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Jonathan Platt Poems
A Spider's Web
Silk-thin silver strings woven cleverly into a lair, An intricate entwining of divinest thread... Like strands of magic worked upon the air, The spider spins his enchanted web -
I Am The Sponge
I think of happiness as a pool of water, And into it, I will plunge. I think of happiness as a pool of water, And me, I am the sponge.
Love And Power (A Moment's Reflection)
Dreams are fragmented memories Twisted and tossed, A mingling of scenes blasted By Insanity's chaos,
When Youth Was My Friend
I remember my days of childhood, When everything was brighter in life - It was as if the world was covered in jewels And sparkled with heavenly light.
A Deep Regret
Essence Of The Soul
The soul, like a fragile sphere of glass, Holds the white radiance of heaven. When the many trials of time are passed, The soul bursts like an exploding star,
There Is A Moment...
There is a moment when the sun descends the western stairs And welcomes the coming dusk... When the sky fashions a color That beckons the painter's brush.
Flames Of Faith
The Soul has a fire, And it surpasses those of Hell; And if our hearts desire, These flames will never tire -
From There To Here
From there to here, we have traveled unknowing, Down from our Father's home. Back to there, we pray we are going, Hoping faith will carry us on.
Hot Summer Days
As the world revolves, The hot day dissolves While the sun rolls slowly into the west. And now the moon slips in
Our Hearts Must Persevere
(This one's for Kirsty Richards) Here, in heaven's shadow, Our days are numbered few;
My eyes are drawn to that boundless expanse, Where mystery and beauty and enchantment romance... And each star spreading its elegant glow 'Til their sphere of light into eternity flows;
Butterfly: The Unbridled Flower
A small girl entered my bower- Through the old, weathered gate she crept, Wandering quietly among the flowers With cautious little thief-sneaking steps.
Comments about Jonathan Platt
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
A Spider's Web
Silk-thin silver strings woven cleverly into a lair,
An intricate entwining of divinest thread...
Like strands of magic worked upon the air,
The spider spins his enchanted web -
His home so eerily, spiraling spreads.
His gossamer so rigid, yet lighter than mist,
And like an eight-legged sorcerer - a wizard blest,
His lace, like a spell, he conjures and knits;
I witnessed such wild ingenuity wrought and finessed,
Watching the spider weave a dream from his web.