untitled – the poem
Posted by Peter Owen | Filed under Personal, writing
This is a poem I wrote many years ago.
How do you know when you see someone’s soul?
When it peaks from behind their eyes
Feel it penetrate your every defense
Touching your heart at the core
Words don’t need to be said
Your heart starts at every movement
Intense suspense
Waiting for what could be real
Eager anticipation
For new developments
Unexplored territory
Like a child taking its first steps
Slowly into the unknown
Hollow
Posted by Peter Owen | Filed under writing
Hollow men walk the earth
Yet somehow you are not one
So many empty people in a full bar
People lack substance
*Note: I guess this one is pretty straigtforward
More old writing
Posted by Peter Owen | Filed under writing
Untitled
This life I lead is nothing
Hollow attempts at temporary relief
The monotonous droning of the big machine
seduces the ignorant
Safety is but a happenstance
The machine consumes them
Its hunger is insatiable
Greed can’t hold a candle to this
They are all free slaves
Shackles and blindfolds
Thunder strikes and the skies weep
The word ends with a glorious
Exit stage left
Another old poem
Posted by Peter Owen | Filed under writing
Untitled
When I look into your eyes
It’s no surprise
I’ve seen this look before
Too many of my days have past
since I saw your look last
I only want to see it more
My heart is ripped between friend and foe
It’s too hard to feel this low
My hopes are that of your heart being pure
More old writing
Posted by Peter Owen | Filed under writing
Untitled
The demon from within speaks through me
My consciousness goes blank
I see but am blind
Paralyzed with tremendous fear
He owns me now
My eyes are but a window to reality
I see through them from a distance
Only to perceive others judging me
I am sick of being caged
My will to be is too strong
I feel myself projecting strength
My soul protrudes my flesh and I am free
Over 2 Years ago…
Posted by Peter Owen | Filed under writing
Intro
There I was, standing on the shell covered beach looking at the white between my toes. The wind grabbed my hair in handfuls and threw it in my face. There was an aged shrimp boat steadily returning to port with its nets up. The afternoon sun glistened on the top of the waves and ripples of the tide almost blinding me with beauty. I slowly lifted my hand to shield my eyes from the sun’s glare. I started toward the dock where my crab traps were waiting patiently. I could feel the pricks of the broken seashells under my tired feet…
