Through The Years
Through the years, I have thought of you quite often:
Your absence was ne'er a lacking that time could soften.
I had always hoped that our friendship would last forever-
With a prayer to God, I wished we would always be together.
Nothing could have prepared me for that fateful day-
What it shall mean, only our patient wait will say-
A wait for a time when you and I are both ready-
When our inspired hearts may be made to be steady,
To receive one another-wholly and completely,
When we learn to love one another unabashedly and repletely!
Through the years, I have found naught, with which to draw compare
To the beauty inherent in the depths of your soul-inspiring stare;
You need not be here, nor do I need be, there-
I may not make part with thee, nor would I dare;
Though the years without thee had numbered more than twenty,
Thoughts about thee had been beauteous, varied and plenty.
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poem by Maurice Harris
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Daughter's Vexation, Father's Explication and Idealization
Stanza I-Vexation
Where were you Daddy, when I turned one,
I want for your approval, yet there is none?
Where again were you, when I turned two?
I am right here Daddy, but where are you?
Each day I repeat: 'I miss Daddy-maybe before
The day's done, he will come though the door...'!
Do you not love me Daddy, why are you not here?
Why do you not comfort me, when I am in fear?
I need your hand in mine as I cross the street;
I want to show my Daddy to all the people I meet;
Where are you when I need to be tucked into bed?
When I fall, why are you not here to kiss my forehead?
But, you said I was the most important person in the world!
I do not understand Daddy, I thought I was your little girl! ?
Stanza II-Explication
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poem by Maurice Harris
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I Have Seen The Very Hand Of God
I have seen glorious Wonders of the World,
Yet, I have seen and experienced death too;
I have seen The Very Hand of God, unfurled
Before me, as I took what I thought was my last breath, to
Only discover that, THAT death was to release me from the burden
Of the Grief of MY Heart, and allow that all the erstwhile hurting
That I had to bear, was released and, with it, any belief
That I was somehow responsible for my very own grief!
It was no coincidence that this Earthly Death happened so close
In proximity to a visit I received from the Angel God chose
To walk beside me for the rest of my days, for the rest of OUR days;
I remembered her fondly, even then, through the haze
Of an incalculably improbable death, that seemed to amaze
Even those brilliant and heroic Doctors and Nurses, who helped raise
Me from the 'Other Side' after ten full minutes there!
My first act, after this death and four long, torturous
Days for family and friends, was to reassure this
Most Awe-Inspiring Cherub that I was 'OK', and not to worry:
For death and God Himself, sould not have been in to much a hurry
To receive me into His Kingdom-I MUST have so much more Work to do!
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poem by Maurice Harris
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This Hero (An Ode To The American Military Veteran)
The American Military Veteran, a breed of hero, unparalleled in history,
Gave so much to so many-yet, somehow remains to them, a mystery.
What would possess an individual with so many rights guaranteed,
To leave it all behind, and gallantly defend liberty in a foreign land in need! ? !
Why would they risk their lives for the sake of strangers-or, even care! ? !
Perhaps they believe: 'injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.' *
Freedom is only ever free so long as there are patriots willing to die to preserve it.
'Hero' is a moniker oft-bandied about, but there are some who truly deserve it.
This hero simply acts, when and where action is needed, in spite of danger.
This hero acts with honor and integrity, for a Brother In Arms, or a stranger,
No matter the risk to him or herself-a selfless dedication that very few possess.
What this hero means to a free world, words could never properly express;
A simply 'thank you for your service' is all that most people can humbly tender,
All the while, never able to gather what drives a person to banish the word 'surrender'
From his/her vocabulary, and speak a language filled with acronyms and foreign jargon.
'Enemies of the Constitution', foreign or domestic, are not ones with which they will bargain-
For THIS, and this alone, is the one precept to which they pledge unwavering allegiance.
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poem by Maurice Harris
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A Purposeful Path, Paved From a Painful Past
Where my vision is usually crystal clear, now, it is now blurry;
Where my mind is usually rational, now, it is overcome with worry;
My life is usually rife with loved ones and friends, -
But, where are they now! ? Well, that really depends
Upon who does the asking! They are nowhere to be found-
When I finally pay this place riddance, will they be around! ?
I know that they love me, and could use them right now-
They must hear my prayers, yet I know not quite how
They are supposed to react-naught that they could do or say
Could make the pain I now feel, fade or go away!
Here, there is no ration and not very much reason-
There is only chaos and my heart's treason;
I have confronted ignorance and intolerance all alone,
Which would have broken most-and have shown
Both myself and others, intelligence and measured fortitude
In response to most pointed threats, and comments most lewd.
No matter what these Neaderthals do or say,
My response is the same, and will remain that way;
I see no reason to engage them in any sort of debate-
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poem by Maurice Harris
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A Purposeful Lesson, From A Painful Past
I lament the fact that I do not miss my dearly-departed Dad,
Nor may I see as real, the relationship that we once had:
My Father was not the man he purported to be;
It is only now, long after his demise, that I am able to see
The man I thought I knew, for who he truly was.
What is past is prologue, yet not for me, because
Though many years have past, I still wonder what was real.
My heart aches for what this association was allowed to steal,
Both from me and those I hold in the highest esteem.
Oh, how I wish that it were only a bad dream,
But I am not so fortuitous as to see its end-
My present is not one my past could portend.
I am not my Father's keeper, nor am I to blame
For anything that he once did-so, why then the shame! ?
He was but a fiend with which I share a last name,
Yet, it is not my purpose, nor surely my aim,
To cast aspersions at the man from whence I came,
Merely to markedly point out that we are not one and the same.
I can no more help my connection to him as I can my logical mind,
Yet this diaspora spreads and I may never leave it behind!
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poem by Maurice Harris
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Secret Sisters (An Imagined Conversation)
'Hello, it is a pleasure to meet you!
My name is Abigail. What, pray tell, is your name? '
'Abigail, my name is Gabriella. To greet you
Is indeed my pleasure, I extend obligation to Him for same! '
'I confess, I knew your name, and for some time have sought you.
I am exalted that mine effort has brought you
Here before me, so that we may finally consort.'
'Why though, with me, do you wish rapport?
I know not a reason, as same now evades me-
I am overwhelmed by curiosity, which now pervades me.'
'I became quite interested in the facts of my birth,
So I began to sleuth, and for what its worth,
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poem by Maurice Harris
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I Am The Mate For Your Soul (Do Not Fear Me)
If only time could be undone;
Then, the mistakes of time ere
May find correction, until there were none.
Time could be rewound, to where
My heart allowed fear to lead it
And I could erase my biggest mistake.
My heart would tell your's that I need it,
So that I may finally live the life I've tried to make
For myself, for so very, very long!
Of course, I would need your cooperation,
To re-light the flame, once so very strong.
Much time has been given, to much mentation
Upon this very subject-long and deep I've pondered!
You and I were supposed to be-
But sadly, I was too afeared, and squandered
The vision that my eyes were supposed to see!
It is said: 'it is never too late';
Perhaps we were meant to wait
Until now-maybe it was fated
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poem by Maurice Harris
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Imagine A World...
Imagine a world-one like you've given to me,
Where you are too afeared to be all you've striven to be:
A world where fear of an implausible future event
Becomes more important than our erstwhile love-Heaven sent,
Both in literal and figurative terms-your dream's fruition;
The complete embodiment of your life's ambition:
To find a mate for your incomparably beautiful soul-
This is what you have allowed to wither-what fear stole
From both you and me, on that fateful day before Christmas last.
You will never find this love again if you keep living in the past,
You protect yourself by pretending that it was never real,
Yet, only we two know how it is that you truly feel-
Even now, as I scribe these poignant words as tribute
To a love that naught may replace-a conviction made more resolute
With the passage of time and space from this love's loss.
You promised me that you would never again cross
The heart of mine, that loves you most completely-
Yet you betrayed both of them since that day, most repletely
And tragically, with your choice to shutter with fear.
My heart's ardor is surely real, and lives right here,
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poem by Maurice Harris
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St. Valentine's Day (2010)
My beloved-upon this day of love's celebration,
I must attempt to explicate, my heart's elation!
I now live, cause be to you, and in each and every way
As though every moment were always St. Valentine's Day!
Mine own heart brims with jollity, whence there may be
Thought of a future wherest you are nearer still, to me;
All is tangible, to ensure the same meets with reality-
A future, where unity is made from our current duality!
Surely as I know the place you hold, in mine own mind,
We two should each be made far greater, whence combined!
You are the beauteous answer to a complex, life-long vexation;
The singular, glorious cause, for my heart's jubilant celebration!
You, and you alone, could give rise to such magnificent emotion-
I shall attempt recompense for same, with offer of my life-long devotion!
Your's is a beauty, so rarified, as to be unprecendented-
Imagine if you will, my utter amazement, when it re-presented;
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poem by Maurice Harris
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