Poems Pagetwo

WELCOME TO

Poems by Jack Holub

You told me I would be the one, to make the world a better place,

but you were wrong, and they were right, I see it in your face.

You told me I would be the one, and I could rise to heights unknown,

but you were wrong, and they were right, and I am still alone.

You told me that it mattered not, if skin were black or white,

but I have seen, them live in fear, and I've wept throughout the night.

And so I must now turn from you, and wait until that day, that I can trust for what you are,

and not for what you say.

I Never Told Her

I never shared the love she gave until it was too late.

I never saw the tears she shed, I never could relate.

She tried so many times to reach my emptiness inside,

but I would always turn away and my emotions hide.

And finally when I realized how much she meant to me,

the love she wanted desperately to share, had finally set her free.

And even after all these years her love I feel inside,

but I will always feel the pain, I never told her before she died.

One Last Endless Goodbye!

The distant sounds of crying in the night,
the hush of earth and sudden light.

No godly past retold, as whispers on the wind,
the loss of hope for those who sinned.

And when the day is done, and slumber closes o're the sky,
I wait for flaming spheres and for the dream to die.

There!

I've walked upon the leaves of fall,
where cows once stood to feed on
wind swept green, and watched the
sun appear above the clouds, where
once a bright new star was seen.

And there I paused and felt the touch
of winter on my soul, for life was real
and sorrow fair, and suddenly I cursed
the fates for they had left me there.

Copyright ©2001 Jack Holub

Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee!

Listen my brothers, listen to me, Bury my heart at Wounded Knee.

They took my children and my wife from me,

So Bury my heart at Wounded Knee.

My summer is over the snow clouds come, The peace pipe is broken, I hear the war drum. The land is scarred by my brothers blood, The soldiers came like a sudden Spring flood. They sat by our fires and promises made, They smoked our peace pipe, than they made us their slave. Now, as I lie here and wait for the end, Our wigwams are empty, no more can I send. Don't take of their promises, but listen to me. They've killed all our people, we'll never be free, So Bury my heart at Wounded Knee, Bury my heart at Wounded Knee.

Dachau! (Death Camp)

The endless tide of time hangs lifeless on the shadows of all death and doom,

the steaming vapors of a deadly earth now yawns for graveless days near shallow tombs.

No one sends hope for love unborn, but waits instead for grasping breath,

that final time that knocked upon the doors of death.

Untold the stories of children yet unconceived,

they stand and wait alone beside the Wailing Wall and grieve.

One Lone Pine

Faces distorted with anguish over
sermons that are unprepared and
unsolicited

Captives in a maze of green walls
and desks stacked neatly in rows
of sixes and sevens, and windows
meant for peering out of.

It is that time of year, when robins
flutter across the lawn, males and
females mating, green grass breaks
free of dead over moistened earth,
sun shines on brick and wood, like
a color wheel gone mad.

One, lone, small, emaciated pine
planted just before the snow last
year, brings hope that all things
are born again in Spring.