How Do You Measure Success In This Life?
How do you measure success in this life?
And who should decide if you fail?
Do life's sweet temptations guide you along?
Or in the end does your conscience prevail?
How do you measure success in this life?
And who should decide if you fail?
Do life's sweet temptations guide you along?
Or in the end does your conscience prevail?
My words are like my heart beat.
They tell the world that I'm alive.
They recite the tale of who I am
And of all I have survived.
Time passes all so quickly,
Moments melting into years.
It's true, time waits for no one,
And the end is always near.
Another lovely poem, Patricia - keep them coming. Very best wishes, Ann
Here's to that very first friend that I made.
The one who said "yes" when I asked her to play.
Whose name I'd repeat over and over again
So astounded and grateful that she was my friend.
A single flash of a camera
And a moment frozen in time
Can never truly tell the tale
Of that child left behind.
In the damp, dusty cellar, surrounded by boxes,
Our excitement just grows without measure.
Searching and sorting with loud shouts of glee,
As we uncovered the grand Christmas treasure.
There once was a woman
Who grew old with time.
She bore her life story
In the curve of her spine.
Oh Patricia, another lovely poem. I find all your poetry so relatable - it speaks to my heart. Please keep writing. Very best wishes, Ann
Now what should I be thankful for?
Now where do I begin?
Of course the greatest gift of all -
My family and my friends.
I was thinking about writing a verse to family and friends about being thankful for the small things in life. Then I decided to see what had already been written. I came across your poem. It...
When the time came again to visit her there,
He'd feel that dark sense of despair.
He could already picture her sweet, gentle face,
Marred by that sad, empty stare.
My fiance and the love of my life had passed from cancer one year ago. My heart is forever scared, but I must go on with my life and raise my four-year-old daughter.
I'm sitting at the window,
My cheeks are damp and chilled.
I feel melancholic and nostalgic
As I rest my head upon the sill.