Insomniac by Choice

Welcome to Insomniac By Choice… this is a personal blog for poetry that I write. I am also on Blogger, where I plan to put up a blog on bonsai and plants. You can find me at http://adamtgreen.blogspot.com/… Comments are very much welcome. Please enjoy!

Heaven Born

Dim is the reflection showing
of future mirrored by past
and such eternal glimmer
a little spark, a sudden shimmer
I yearn to know what lasts.
A heart of love, a heart of freedom
that won’t wither on that glorious day.
We’re made to see what eyes can’t fathom
the end of time, that endless cavern
in which fear and hate reside.
I want to go outside.
Awake, new world and smile!
no longer revile life!
for life itself is new
with black storm clouds gone, the sky is golden-blue
and how my heart aches for this –
Oh God, my God, my heart to you,
your love is as sweet as your grace.
Come, sweet King of Heaven
and bear us up, the Heaven Born,
how can I naught but worship you –
you fill my heart with hope and joy,
life’s struggles fought and one.

– Adam Taylor Green, 2013

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Did You Hear the Song Bird Singing?

Did you hear the song bird
singing in the meadow?
A melody meant for no one’s ears
save for his heart’s affection.

Where she was, he did not know
but he loved her with all his heart –
and heard or unheeded as he may be,
the song bird still calls in the meadow.

– Adam Taylor Green, 2012

An Empty Riverbed

I came across an empty riverbed
and a quiet trickling stream
with little pebbles gold and brown
like treasure, buried underneath.
Water rippling round each tiny stone
nature’s subtle rhythm
and flowing undertone.
I felt the quiet in the air
as wind rushed gently through the trees-
this sweet melody composed
to the dribble, drabble of the stream
Ebbing to and fro in wandering ways
down the empty riverbed
its beauty made by sunlit rays.

– Adam Taylor Green, 2012

Pain

I know that the winds blow harshly,
sheer gails that rip at trees
and throw them from their roots.
A fire that burns fast
and hastens to destroy
that which is dear to you.

I know that words do hurt,
like cruel arrows shafted
straight into your heart,
and betrayal breaks
whatever else you hold.

But storm clouds come
with healing rain
as thunderclaps resound –
“The pain, the pain
may drive you away
but remember
the lost can be found.”

– Adam Taylor Green, 2012

A Samurai

I stood there, muscles strained and tense
as cold rain dripped down my sword like silk
and sent a shiver down my spine –
but I kept my strength, watching
as a brave warrior went forth
his hand at his side, ready to draw blade
his eyes glistening, calm with quiet intensity.
And as foreboding clouds slowly billowed over
with the heavy scent of rain
with the deep, distant thunder rumbling,
I realized in that moment
that these were the eyes of our brave warrior
now midfield between two armies.

He stood there, resolute,
the strongest of our clan’s warriors
showing to the enemy a pressing confidence
that one only ever earns in battle.
We watched the lines for some sort of challenge –
perhaps they too had a hero of their own
to face ours in true warrior’s fashion.

And from the battle lines issued forth a single man
some warrior monk, wielding sword and spear,
cloaked in white religious robes
wearing plain unpainted wood armor –
and while I could not see his face,
I knew that this man was an honorable foe.

The air was uneasy but quiet
as we watched for an eternity for the moment
when two great warriors would meet in battle,
to decide the fate of two great armies.

With frightful cry, both warriors charged at once and met
as sword flashed like lightning against thrusting spear
when in just one moment’s loss
both warriors paused
as one fell to the ground
giving words of honor
wishing he had only
held on to life
just a little
longer.

– Adam Taylor Green, 2012

Perhaps

Perhaps… the heart aspires beyond its ability to attain
noble intentions, found false for wayward gain
pain inflicted on part of hate
and love lost to cowardly silence –
perhaps we all need a divine hand
to save us from humanity.

– Adam Taylor Green, 2012

Raindrops

Rain drops pitter-patter quietly
on the old black shingled roof
and the rain sends shivers down my back
as it drips gently
down a clear glass window pane
off to who-knows-where.

– Adam Taylor Green, 2012