Never Meant for Me

I wrote this poem, but it just feels awkward in verse form. Think it would be better as prose? Comment your opinion, please!

Years pass
hidden
away in a drawer,
forgotten by others,
unknown
to me.
The contents
are revealed
many
years later,
Reminiscent
of things that
used to be.
A memory surfaces
in the form of
a letter
many
pages in length.
Blow away
the dust and read
words
that were never meant for me.
A name appears,
my own,
alongside of a hope
that I'd held onto for so
long.
Hope that, as written,
was never meant to
be.
Conversations,
conventions,
I was not aware of
fill
the pages,
and I discover the
truth
of what was
never meant to be told.
Though it is years
old, I realize
my hopes
were all in vain.
Feelings
trust
are all broken.
The love,
faith,
freely given,
I withdraw in
pain.
Because of
what will never be
meant
for me.

Free

Into the end
we plunge before
the fall.
Driving ourselves,
furiously,
against the
fear
permeating our existence.
We ride,
unable to suppress
the sweet defeat of freedom.
For we are only
released
from the bonds we hold
when we are
beaten.
Thrown to the dirt
in the midst of our
meager lives,
we give up our last
breath
to the One we leapt for.
Only when we are
dead
to the world,
but alive to those
who have also trusted the unseen, and
believed,
will we truly be
free.

Their World

Echoes rage through the water.
Children laugh,
But not
there.
Troops trudge through bloody mire,
again wishing for a
true
honor to claim.
Their world spins
slowly
while their home
resumes its pace.
Still
their hearts throb for normalcy
but they move on,
valiantly,
to meet their
fate.

3rd in a Series of 4!

Snow, A Banana Peel, Starlings

Staring beneath crimson trees,
attuning to
apples,
snow alights
harmoniously above
protesting moons.
Freezing regret passes
by and settles
along a child's
feet.
Whilst a banana peel,
spongy and yellow
from
vitamin deficiencies
rests atop a mailman's
head.
All around, starlings
clutch
bits of pink paper
in slender beaks,
preparing to nest
amongst
Thanksgiving feasts.

Interpretation swells
as I leap,
far beyond endless
collaboration
within remedial
oration.
Well past simple
comprehension,
thought exceeds
normal pacification
and ventures through
realms
originally far-fetched,
but now only
well-versed
nonsense.

Mourning

No, I am not mourning. Neither am I sad. I have just been writing poems rather randomly recently, in the sense that I just simply allow myself to write whatever comes to my mind as my pen hovers over the paper. So, this is what my mind came up with today. ^_^

Mourning

What can we
be,
but waywards ones
sifting through
years
of loss
if we continue
in this way?
Shaky memories,
torn battles,
and fallen loved ones
try to part,
to breathe a final farewell,
but are siftly
ensnared
by mourning souls.
Why can we not set ourselves
free
from the prisoners
we hold?

Easter-ish Poem?

I have another poem. Are we surprised?
...no, not really.

Anyways, it's untitled. Wrote it Sunday during a random inspiration attack during the song service at church. *hides*

Alas. It did not turn out the way I wanted.

Through the ages,,
we've looked,
watched,
waited.
An invisible nation
of many,
scattered impetuously
throughout the world
and time,
anticipating.
We are
linked as one
eternally,
though estranged,
isolated
from our people and
home.
Our King,
seemingly forgotten,
quenched by the
pathetic practices
of this fallen world.
Our King will
return,
bind together
those who have
never known
belonging;
He will rise up
as the ages begin to
fade,
delivering us up
into the promise we
were given.
Reunited
eternally.

Cure for Loneliness: Tea

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I have come up with an answer to Adwen's poem title, Cure for Loneliness: Tea. :)

Such a dear friend,
a warm cup of tea.
Comforting,
nurturing the
mind,
warming, heralding
to deeper skies.
It pursues tears,
sorrows,
distributing momentary
eradication
of doubts.
It encourages
thought,
bypassing the shallow
processes
accompanying loneliness.

(An extra section that I do not know if I should include or not. Comments?)
In an unfortunate turn
of events,
is it not logical
that one with no
preference for tea should,
indeed,
always be lonely?

...I do feel like I dipped into a Jane Austen flavor on that last section.