Three Simple Words

100 children lie awake.
100 lashes left to take.
100 mouths still left to feed.
100 infants cry in need.
100 people die alone.
100 orphans need a home.
100 flags; all burnt in hate
100 murders and court dates.
100 reasons to stand up.
3 simple words; Enough is enough.

poem by William Blake Beckett
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Two Sides, One Coin

White bird of peace,
won't you please come save me,
since I'm swallowed by grief and I need sweet release.

Black bird of death,
won't you wrap 'round my neck,
as the ace, king, and queen fall away from the deck.

The caged bird sings,
but the lone bird dies;
Set it free, let it be, let it open your eyes.

poem by William Blake Beckett
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I Ask Not for Sun

Climb
The rocks slip under my feet.
I readjust my pack; now
Up
towards the blue, open sky
belonging to birds of prey.
When
will I reach the craggy peak?
Not before the storm starts to
Rain
and it will it break my will? No
as encumbering liquid
Pours
from the heavens, breaking all
but my spirit, and looking
Down
on the valley, all shall know
I can face the flood alone

poem by William Blake Beckett
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Left Behind

How much does a shadow weight?
Ever present day by day
Silent ally, closest friend
Still beside me at day's end.

Shadows living without names
Candle light distorts and maims
Giving form to silent shapes
Saddening the figure gapes

Knowing full well we've a curse
secret kept in no man's purse
That one day all men must part
When rests still this beating heart.

And should I blow out the light
Would my shadow be alright?

poem by William Blake Beckett
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Midnight in Mississippi

It's midnight in Mississippi.
I see no stars in the sky,
And I need none,
For I have no wishes.

All I need is nature.
She lulls me to sleep,
and should I have a nightmare
My friends are beside me.

The mighty river roars.
I do not hear it,
But feel it bringing life
To everything around me.

I am far from the city.
I find peace in the wind,
As it drowns out my thoughts
And I can fall asleep.

[...] Read more

poem by William Blake Beckett
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We Tried To Grow

We tried to grow through the winter,
Our roots rotting under stinging frost,
Snow blanketing us in white death.

We tried to grow as the ice melted,
Drowning in cold but warming slush,
Blinded by the sun's reflection.

We tried to grow when the sun blazed,
Burning like a coal inside a fire,
Choking on our own black smoke.

We tried to grow as the leaves fell,
Smothered by sheets of reds and yellows,
Those fragile layers of false safety.

Now we grow old and forgotten,
Relics of seasons past and times lost,
Sideshows in window sills, dying.

poem by William Blake Beckett
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A Warmth Known Only to Me

I see a tundra filled with sparkling white.
I squint my eyes at it's dazzling allure.
And I wonder if would it be alright
If I were to hope to see it once more.

It is snow that causes swells in her chest
And her smile is what always stirs mine.
A flower at worst, an angel at best,
She stands, warm in winter, frozen in time.

Maybe one day I could summon the strength
To confess to her in the Winter heat
That one day we could, together, at length
Enjoy long moments where our eyes would meet.

And should I gaze upon her face again,
I would hope to feel snow upon my skin.

poem by William Blake Beckett
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Remember me

Remember me
But do not weep
As you approach
My own grave stone.

For once I lived
and though feared death
Still wrote this dirge
That swims your head.

And though I lay
Below your feet
I am so glad
That we could meet.

That I may speak
As dead men do
Though silently
Right next to you.

[...] Read more

poem by William Blake Beckett
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Dangerous Pastime

Is it a blessing,
To have nine lives?
Is it a blessing,
To Know no lies?

Is it a blessing,
To seek the Truth?
Is it a blessing,
To lose one's youth?

Is it a blessing,
To think these thoughts,
As Death takes sips,
From our life draughts?

Is it a blessing,
To hold her hand,
As it slowly fades,
And turns to sand?

[...] Read more

poem by William Blake Beckett
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Man In The Sand

Man in the sand
wearing a cloak
rags and scrap cloth
seethed as he choked
on tears of anguish
on the thick, dark smoke
coming from home
to me, wind spoke

of a terrible crime
of broken dreams
of mothers' cries
and children's screams
of families, gone
for what it seems
pure suffering
what hatred brings

Man in the sand
a dark cloud loomed

[...] Read more

poem by William Blake Beckett
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