Dabblings in Verse

When you look in the mirror, is the person you seesomeone who has dignity?And respect for others, as well as you?Is that person kind and thoughtful too? Looking back from that mirror does the person who sees yousee someone who tries not to judge what others do?When it comes to understanding, is that person the sort?Who'd prefer to understand when others fall short?When given the chance does that person you seeAlways aim to view others with generosity? Does that ever familiar person's facetry to put himself in someone else's place?Does he try to treat others with honor and grace?Is the heart

(Written in response to a title suggested on a writing site) Some say that it's "afraid to love",but maybe it's "not made to love".When such a price is paid for love,sometimes it's just too high a priceto pay. And when, down deep, within my soul,I'm quite content that I am whole.To cross the bridge there is a toll.I need my quarters and my dimesfor I've so many miles still yet to go. Though spending coins some folks may saywill let me pass beyond today.The only route for me to take is my way.While once I had the coins to spare, the road's been long from there to here.Pennies from Heaven

I'd move a mountain,reach the sky,fight the tides,and soar so highjust to share the viewwith you. I'd change the world,stop the rain,and tell the sun to shine again,make some music,make some magic,just for you. And if your heartshould ever break,I'd do whateverit would taketo mend it so it's good as newagain. I'd give my life.I'd sell my soul,be a hero,be a clown,so many things,most any thing.within my powerand then some. There's nothing that I wouldn't do,but some things I knowI couldn't doStill if I couldthere isn't anythingI wouldn't dofor you.

A poem in my pocket, not a penny to my name. Just words that came from somewhere in a writer's heart, untamed. Words of inspiration. Words of dreams to come. Words that seemed of value, but not a worth a dime to some. Words of strength and wisdom, Lines of life, undone. Words that never really rhyme. Lines that have grown old with time. Thoughts aimed at someone or no one, Now battered and tattered and torn. Lines that once seemed so important in the heart, where they were born. A poem in my pocket, Why I keep it, I don't quite know. Words on a paper that's softened with

Even if just now and thenI long to hear your voice again.Again, to simply touch your hand;just have the chance, each now and then.Even if just now and thento know you're always there again.To hear your laughter, see your eyes;Again to hear your words, so wise.To have things as they were again,and not to wonder if or whenwe'll have the chance to meet again;each now and then I wish these thingsagain.