My Wasted Space » Poems

A Soul’s Ascent

Paul B Womack — Mon, 06 Feb 2012 20:26:39 +0000

Thoughts are flying fast,
Past me and sometimes through me.
Images are a blur,
Brilliant and often unfathomable to me.

Al are mine,
But I can’t hold on.
I grasp at everything.
I remember nothing.

Thoughts of summer days,
Harsh sunlight with unappreciated company.
Images of a spotless place,
Fried chicken and fresh tomatoes for the family.

Everything was mine,
But I stand back.
Participating in nothing.
Losing everything.

Thank you for a time well spent.
I can finally see how much it meant.
Images come alive,
Resurrected through a soul’s ascent.

Most are mine again,
But what was lost is lost.
Life is nothing.
Sharing life is everything.

Almost

Paul B Womack — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 21:01:13 +0000

I’ve run out of things to say
Almost.
It’s time to be on my way
Almost.
Just one last word about what we’ve lost.

There is so much love around
And still war and violence abound.
There are so many higher emotions in man
And still death and famine cry out in the land.
Concentrate now on the beauty of life
And eliminate the strife.

That’s all I have to say
Almost.
It would be so easy to change our ways
Almost.
We just have to be willing to pay the cost.

The Crooked Path

Paul B Womack — Wed, 30 Nov 2011 14:33:37 +0000

God sees out,
our future predestined.
But it is a crooked path,
changed by freewill.

For in heaven the view
is so much more than mere mortals see.
Destiny, interwoven
with the choices of men.

Read Old Books

Paul B Womack — Fri, 29 Apr 2011 17:31:45 +0000

Read old books.
They take us to places
We can’t go any more.
They transport us through time
To worlds we don’t remember.

Read old books.
They reveal the beginnings of ideas
We take for granted.
They unfold again for us the ideas
We’ve forgotten to believe in.

We live in a world of the new.
We believe in a world that changes.
But it is a trick of time.
The world is still the same.
Men are still the same.
And what we believe in now
Are only the accessories.

So, read old books.
Make sure your children see you.
And perhaps when they grow old
They, too, will
Read old books.

Irrelevance Has Won

Paul B Womack — Thu, 14 Apr 2011 17:33:16 +0000

I’m lost in a mass of conflicting images.
Springtime in winter.
The miracle of birth on fifty widescreen inches.

I’m confused by the abundance of information.
So many instant winners.
The start of another warped tradition.

I’m drowning in a sea of irrelevance.
Money for sinners.
The need for the proper political stance.

I watch to learn,
But I don’t learn what I need to know.
I watch for entertainment,
But I have to laugh more at myself than the show.
I watch as we lose control
Intelligence low.

I can’t break away from the onslaught of images.
I can’t make sense of the useless information.
Irrelevance has won,
Just show it where the stage is.

Exercise in Futility

Paul B Womack — Thu, 20 Jan 2011 17:58:08 +0000

What did you learn today?
Anything important?
Anything you’ll remember?
Then it wasn’t worth it.
Was it?

What did you do today?
Anything earth shattering?
Anything anybody else will recall?
Then it wasn’t worth it.
Was it?

Remember
What you learn and do may not seem too important,
But if you use it when the time comes for important things
Then it was worth it.
Wasn’t it?

Think About Me

Paul B Womack — Mon, 10 Jan 2011 16:30:10 +0000

Think about me when you wake up in the morning.
Think about me on your way to work.
Think about me when I’m right there with you,
Just like I think about you.

Think about me when your day is over.
Think about me when you’re ready for bed.
Think about me in your dreams,
Just like I think about you.

Maybe by the way I act sometimes,
you can’t tell how much I think about you.

Maybe I hide behind the way I act sometimes,
Because I never know if you’re thinking about me, too.

Before Sorrow

Paul B Womack — Thu, 06 Jan 2011 15:59:30 +0000

Sadness walks a tightrope –
Less than the depths of sorrow,
Greater than the pangs of conscience.

Sadness falls as tears –
Filling the reservoir of pain,
Releasing the overflow of emotion.

Sadness calls.
Sadness overwhelms.
Sadness dies
And gives way to haunting memories.

Sadness lies down with strangers –
It fills the lungs of communities,
In it’s breath is a whisper of redemption.

Sadness silently laments.
Sadness screams for salvation.
Sadness haunts
The integrity of fading memories.

It’s My Life

Paul B Womack — Fri, 08 Oct 2010 17:33:57 +0000

A restlessness that won’t go away.
A yearning that gnaws on the inside,
Never letting go of its penetrating grip.

Would a different set of circumstances
Make for so much better of a life?
Would a different set of choices
Help alleviate this inner strife?

Different circumstances
Only offer the chance to change my life.
Different choices
Only provide the chance to kill this inner strife.

But I must change the circumstances.
I must make the choices.
It’s my life.
In the balance is my fate.
And given new choices,
Would I be willing to take the chances?

Lost

Paul B Womack — Tue, 05 Oct 2010 14:09:02 +0000

I don’t know anyone who ever tells the truth.
There’s always something concealed beneath the surface.
Even honest men still tell lies.
Deceit enters everybody’s life.

It’s the duplicity of man that hides the higher order.
It’s the con man in every soul that thwarts a perfect world.

I don’t think it’s so hard to tell the truth until I try.
There’s always something you can tell one but not the other guy.
Still, even deceitful men try to tell the truth in part.
We all seem to know the truth is a good place to start.

But it’s the duplicity of man that conceals the higher being.
It’s the swindler in every soul that craves nothing but the winning.

So I live in the guise of straightforwardness,
And I hide behind the masque of truthfulness.
Because honesty is honored by all and achieved by none,
And we try to make our comrades believe we’re the one.

But the duplicity of man can not be overcome.
It can’t even be controlled.
It’s part of a world tainted by sin.
And so we spin
Into oblivion
Lost.