LOSING TOMORROW

LOSING TOMORROW

Here I stand at the end of the line,
Pocketing daydreams, guzzling wine.

Holding out hope for this love that we share,
While all of our dreams disappear in the air.

Here I stand hungrily outside your door,
Longing for peace but finding a war.

And weapons of mass destruction abound,
Strewn in anger across the cold ground.

Where can I wander, where can I roam
And find a safe haven that I can call home?

For love has turned chilly, bitter and cold
And I travel alone in the deep winter snows.

Here I stand at the end of our dream,
Where we go from one to the other extreme.
You love then you hate but can never agree,
Just what it is you are wanting from me.

I shiver alone, a helpless Jack Frost,
Helpless, uncharted in the land of the lost.

All roads do merge and converge where you are,
My beautiful lover, my dreamer, my star.
And it’s hard to believe that we’ve run out of time,
That the sun in our heaven no longer shines.
That the days tumble slowly in reckless malaise,
Immune to our suffering, deaf to our praise.

Here I stand at the end of the line,
Begging for love that was once rightly mine.
Clinging to memories, dreams laced with sorrow,
Perched on the precipice, losing tomorrow.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2010
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

MENU

MENU

What will I choose today from the menu?
What will I take from the gifts on the table?
How will I answer the call of the angels,
Will I be willing, will I be able?

Dining in the cosmic restaurant of the soul,
Feeling the hunger that swallows me whole.
Tasting the flavors of the palate divine,
The sweet golden bread, the nourishing wine.

Will I be cross or will I be kind?
Will I have peace and presence of mind?
Will I have reason to burst into tears,
Caught in the crossfire of the passing years?

And will I be blind and pretend not to see,
Not to know the pleasure of God and his mercy?

What will I choose today from the menu?
What will I take from the gifts on display?
Will I choose the most expensive entrée
And hope that the angels all look away?

When will I wake up to my promise,
And see all the good I have to give?
When will I learn to treasure the moment,
To follow my heart as long as I live?

When will I lead and when will I follow,
When will I hold out and when will I cave?
When will I spend all the currency given,
When will I scrimp and when will I save?

What will I choose today from the menu?
What will I take from the gifts on the table?
How will I answer the call of the angels,
Will I be willing, will I be able?

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2010
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

PATIENCE IS A VIRTUE

PATIENCE IS A VIRTUE

Patience is a virtue, but it comes hard for me,
Just like a lost mariner adrift upon the sea.
Weary from his travels, longing so for home,
As he stares into the distance, seeing nothing but the foam.

I raise my hand to greet the day,
But the words I speak get in the way,
And I am lost in promises and pools of good intentions.
Patience is an angry god, I cannot get his attention.

I have dared to shake an angry fist,
I have met my Maker fair,
And begged for him to take me
Through the clouds or anywhere.

But all he does is chortle quietly, shrug his shoulders at the sun.
Your life and all its sin and vice is just the same as anyone’s.
How dare you push the envelope, how dare you challenge me?
Life’s bitter reason and its rhyme, will be revealed in my good time.
And he flings his arm dismissively, happy to be done,
And goes back to his games and his godly fun,
With this word of counsel, have patience, my son.

Yet patience is a virtue that I do not possess,
I clamor in my underclothes for evening’s sweet caress.
And with life I wage my daily war, desperate for a truce,
This disease it wreaks its havoc and I wonder what’s the use.

Patience is a virtue, but it comes hard for me,
Just like those lost mariners adrift upon the sea,
Weary from my travels, longing so for home,
Staring lost into the distance, seeing only foam.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2010
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED