Tribute

I am tired, I am weary
I could sleep for a thousand years
A thousand dreams that would awake me

1942-2013

Whitley Poems

The following are pieces written by Whitley Gwisdalla.

As if I Died
You're always busy,
You're always occupied
I seem to no longer mean something
It's as if I died

You don't call me anymore
You don't say sorry
You practically kill me
And that's something you'll never see

This is getting too hard
I'm becoming too weak
I don't like the future
Because its now very bleak

I wait for your answer
But you act like you don't know
You see the response I'm after
You never give it to me, instead you let me go

I wish you'd change your mind
Come to me and be mine
But that's just a dream
And I'm out of time

I Can't Sleep
I can't sleep at night
Too many thoughts on my mind
I don't know which path is right
To me, you've not been kind

You don't think about me anymore
I can see it in your eyes
Your ability to lie is poor
The only quality of yours I despise

I wish I could believe your words
But I'm too smart for that
Even though they're as sweet as the song of mockingbirds
I see through your darkness like a cat

I try to climb free
But I'm in too deep
At the bottom of a hole, I can't see
And for you, my soul is what you'll keep

Dedications, Can't Say I'm New Here

And cut.

(A scale to measure moments)

What you mean to the world matters not

The world you are to me matters most

If you could be still, why today?

When there is so much for tomorrow?

The sunshine, the storms

The liquored ladies, the forms

Yet here we are wishing it was yesterday

Has despair blinded you all?

I know you can see

If not for the past, where would we be?

We'll see better days

(If only for a little while)

I miss you, Whitley.

3 years today, my friend.

She's Going Away

Between the sheets lies honesty,
and not a promise will escape.
Dream of dream girls
I'll be seeing in my nightmares.
Something of a pulse, this love.
Something to make me feel alive.
If you soon walk away
to lands of promise
and more importantly distance,
you'll be farther away
from memories than I could
ever dream of being.
But when I wake up
and you are not around,
take comfort knowing
I dreamt of you
deep within my nightmares.

Heaven, Just Heavenly

Soft silky hands awake me from my eternal nap
The woman to deliver us from evil disturbs me
I'm awake, for the very first time
No longer a sick dream of hopeless ghost
But I'm dead, for this is not my earthly body
I get to my feet but I'm cast aside like a stone
Skipping along the blue blanket covering the world below
Asking questions that need not be answered
Destination: A bliss all to myself

Something Untitled

Getting back on track here...

Crude humorous fashions in world's dress.
A conception to define perfection,
a definition once thought impossible.
Standard killed aesthetic - divinity defiled.
Narrow down perception,
then comes regulation.
No order, no ugly.
In life, all things are beautiful.

Swan Song

My will to perish in the July glow
Can never be met as the sky delivers snow
Neither here nor there
Beauty to be found everywhere
A sight to behold
In the crushing agony of loss to be told
May you rot, my friend
As misery sings us to the end
Credits roll mercifully and bleak
Panning to the final shot: a corpse in the creek
Don't fret, just stand by me
And soon, we'll be as happy as can be
It's too true of two tales in the tomb
Spiderwebs and late bloom
July's glow compounded with bitterness
All much too soon

Jenga.

The great voyage into dimly lit worlds,
forgetting who we are for sake of high.
Fading into the perfect tomorrow,
all you can believe is unreal.

The notion of dead feelings and saturation,
all inhibiting direction of want.
For want of a desire too hot to touch,
Too cold to breathe,
Too far away to achieve

Lacking a theme or structure,
the tower comes tumbling.
Composure then faith,
faith then desperation.
Love lost to time,
my gravest enemy.

Deaf

What's there to do now?
The boxes fall apart
The walls have been covered
Yet there's not a Fucking noose to be found

Naturally in a quartet
Because any investment in poetry
Means effort that is fruitless
Please Fucking leave

Laying in multiple harmonies
Some in grunts and some in moans
Unsatisfactory and unfamiliar
Out of key, not a Fucking care

Poems about Fucking
How delicate
With no partner
All with the same hand

So in time
With all
The Fucking
Doubt