What is a human life
but growing day by day?
Starting as a child,
then slowly turning grey.
What is a human life
but staring at the stars?
Coming to the truth
of how small we really are.
What is a human life
but a precursor to death?
Living for the little things
until we draw our final breath.
There is a voice in you,
just as there is in me.
That tells us human life,
no, all life, is poetry.
©2013 Alex Hicks
poems about poetry
(08/01/2013) What Poets Do
Anyone can write a rhyme
To scare away the creeping rust
Of age and things that come with time
But writing them is all or bust.
Shadows come here every day
To scare us and to make us sigh
You’ll understand all that I say
Once I make the shadows fly.
The world is full of crime and hate
As the earth just keeps its spin
But what I show you will create
The blinding light we need to win.
There is something I have found
Follow me and I will show
that the sun may make the earth go round
But poets make the world glow.
©2013 Alex Hicks
Tales of Battles Won
Ok, so I was up a 3:00am today. I feel like crap and I am at work while I wait for heavy rain to start. Day’s not looking great right now, but still I write poems. This is actually a pretty happy one despite it being a bad day.
My sword is long and narrow,
And its tip drips black as night,
Blood of those it’s slain,
In the life-long fire fight.
As I fight this battle,
And every one to come,
My sword will dance with beauty,
Deterred by nothing won.
My sword will move with grace,
Lithe and free from bars,
To dance across the medium,
Leaving trails in the stars.
Forever it will dance,
Each day and every night,
Leaving heroes in its wake,
With each tale that I write.
My sword will stop in time,
Upon the day I give to age,
For until then I shall write,
As my sword dances on the page.
-AH
My Pen
By: A.H.
I wrote this poem in the middle of the night. I was laying in bed thinking like I often do and this poem started to read itself to me. Least to say I immediately picked up my notebook and started to type.
My Pen
By: A.H.
If asked when young which I thought better,
The inked tip of my pen
or honed blade of my sword
Without thinking twice I’d have replied:
“My sword can cut all who stand in my way
but my pen can express my feelings.
If I had to choose which one to take,
Sword in hand, I’d leave them bleeding.”
But as I look at that younger self,
And the meaning of the phrase,
I wish I had been there to help,
To show him the better way.
The sword is strong in its own way,
But the pen holds all the aces,
For while a sword can cut your foes,
The pen will take you places.
If I had met my younger self,
I’d have set him true,
That writing, knowledge, and emotion,
Are things a sword can never do.
And if he still took the sword,
I’d slip the pen in his back pocket,
As he would grow up into I,
and I would want it sooner.
Into Dawn 