Tuesday, June 12, 2018

2 poems


by horace p sternwall




dream of a hero



in the insane rioting of his soul
he knew he had to play the role
of a debonair lothario
and go on with the show

as the huns rode over the hill
he stood perfectly still
and with the trace of a smile
said "darling, i may be a while"

"not too long, darling, please"
she sank to her satin covered knees
through the french window he strolled
to a sunset red and gold

where are the heroes of yesteryear?
who laughed at fate and smiled at fear?
and what would they now defend?
for, alas, we have come to the end

the garden is barren of flowers
the day is bereft of hours
the telephone in the drawing room
waits for a call from an empty tomb







a vision of erernity


i dreamed i went to heaven
and all the seats were taken
st peter smiled and shook my hand
’twas then i did awaken

i wish i could remember
what st peter had to say
for it would surely comfort me
on yet another dreary day



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