I have seen you from many angles.
I have trod bravely on your paths.
I have stared into your stony eyes,
And scraped the flint of your bones across my thighs.
My hands and feet have plied,
And labored upon your lands,
Staining sweat upon your Hyde,
And clawed your armored body with feeble hands.
I have jabbed you with my staff,
Come at you from every direction,
For triumph over your bones I yearn.
In the end, while I may have won,
I will never know in my heart confirm;
I can only sit and ponder you,
Only come to you time and again
To challenge, to study and to learn.
© Roger W. Bodo- I 996
Whence comes this rage,
Its suctioning threads, reaching,
Yet daring not to touch this page,
Lest it loose upon it preaching?
Lurking, in the shadows does it wait,
Lingering, smoldering, incessantly feeding,
‘Till it receives the stoking fire of hate,
Bringing it ripe for breeding;
Evils. Fears. Loss. Tears. Death. Agony.
©1995 Roger W. Bodo
Leathered lines of experience,
Surrounding features etched by time,
Wrap over a tapestry of memories:
Emotions and angles rising up,
Rolling back as relentlessly
As the sea upon a shore,
Of lives too well lived,
To be bothered much more,
Except to recollect and smile,
Putting one more crease on the page,
Of the soul’s present pilgrimage.
© 2014 Roger W. Bodo – All rights Reserved