Literary Diaries

I Know Some Lonely House

by MYRYN VILLAFLOR

Over the rigid and dreary mountains,
down by the riverside, amidst withered stalks
of stalwart weeds, and murmuring leaves
of pallid colors piled on the ground,
stood a solitary, large carriage house,
forlorn, beneath the balding glabrous
spreading tree, as though,
shrouded in mystery.

Devoid of noise, of neighbors,
and of life; here, the sun
no longer rises.

And so, bleak are the nights,
boundless and bare,
but what tales, the moon can tell,
this rickety house cannot,
apart from the rude winter wind’s wild
lament and a worn-out,
passive photograph.

I know some lonely house down by the riverside
where one too many lonely souls used to
reside.

Death Be Not Death

by e. GENE MYERS

Death be but the morning mist
trapped in nature’s gray.
Between this life and heaven’s glory,
I need but find the way.

Why is it I have no fear
of death or what it brings?
I long the peace in heaven’s light
and the songs the angels sing.

I long the bubbling, singing springs,
to find the rainbow’s end,
but what I miss the most in life
are the souls that always blend.

I miss the sweet, harmonious life
I knew before I came,
to live upon this troubled earth
and first received my name.

I miss the travel through the stars;
the wisdom from God’s own book.
I miss His loving companionship.
I miss His silver brook.

I know that I should never push
this life to end its day,
but fear of death is not for me,
t’is the start of heaven’s play.

Death be but a teardrop falling
in this moment  known as time.
When the teardrop falls, I’ll be ready,
set free with the death-bell’s chime.