soul.
And I shall always do my best
To help you reach your goal.
Yes, all I need in life my love
Is what you give to me.
And all I have is yours to hold
So darling, don't you see?
I have no sorrow or regret
And this much I can say.
I'll love you dear, with all my heart
Forever, and a day.
GREENWOLFE 1962
|
| |
|
|
| |
|
| |
|
|
90.
|
Treasure
At the end of Heaven's rainbow,
There's a treasure that I've found.
Never gleaned from golden nuggets
Nor from diamonds underground.
These are treasures not as precious
As the one I now possess.
I don't need them, now I've found her;
Earthly treasures mean much less.
You may wonder how I'll answer.
Just how precious can she be?
'I feel Heaven and the angels
Every time she touches me.'
'I see visions of the cosmos,
Sparkling colors in her eyes.
I hear music soft and gentle,
Taking me to paradise.'
'I smell springtime in her fragrence,
Taste her lips of berry wine.
And I sleep in sweet contentment,
Knowing that this treasure's mine.'
GREENWOLFE 1962
|
| |
|
|
| |
|
| |
|
|
91.
|
True Love
Some say its found in fairy tales
Or clings to stars above.
A mystery, is how it comes
To be; what's called, True Love.
The flowered bed it makes for you,
Yields only peaceful dreams.
And all contentments men desire;
Surround True Love, it seems.
You can't pursue its treasured gifts,
They're always out of sight.
But all True Love, when ere it's formed;
Is cherished, just, and right.
I wouldn't doubt it spies on us
From some secluded place.
So it can pick a ripened heart
To hold in its embrace.
So be prepared, when it finds you,
To welcome its display.
No rationale will ere explain,
Should you turn it away.
Somewhere within someone you know,
Where it's been from the start.
You'll find it waiting there to cross
The bridge to your own heart.
And when you read the manifest,
The list, of all it brings.
You'll find it filled with Heaven's joys;
And all, life's treasured things.
GREENWOLFE 1962
|
| |
|
|
| |
|
| |
|
|
92.
|
War Crimes
It's time I stood and spoke of war,
A candid speech display.
To tell you things you used to know;
Forgotten, on the way.
I hear they plan to have a trial
Of criminal intent.
Displaying soldiers in a cage,
Who blessed this sad event?
They say they did a most foul deed
By killing innocents.
Just retribution, as they say;
An evil consequence.
Its time I lay to rest, at last,
A base canard of life.
That war is one more legal way
To deal with pain and strife.
I hate to put it bluntly now,
But most of you won't hear;
If I would only gently speak
These words you need not fear.
Some time ago, a wisdom born
Of death and man's intent;
Was fostered on the souls of men
To hasten their descent.
It said that there are crimes of war
That men must never do.
And perpetrated, in this way;
A values dream, or two.
By doing this, they justified
The basest deed of all.
And legalized, with mal intent;
Man's certain, deadly fall.
I'm here to tell you true at last,
What you already know.
The concept there are crimes of war,
Has never thus been so.
Whatever deed is done in war,
As jusified by man;
Is covered in the book of faith,
As per the Master's plan.
There is no deed a man may do
In war that's his intent.
The moral choice was duly made
The day that he was sent.
Man makes his choice when he decides
To yield his soul to man.
And joins them in the enterprise
Of evil deeds they plan.
When after yielding up his soul,
He then is sent to war;
It doesn't matter what he does,
He can't yield anymore.
There is no crime he can commit
Against his fellow man.
No grading of the deeds he does.
In Hell, there is no fan.
So let me bluntly tell you true.
And take this to your graves.
The only roads there are to Hell,
Are those which war sure paves.
It's war itself, that is the crime;
That dooms mens souls to Hell.
The laughs you hear, they come from me;
It's war, that needs a cell.
GREENWOLFE 1962
|
| |
|
|
|
|
|
|