Poetry of the Soul

Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn. ~Thomas Gray

Graceful Hands October 25, 2009

Filed under: poetry — laurenmichelleotheim @ 2:39 pm

Her eyes say: Queen

I am Queen.

Imperial she stands

Looking out across her subjects

Raises graceful hands.

Her body says: Follow

Follow me.

Lightly she sways

Commanding with each movement

Music sparkling plays.

Her scepter says: Faster

Keep going faster.

Billowing she guides

The music bends slowly

Strings make leaping strides.

Her hands say: Stop

Stop now.

Still she looks

The music ends abruptly

Still she looks.

(c) Lauren Otheim – 2009

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Filed under: poetry — laurenmichelleotheim @ 2:35 pm

You sit there

And watch the sunrise

As your heart sets


Through the sunshine

And the daisies

You’re going crazy.

People smilin’

While you’re cryin’

And you can’t take it anymore.

Not Anymore.


Another word for pain

And nothing’s ever for your gain.

And you can’t cope

With all this stress.

It seems your life’s one gigantic mess.

And sometimes you wish it were a bore

Cuz then at least your heart’d be numb

And you wouldn’t have to take it anymore.

Not Anymore.
(c) Lauren Otheim-2009
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House On A Hill October 20, 2009

Filed under: poetry — laurenmichelleotheim @ 8:20 pm

I want a house on a hill                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             with gardens and benches neatly landscaped with twinkle light trees and green-blue fairy glow orbs.  I want swings in the tall whispery grass and a shushing pond with construction site orange fish.  I want a hand holding nook and a climb-to-the-top-and-kiss-in-the-twilight tree, but most of all I want a little brown-stick-in-the-mud path meant just for me.  And down my winding squishy-scooshy path I’ll twirl but not until the moon claims her elegance and the stars unfurl.  Then down through the twinkle trees and the whisper grass and past the curling swirling sleeping flowers and underneath the kissing tree I’ll traipse down my little path until I’m lost in a greater reverie.  I’ll run through the criss-cross branches and pick berries off a blushing bush and I’ll stuff myself so full of ink stain fruit that I’ll curl up under a hollow tree and tell stories to the wise old owl who lives on top.  And when he’s heard so many that the holes in his ears are bound to pop then I’ll crawl back out in the deep black sky and serenade the stars as the wind passes by.  I’ll howl to the wolves and I’ll walk like a bear and chase a mountain lion round it’s lair.  And when I’m tired and my limbs ache with life I’ll blow goodnight kisses to the bright firefly that guided me home down my little mud path and up through the garden till the sun kisses the top of my house on a hill.

(c) Lauren Otheim – 2009

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Lay Me Down To Rest

Filed under: poetry — laurenmichelleotheim @ 7:41 pm

What war is this

That tender takes

The bleeding lost of love?

The innocent

And pure of heart

Fly deftly as a dove,

Aloft to heaven’s

Open gates

Too early sent above.

And as they lift

I hear some sing

Of children lost

On angels’ wing

And Hope’s tattered veil

Torn once again

As some take thread

And begin to mend.

But what of fabric

Scared and frayed?

Battered till ’twill no more braid?

How patches patch a patch that fade

To lift up more than one has prayed.

I cross myself and lay me still

And if deep slumber

Have it’s will

I pray that breath

Be swift to leave

And new life waits

Upon the eve.

To live a life

That’s bought and sold

We’ve bartered till

I’ve grown too old.

And Death’s swift kiss

Upon my cheek

Signifies what’s left

To seek.

The golden light

That’s glinted still

Finds darkness

It has yet to fill

And where these meet

I away,

Until the break of a new day.

Set in stone

And labeled well

I snuggle into

Which I fell

And with tired bones

And sagging flesh

Now He’ll lay me

Down to rest.

(c) Lauren Otheim – 2009

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