Traveller's Curse

A Ranger takes a lonely route
Beyond the vale and through the wood
She climbs the mountains near and far
To ease the pain of her old scar.

She knows the rocks of rivers crossed
Her map is true, she’s never lost.
She tells the waters of the seas
Her plights, her problems and her pleas.

She wanders through the city streets
Her travel purposes defeats.
She roams throughout the countryside
There is no one she can confide.

But then, perhaps, there is a friend
On whom her every need depend
He leads her to the pastures green
And by still waters they are seen.

Real Love

Then how, my friend, can love be measured?
It is not compared by distance, quantity or volume.
It cannot be confined in the ends of the earth to the centre of the sun,
It is not something to be counted in tens of millions,
Nor can it be expressed and poured into a cup.

Love begins from but one person, as a small distant thought,
But is spreads faster than a wildfire, yet it heals, not destroys.
As it travels it leaves a trail of warmth in its wake
Strengthenng the weak and supporting the strong,
Encouraging the shy and emboldening the brave.

No, my friend, love is immeasurable,
Nothing can be comapred to the vastness of love.
For love is eternal, as it is not of this dying world,
Created by God's mighty hand to last forever,
And the greatest of love drives out fear.

"Loving Hate" - The Stoem (story-poem)

Love and Hate are strange and powerful things
Couples show their love by their wedding rings,
Rivals hate by their constant bickerings,
The mockingbird knows love by songs it sings.

There was a girl who loved someone dearly
Signs of her love she tried to make clearly
But her efforts amounted to merely
A Valentine’s Day card, given yearly.

She’d known all along it wasn’t enough –
So she had to resort to being rough.
She tried to pretend she was someone tough,
Until one day she came down with a cough.

This girl spent her time finding other ways
To tell them she thought of them on most days.
She needed to say they were her sun’s rays
And set to work then – she hated delays.

She thought and she thought, her mind formed a plan
“I’ll make myself as hateful as I can!”
And so for the one whom she was a fan
She cut her own wrists, the blood from her ran.

The one she had loved one day found a note
A message of love and of hate they wrote
“From you I made myself most remote
For you are the one on whom I most dote.

I had been monstrous and kept you apart
For wounds you make are like boards of a dart.
And still I have loved you, finding the art
Of leaving you without breaking your heart.”

A poem for nothing!

Have you read a poem for nothing? They ask.
I reply I see no point trying to mask
The fact that I had also written one too –
Where is it? You ask. It is right before you!

And now I have lost my train of thought again
Too busy being engulfed in my own pain.
The agony which I had left for so long
Has come back to haunt me from when I was strong.

Ironically I tell myself I should be
Or try at least, more encouraging of me
Before the time flees from me, still I should try
To have dreams and hopes, reaching up to the sky.

When I look in the mirror, what do I see?
Do I see a young girl who is full of glee?
Or else does an old lady stand in her place –
The wrinkles so numerous upon her face?