PUSH BACK THE CLOUDS

PUSH BACK THE CLOUDS 

Immense silences can blacken the mind

And sometimes there is dead tired stillness

Where dreams are evasive 

And breathing comes hard.

Where is the vibrancy 

There is dance in the flicker of your eye

There is love in the billowy sky

On some silent nights

The spirit pours poison waters 

Into the bloodstream of innocent children

Sometimes immense silences darken the senses

Screams resound from lovers far away

Then is the time to be strong

To push back the clouds into the dawn

To cry tears, to bravely soldier on.

-Bruce Potts

Copyright 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

TOUGH AS NAILS

TOUGH AS NAILS

If I have to pretend for awhile,
I’ll hide these tears as long as I can,
‘Til my sun sets into its finest smile,
Like the light fades low upon the sand.

Until my brain ceases to think,
Until my heart at last it fails.
I may be driven to the brink,
But outside I’m brave
And tough as nails.

Tough as the cold of winter ice
That falls and coats the powdery snow,
How beautiful a sight, how calm, how nice,
Like a glacier on a solid floe.

Like a ship that floats and proudly tilts its sail,
Like a lighthearted Jonas in the belly of the whale,
I salute the crack of lightning, I welcome the hail,
And even as my steps peddle backwards
And my stiffened arms they fend and flail,
I’ll hide from all the searing pain
And weep my tears into the rain,
I’ll be stoic and be tough as nails.

Tough as the nails that will seal my coffin tight,
I will wear my sorrow ‘til tomorrow
Until the sun it shines again to chase away the night.
I will go down in a frenzy and a mighty flurry,
But my friends and lover need not worry,
My end it will be sudden as the day I began,
I will not linger some sad, sniveling man,
Spouting useless bromides and fairy tales.
Like a warrior brave I will go to my grave,
Swallowing the pain, as tough as nails.

I will drink the hemlock proudly,
I will sleep safe and sound and fall to the ground,
In a sweet solemn slumber when the evening pales.
I will know when it’s time to go and I will go as tough as nails.

And if I have to pretend for awhile,
I’ll be cunning as the artful dodger.
Matching wits with Mr. Death,
Like a grand old ancient codger.

Like some great and fine old laborer,
Toting those barges, lifting those bales,
I’ll hide it all inside, behind the billowing sails.
With nary a cut and nary a bruise.  
Like Captain Hook on his crooked cruise,
Swollen with pride and tough as nails.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2012
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED