(Musketeers Tribute Challenge) #100 - Update (2 more Poems from Roy's Library) No's 11 & 12

a writing by Richard Gildea

Hello All,
Here we have two more "favourite" poems as chosen by my Brother Musketeers and good friends, Eddie (D'artagnan) Jepson (UK) & William (Athos) Willis (Scotland) from Roy's wonderful library of work.
We look forward to the various takes inspired by your Muse
The Musketeers. /|\

(Eddie's Pick)

My Life is a book, without pages,
Written down with invisible ink;
A Play, acted on empty stages,
About thoughts only empty minds think:

My life is a motionless journey,
As are all the lives mortal souls live,
With mindless Fate as the Attorney
Whose sole brief is –to ‘get’ – never ‘give’!

My life is a voiceless choir singing,
In the depths of a waterless well,
Or a bell that no one can hear ringing,
In a Store that has nothing to sell:

Like someone who builds bar-less cages,
Or a ghost who insists he’s not dead,
My life is a book, without pages,
Full of nonsense like you have just read!

(William's Pick)

In thrall to stress
In mists of pain
One's mind seeks moral compromise
To reason and to agonise
As – in one's heart –
The questions start
Midst vales of bitter tears we cry
We search for answers
Asking – Why?
Why the flotsam?
Why the dirt?
Why – the inner sense of hurt?
The blemishes – on tattered page
The scars of toil
The bruise of age
The empty dams and dried-up streams
The futile hopes
The shattered dreams
Like sterile links in mortal chain
Or scattered chaff from winnowed grain
From dust to dust
One lives – to die
The Ages pass
The Seasons fly
A Generation comes and goes
And seeks the answers no-one knows
How did so grim a catalogue of woes begin?
And WHY?

No answer – to such questions – found
In scorching sun
On barren ground
In whitening bones of beast or man
In waning zeal or ruined plan
In helpless plea
In desperate prayer – as drowning fingers clutch the air
In birthing pains
In still-born fruit
In noxious stains of ill repute
No solution comes to mind
To ease the plight of deaf or blind
To stem the tears of orphaned child
To mend the hurt in one reviled
To wipe debt clean from any slate
Or rebuild lives destroyed by hate
Or renew faith
Or restore trust
So – Crumbling lives return to dust
And grieving starts
As – broken hearts
When tempted more than one can bear
Cry out
(To who knows what or where?)
How did such pain?
How did such stress come forth from former nothingness?
And WHY?

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