The Lonely Star

lonely star

A star once fell from the sky.

Far from its home, it cried.

Every night, it would look up high.

It missed the freedom it once had.

Sitting in an endless sea,

the universe was its playground.

Now earthbound, it was without—

Without the planets it called friends.

Without the beauty of passing meteors.

Always just out reach,

the star longed to be in the heavens.

On one cold and lonely night,

a man walked by the crying star.

He asked it, “what is wrong little star?”

“I wish to return amongst my kin.

Return to the endless sky,” came the star.

The man was not without sympathy or heart,

yet he was quite perplexed.

“Come little star, I shall carry you on my back.”

And so he did, leaving with the star.

Happy not to be alone, but still saddened.

Not being able to view the vast universe,

he still wished to be in the sky.

The man carried the star up the tallest mountain.

“Here little star, view the vast world.”

And so the star as the man asked.

Off of the mans back, through weary eyes,

the star was amazed at what he saw.

Birds soaring freely over the peak.

A world, alive and moving just below.

Looking up to the sky he had longed for,

Shooting stars raced across the blue.

For the first time since his fall,

he could see the sky so clearly.

Tears began to fall from the star.

The man saw this and asked,

“Why do you still cry little star?”

The star looked to the man, smiling—

“I have known such beauty in life

and I believed there could be no other.

On the surface here, I saw an ugly world.

You, one who has never soared the universe,

showed me pity and gave me a new life.

From here, I can see a living world.

Birds fly high through a clear sky.

Clouds moving at their own carefree pace.

The rising moon and the sinking horizon sun.

Below, living things moving about.

Life growing and dying, then being reborn.

A cold air, bringing different smells of the season.

Here, I feel connected to the world as a whole.”

Together they sat, observing the world.

Eventually the man would leave,

but the star no longer felt any sadness.

Up over, in the sky above, sits a once lonely star.

On the tallest mountain, it watches from afar.

No longer does it reach for the sky.

Earthbound, but no longer feeling chained,

a star watches over the world it calls home.

 

Copyright © 2016 Taihair Brown

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Dear Husband

elderly couple

A Man walked in front of the mirror and viewed himself-
He did not like what he saw.
He saw a face, old and winkled.
His body, covered in scars—
He considered them ugly.
Imperfections on what were once a sculpted canvas.
His head, still full of hair but faded and gray.
His sides were now flabby and loose.
He turned, bones cracking as he did.
They ached with each motion he took.
His stomach was just as flabby as the rest of him.
What was once polished was now round.
His chest, once powerful in his youth,
was now limp and saggy.

In his reflection, he saw something ugly—
Something old and useless

His wife came behind him.
She saw the sadness in his eyes.
She could not help but to smile,
And so she said;

Dear husband,
I see a face that has seen many winters.
One that has faced the hardships of this world.
Not just faced them, but survived.
A face that has worn many emotions over a lifetime,
and hid many more for the sake of his family.
I see an endless sea of gray hairs—
Each strand representing years of wisdom,
accumulated throughout a lifetime.
I see the body of a man who served as a shield.
A man who shielded his family—
His wife and loving kids—
Shielded them from harm.
A man who took the stings, agony and illness;
the brunt of that upon himself.
Sacrificing is own being in order to protect us.
I see not a fat old man.
I see a man who worked hard to provide.
Is it not okay for him to enjoy the fruits of his labor?
Did he not share that with his loved ones?
A man who always made sure his family was fed.
Did he not make sure they ate first,
or had enough to satisfy their bellies?
So does he not deserve the big piece of chicken to fatten his own?
I see a chest shagged and shoulder slumped wearily,
all from carrying the weight to lighten our load.
The weight you carried made it possible for our seeds to grow.
You tried to carry as much as you could, so we wouldn’t have to.
Cracking and creaky bones?
They are music to me.
A reminder of all the sacrifices you have made.

The reason our children were able to grow as they did.
The reason why I can sit here and smile.

Dear Husband,
You know what I see?
I see a Wise King who did everything he could—
Who fought many battles and proudly wears the scars from them.
All for his family.
I see a Wise King who sacrificed more than I could have ever asked of him.
I see my Loving Husband and a Wise King.

 

Copyright © 2016 Taihair Brown

 

 

 

 

A Poet is…

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A poet is a romantic who expresses himself through art.

Married to words, committed to what’s carved on his heart.

He can bring them together in rhyme to hit his mark,

or he can let them sore free like an eagle through the sky.

A poet is married to a craft that opens up his soul.

Sometimes he can communicate through the art form,

something he couldn’t say in a normal conversation.

He delivers to her a portrait that paints a mental image.

In it, he says what his lips couldn’t speak out loud.

A poet is someone who lets his emotions bleed to the paper.

He takes the weight of the pain and eases it with ink.

The pen is linked to his soul and it crafts something beautiful—

Showing a majestic world of colors beyond imagination.

A poet is one who needs not speak to convey meaning.

A poet is one who can make you fall in love with words.

One who can make you laugh, cry, and fall in love all at once.

A poet is one who speaks what’s on his heart and mind,

even when he is incapable of verbally expressing it out loud.

Copyright © 2016 Taihair Brown

The Fire

I stand in the fire and scream.

Yelling at the top of my lungs.

It’s in my heart.

You see it in my eyes.

That’s the fire inside me

And I will let it burn.

My flame cannot be put out.

Let someone tell me otherwise

And my fire will burn their doubt.

Is it good luck?

No, I say it’s my desire.

Sitting in the eye of the storm

Not even the Mayan’s could predict.

So I celebrate my mistakes.

They make me stronger.

Toughen up the skin,

Burning off the old

And it is in with the new.

I let my fire burn

And like the phoenix,

I rise from the ashes born anew.

Phoenix-fire-bird

The Charge

800px-The_Storming_of_Ft_Wagner-lithograph_by_Kurz_and_Allison_1890

Charging over the hill in their blues,

up the beach and over the barricade.

Bayonets piercing the hearts

of confederate uniforms; the old guard.

The proud men of the 54th Massachusetts.

The American flag pushes forward into battle.

Stars and stripes moving forward with change,

but Col. Robert Shaw, above his men,

falling opposite the assaulting charge

with his fading voice signaling to advance.

More than a war cry,

But a cry for freedom.

Assaulting Fort Wagner to the sounds

of crashing waves in the background.

Waves never heard over the cannon fire.

The 54th storming over the wall.

The 54th Massachusetts Regiment,

of freemen and runaways,

charging forward over the beach.

Over comrades and enemies alike,

272 fell, raising the American flag.

Not in victory.

272 fell, to get freedom to rise.

 

Legend

Every mother on Earth gave birth to a child.

-Except my mother, she gave birth to a legend

That might sound cocky, but I believe it so

I have too to be able to accomplish much more

 

Be better than the average, one of the many

Accept something more in my life

Taking nothing less than the best

Living up to my own legendary boast

 

Judge me for my words,

Judge me more for my actions

Accepting nothing more than the best

And this gives me no time to rest

 

My mother gave birth to nothing less

-Nothing less than a legend

I repeat this daily

So I have no choice but to make it true

Copyright©2013 Taihair Brown

legend

Sleep

Hanging on to one word, 
	trying to remember the poem as you heard
Recited over a thousand times,
	in your mind to thyself 
Now you sit restless trying to find-
	Find that last word on the tip of your mind
Over yonder thy lady rest,
	unable to share her dreams with thee
Fight and fight if you must,
	unable to feel the touch of sandman’s dust
Oh love how she sleeps,
	not an echo nor a snore
You would join her in her play,
	‘cept for the block in your way
It escapes you as you near-
	Searching for that majestic dragon
The pen is your grand sword
	Slashing through a forest of words.
Penning your grand quest,
	whilst wishing amongst the stars
Hoping to finally face your foe-
	to be done with the poem you wrote
Sleep ever mocking you so,
	echoing that you shall not pass
You place the pen to and thro’
	drawing the horn of a triumphant blow
A stanza of victims,
	may rest at your feet 
Finding a friend that had never left.
	So now you may end your quest
Your tomb awaits,
	crying out victory at last
Your victory immortal,
	but only as long as the mind stays fertile

©2012 Taihair Brown