Category: Robert Vardell

Dance on my ashes

Take a bow I would do it all again Its been a long introduction in a short time Among the dead oak in tall reeds Standing ankle deep as the crow sounds Starring into myself As a roaring flood I am not done till I am In this life I do consider Even if we


There is no true get rich scheme What ever you pursue will be work Though there is moments of richness That are more priceless then any gold or diamond Journey with a friend A goal to pursue Pursuing goal that reminds you of life The goal you were pursuing becomes obselete It was not what

Word in the palm

In my palm Feel what I do not say Stare at the lines that have been etched In the mirror Starring at a face that has met me A man that has seen days of yesterday A man if he was to look back nothing would be the same The scars, tattoo’s and the lines

Why don’t you fly

Don’t you wander of the distant sky Bracing the concrete ledge Curious window spy Slumbering to a nearby statue Cooing cry upon the crackling hedge Oh pigeon why don’t you fly

Autumn leaves

We once loved in the snow Danced in the springs rain Found harmony in summers sunshine Sung among all their winds Now I am not lost in your eyes or feel your everlasting touch You have threw me from your heart now among autumn leaves you burn my words

Kneeling moon

Castle’s crumble Wave’s wash away dreams through the haze above the sand Wind howls to the man that stands Path of the righteous that was built on lonely Left in the memories of yesterday hanging faith onto others Uncertain future of tomorrow in thoughts just a beginning of unexplored Eyes of green are not eyes

A fools wish

In what I seek Within my heart that tangles a weave to the soul offering an abundance that is projected In mind a woman of desire calmness to be loved for who she is What she offers and is willing to give day in and day out Honesty, integrity, patience, faithful, intelligent, caring Adventurous, romantic,

Dance life to the end

So many have muttered live life to the fullest So much to see So much to do So many not free No time to count wilted flowers in a garden that will produce more Every breath till the last is more precious than of one’s desires A shame of shallow material things some wrap their