Poetry

Evan Sharboneau

By

Michael T. Bee

My Dreams

I can’t sleep but they can.

Dreams are alive with the weeping dead.

No place on earth was found for those opposing Devils. Why don’t they trouble the sleep of someone else? There are doors in heaven open – why don’t they enter?

They will haunt me always. In every wandering wretch still left here – I’ll hear these same wretched cries.

The pride won – are not the cubs killed? Stop my ears!

Our sarcophagus’ awaits!
Our legacy assured!
Our boats of the finest gold!
Ship worthy for the lakes below.
The heavier the better.
Dive deeply! We’ll sleep sound.

The fires stop all ears.
It is silent in hell.
To hear another’s screams
would be a mercy.

That might bring regret.

Christmas Prayer

I am angry and frustrated will peace still be my guide? Will love light my way?

Love come down again at Christmas!

Let me hear your wings!

I have prepared your rooms. The halls are swept and clean.

My chair is by the door – my eyes seek your form in the distance.

There is room for you tonight.

Michael T. Bee

I am involved in my community trying to bring resources to marginalized to improve their lives. I am a husband, father, and grandfather. I write software during the day and poetry at night and into the wee hours. Poets who influence me: Emily Brönte, Dante, Emily Dickinson, Donne, Keats, Rumi, Whitman. Writers: Ray Bradbury, Brönte sisters, C.S. Lewis, Kipling, Melville, Elif Shafak.