Christine Errett Poems

Blistering cool, frozen heat, trapped inside, soft defeat
Blazing light, shrouds the day, weeping moon must turn away
Blades or razor? Grass and petal, heart of glass and soul of metal—
Steel may bleed though heart shan't cry; — tears shall burn if glass will die.
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Violent nature crass and cruel, you take the world upon it - singing merry jibes against us, - verily you lie
Silent stalker in the night - you hellish rapist, taking all and giving none, you sing your merry song
Those who enter all themselves— all the more they care to wish stepping on the stones of others crawling your way upward
Boastful brute bear fruits of burden to all those forced to heed your song—melodious fools, we sing along
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Those who feel the world is their walkway
and those who curse others with their boastful burden,
may all their heirs perish, — for nothing is more deplorable than self-righteousness.
Nay, my desire be not for all to deny themselves in light of the world
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Who am I to leave my print on this soil?
Who am I to know the reason for my being, if my very existence was never meant to occur?
Why is the world so limiting on the scope and thrust of one's mind?
When can anyone truly understand the vastness of knowledge or reason or time?
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Meaningless, save to thin a burdened planet's load
Scarred and broken, wounds no one can see
Lost, why is a battle fought
with weapons of this mortal world?
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The greatest sorrow found in life is neither war nor hunger
It does not lie in beaten hands or those of the oppressor
It does not follow death or pain, though its dwelling can be near it
It can be found in many homes, though its residence is elsewhere
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So dim a fixture in light of civility
shallow, transient, meaningless in its majority.
Why have we such attractions, how foolish are their nature
but to bring about the procreation of the next heart-broken race
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Sweet cherries, the apple of my eye,
Rotted, now returning to that from which you came.
All things have an end, so why emotion do I blame?
Just let it go, life goes on, it's all a sweet, coated lie
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Tick-tock, the bird in the clock is running out of time
The Mouse is dead His severed head will always hear the chime
Time is short and space contort the end begun again
When all begun though there was none—why have Thou no beginning?
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For sane closure of what was and never is-
and was still is; — though is never was… it—
dark fire black light blissful remorse sorrow's delight
black fire darkened light blissful sorrow remorseful plight
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