Schizophrenia

Many voices heard in a head,
surrounded by family now in dread.
Sensing something was so wrong,
the family quietly moved along,
hoping the voices would go away,
praying that they wouldn/t stay.

Shizophrenia, now in full bloom
had come to attack one of their own.
Like a nightmare in the light
It came at daytime, not the night.
Who's this person we don't know
that paces all day to and fro?

Sometimes lucid, sometimes not,
our stomachs tied up in a knot.
Once so normal, that is gone.
Waking up to another dawn,
facing madness that's so sad,
all the goodness has turned bad.

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poem by Edwina Reizer
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Lovely To Look At

The elegant lady who felt like a queen
was lovely to look at,
lovely when seen.
People adored her wherever she went.
She received all complements
when ere they were sent
with dignity and propiety
for all that it meant.

It meant she was loved.
It meant she understood.
that she was loved. She was loved
but not by the one that she did love.
He was not aware of her.

She waited for him to notice her
and her wait was terribly long.
She did not understand this dilemma.
What was it that was wrong?
Finally after many long years

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poem by Edwina Reizer
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Defiance

The world has captured my attention.
It has smacked me in the face.
I defy the painfulness I see
as it brings so much disgrace.
Children raped by pedophiles,
religion covering it up,
Children dying from lack of food
and water to fill their cup,
Children killed from gangs that roam,
not even safe within their home,
Children, wide-eyed and laced with fear
who face the fact that death is near.

When I was a child I never thought
that children one day would be sold or bought.
I looked at a world that seemed different then.

And now I wonder how, why and when
all of it has become
a planet that tolerates all of this sin?

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poem by Edwina Reizer
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Time Has No Meaning

Time has no meaning
beyond the confines of death.
For when your life is over
and you've taken your last breath
only the interval that lay between
the then and now
is looked back in reflection
as you take your final bow.

Do you remember the exact time
of your birth on earth?
When you inhaled and made your entrance
and heard a ticking sound?
It was not the tick of the clock
that instantly brought you around.
It was the beat of your own sweet heart
in the body you were bound.

Can you identify the times of your life
that brought you insights new?

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poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Walking Dead

I don’t sleep too well anymore.
I’m usually awake in the morning by 4: 00
I look at the clock and say “Oh no! ”
Should I stay in bed and lie awake
or start my day early with a coffee break?

I’m ready for a nap in the morning by 10: 00.
But then I’d have to start my day all over again.
I’m not a good napper. I hear every sound.
I’m like a ball of string that’s tightly wound
but coming loose at the end.

Now REM sleep, what’s that about?
That’s something I think I’ve done without
for too darn long. It’s a female woe.
A man hits the pillow and off he’ll go.
He’s asleep before you can say goodnight.

It’s obvious it gets worse the older I get.

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poem by Edwina Reizer
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A Memory Of Love

I came upon a house so bare.
I knew there could be no one there.
I wished to enter so I knocked.
No one answered. The door was locked.
I saw a window through which I peered
and saw it looked just as I feared,
lonely, deserted, cold and musty
cobwebs hanging, everything dusty.

The need to go inside
was an urgency I could not hide.
Should I break the door or shatter the pane?
Encouragement came when I felt the rain.
I entered slowly and looked around
amazed and astounded at what I found.
Every room was empty but for one,
a bedroom with chair facing towards sun.

Beside the chair was a frame
holding the picture of a girl with no name.

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poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Journey of The Spırıt

This experiment fostered on mere mortal men
cannot be reasoned in thought.
One must be confident that what is seen
is over and again sought
by the soul of your existence that can't resist
its purpose to bring you home.
It's a home filled with knowledge
of everything that is.
It's a home filled with reverence
for everything that is.

And so while we're here we play this game
expecting to be duped and fooled.
And experiencing all of our earthly acts
we are slowly motivated and schooled.
Most of what we are schooled in
takes its toll on our brain.
Where and how do we escape this
so this is not where we remain?
We search. We learn. We give. We love

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poem by Edwina Reizer
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TheCycle of Misery

He was a dead-ringer for his dad.
He inherited every look his dad ever had.
But he never really knew his dad at all.
For a bullet to his chest had come to call.
Every time his mom looked at him she'd cry
and he'd come to understand the reason why.
He was a reminder of whom his dad had been.
When she looked at him her sadness would begin.

His dad was a soldier who went off to war.
He'd never questioned his mom anymore.
He wondered a lot why his dad didn't live
and finally figured out he had a life to give.
He gave it for his country that needed him to fight.
He gave it believing that his country was right.
And so when the time came that he was full grown,
he became a soldier becaquse he'd always known

that to be with his dad he would have to die.
So he was off to Iraq to become an American GI.

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poem by Edwina Reizer
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Weary With No Remorse

The end of the road for the tired aching body
is welcomed with open arms.
For the toil and labor while living
is accepted and never alarms
the ones that accept their fate.
But the moneymaker and money lender
who's built his life on lies
can never accept his fortuneless end
no matter how he tries.

All their lives they've been lacking in grace
and never understood
how the ones who struggle for life
have always withstood
all the strife that is theirs while they're living
and cast aside their pain?
While the money maker and money lender
moves forward and does remain
soulless until he dies.

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poem by Edwina Reizer
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A Very Fine Line

Many, many times in this life of mine,
I find we're all walking a very fine line.
We believe that what we all perceive is real.
But somewhere in my heart that's not what I feel.

Locked in this body, locked up tight
is a being I know that wants to take flight
away from the hum-drum and daily routine
that becomes what I experience as if in a dream.

Read the good book. It will show you the way.
That's what they preach in the church every day.
But the good book is filled with murder and gore.
It reads like a fairytale filled with folklore.

No, this brain I was given says to my mind.
'Get off the fine line or you never will find
why they tell you that most of your DNA is junk.'
The reasons they give you are nothing but bunk.

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poem by Edwina Reizer
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