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    From the Ashes of a Murdered Dream
    From the Ashes of a Murdered Dream
    From the Ashes of a Murdered Dream
    Ebook137 pages48 minutes

    From the Ashes of a Murdered Dream

    By Mark Cisper

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    About this ebook

    From the Ashes of a Murdered Dream continues the poetry of Mark Cisper where When Dreams Are Murdered left off. As with the previous volume you will find at the end of the book a Chronology which will demonstrate the frequency as well as lulls in the authors writing.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherLulu.com
    Release dateNov 16, 2014
    ISBN9781312680807
    From the Ashes of a Murdered Dream

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      Book preview

      From the Ashes of a Murdered Dream - Mark Cisper

      From the Ashes of a Murdered Dream

      From The Ashes of a Murdered Dream

      By Mark Cisper

      Poetry

      Copyright © Mark Cisper—November 2014

      ISBN—978-1-312-68080-7

      Cold and Empty Bed

      I want to go home,

      And yet I do not.

      I want to lie down and sleep,

      And yet I do not.

      For you see,

      My bed at home

      Is cold and empty.

      I’m tired of going to bed--

      In a cold bed--

      In an empty bed.

      I’d like to think that

      After a long night at work,

      That I could come home

      To a bed that is warm

      And there is someone

      That I can hold.

      To come home to a bed

      With a woman lying there,

      In nothing more

      Than her firm and soft skin,

      Waiting for me to get home

      So she can hold me or make love to me.

      I got to say,

      That’s one Hell of a dream.

      Or should I say,

      That’s one Hell of a fantasy.

      Dream or fantasy,

      The sad truth is,

      When I go to sleep at night,

      It’s in a very cold bed

      And it’s oh so empty.

      Cold and empty bed--

      The bed has room for two,

      And yet only one

      Occupies my bed.

      It’s a lonely bed,

      And when I climb in,

      It’s so cold...icy cold.

      I’m tired of a cold and empty bed.

      I would almost do anything,

      To come home to my bed

      And find it occupied with a lover,

      And when I climb into bed

      It would be so warm--

      Warmed by the heat

      Of my lover’s body.

      Then we could make love,

      Or hold and cuddle each other closely,

      Till we both fell asleep.

      Yet tonight, I know,

      When I go home,

      I’m going home to a...

      Cold and empty bed.

      As every night before,

      And many more nights to come,

      I will go to sleep in a...

      Cold and empty bed.

      Visions

      Visions of blood.

      Visions of bodies lying on the ground.

      Visions of dropping bombs.

      Visions of destroyed buildings and towns.

      Visions of soldiers.

      Visions of prisoners.

      Visions of war crimes and rapes.

      The visions of war.

      Visions of prostitutes.

      Visions of racists.

      Visions of drugs and dealers.

      Visions of gangs.

      Visions of drive by shootings.

      Visions of the homeless.

      Visions of preachers.

      The visions of the city streets.

      All of these horrible visions,

      You see them every day.

      Do you just want to close your eyes

      And wish that it would go away?

      Well, go ahead, go to sleep.

      They’ll just come back in your dreams,

      And this time, you can’t get away.

      You just can’t get away.

      Every day, you see it

      In the color of life, on TV

      Or in black and white,

      In the printed words

      In your daily newspaper.

      Perhaps if you turned

      Off your TVs and radios,

      And don’t read the newspaper,

      You could get away.

      I don’t think so,

      Unless you locked yourself

      In your home for total solitude.

      You can run...

      Oh but you can never

      Ever get away

      And you can’t hide.

      Visions of war’s

      Bloody destruction,

      And visions of drive-by shootings

      Killing our young kids,

      No one can hide; they’re here,

      So we must do something

      To stop these horrible visions.

      Again

      My darling, darling,

      Darling, darling, Dyan.

      I want to be with you, again.

      I want to hold your hand, again.

      I want to kiss your lips, again.

      I want to touch your face, again.

      I want to smell your hair, again.

      I want to hold your body close to mine, again.

      I want to look into your eyes, again.

      I want to feel your skin, again.

      I want to make love to you, again.

      I want to make you mine, again and forever.

      Oh, but I know,

      I shall never have you again.

      I just want you to know,

      You brought a new light

      Into my heart and soul.

      You taught me how to love

      And you gave your love to me,

      Without a second thought.

      You made me aware,

      That I can love,

      And that I

      Can be loved.

      Thank you, my sweet Dyan.

      I love you.

      This came into my head,

      And I wasn’t going to write it down,

      But then I changed my mind.

      For you see, it is

      You--You are my inspiration.

      I know I can’t have

      You by my side again,

      So the memory of our love

      And the pain of losing you--

      It inspires me to create.

      I write about our love

      And the time we spent together.

      I also write about the way

      You were taken away from me.

      And I write about

      How I feel lost

      From losing you.

      Sometimes as I wrote

      Poems about you and write letter to you,

      I begin to shed some tears.

      Sometimes, a lot of tears

      And other times, a teardrop or two.

      Even now, as I write this,

      A teardrop is forming in my eye.

      Not just

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