Not an Option

Not an Option

By Leslie Noyes

Failure, under the spotlight, turned down a wrong road, dined at the bad trough, lessons learned.

Heartache, walked on the tightrope, fell into an abyss on the highway to hell. Seeking penance forevermore.

Trust, sought, but not earned, squandered in bushels, by deeds too heinous to tell. Forgiveness sought.

Grace, offered in buckets, washed in the blood of the everlasting lamb. Earnest prayers offered with hands raised in praise.

Life in the Key of Me

i sing
every hour
under my breath,
at the top of my lungs.

i think
every second
about injustice
and the power of love.

i cry
once a day
for lives lost
in needless ways.

an aura
of futility
permeates all,
threatens despair.

yet, i sing
because music
lightens my heart;
takes away the hurt.

  

When Mercy was Murdered

The day they murdered Mercy we all stood still around
Hands inside our pockets; eyes firmly on the ground
Unwilling to witness the death of our dear friend,
Yet complicit were we in assuring her end.

Fierce sun beat down, unabridged, unabated
Sweat’s stench laced with fear filled the street, permeated
No respite in shade on summer’s cloudless day
Mercy lost a step, slumped into a sway.

Sharpened spears in their grasps, old men prodded apace
Laughing and pawing as she fell upon her face
Roughened hands yanked bleeding Mercy sharply to her feet
Spun her in a circle, stomping to a beat.

The scene looked so familiar as we’d lost Hope two days past,
And Mercy’s fate was sealed when she stood up at the last
Calling foul upon accusers, judge, and jury, in the wrong
But the damage was done and Hope was dead before that day was done.

Now most pray that Mercy’s end will come without a hitch
That we can mourn in silence; no one will raise a fist
Surely if we remain inert the murderers will soon tire
Of dragging innocents to their deaths upon a raging pyre.

The grisly deed is drawing near, the wood begins to smolder
Perhaps we ought to save her, perhaps we should be bolder.
But we bargained for this merciless life when we let Charity die
Upon the bloody campaign trail stoked by wicked lies.

Chasm

in the soul of man
there exists a chasm
deeper than it is wide,
and it is very wide indeed
from one’s lofty northern perch
the southern side cannot be viewed

  
stones cast in vertically disappear,
become ghosts of old yearnings
intense feelings grown cold
free falling for eternity
to fathomless depths
in the soul of man