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Glimpses : Misc : Poems
I've been writing poetry for many years. It has been one of my few ever-present companions willing to listen to me without qualm. Generally I write in poems in bunches, and this desire to write is brought on by strong emotion. My poems have had a wide variety of moods and styles reflecting the emotions I felt when I wrote them. For the most part I try to write in a very rhythmical way ignoring rhyme. More recently I've attempted to add rhyme to my style and am happy with the results.
Untitled
Nathaniel Troutman
March 2004
Waves crash and fall upon this shore
Their race is done and lost
Upon the lonely plane of seas.
None but one can count the cost
For all is gone, none speak no more
But the failing, wailing pleas
Of men who've yet to see.
Burn the mighty fires of hell
Burn the lowly sinning man
Whose immortal soul has disappeared
Consumed by the devil's gruesome clan
Fearsome fires fueled by cries,
Cries of souls who've always feared
The saving wrath of the master's hand.
Silent Prayers
Nathaniel Troutman
March 15, 2004
Silent prayers whisper by
Floating on the breath warmed breeze
Rising slowly by and by
That tickle sides and angels tease
As they rise to heaven's Lord
Whisper all your silent prayers
Lo, the angels wield the swords.
Murmurs
Nathaniel Troutman
March 15, 2004
Quite murmurs float on air
One by one and some in pairs,
Gliding towards the listening ears
Some speak of lingering fears,
Silent murmurs build in force,
Some are swaying from their course,
Swiftly sing the tiny words
Soaring on the wings of birds.
Ocean's Story
Nathaniel Troutman
March 25, 2004
Sweet smells the salty sea blown breeze,
Tilting-blown the wind bent trees,
Crashing fall the white capped waves.
Feel the senses, overwhelmed; all is but a daze.
Swim beneath the ocean's sky
'round the reef we silent fly.
Gaze upon the undersea,
Wonders be that few have seen.
Creator's wonders hail his glory,
All his works tell his story.
Love's Soliloquy ("parody" of Hamlet's Soliloquy)
Nathaniel Troutman
June 11, 2003
To love, or not to love: that is the sorrow:
Whether to suffer the burden on the heart,
Or to turn aback and shun the pain,
And by leaving, to callus: To cry, to weep;
No more; and by death to say it is over
The pain and anguish of tortured soul,
That drowns one man's hope, not once but evermore.
Praying for death to come: To cry, to weep;
To die; 'tis but a dream; ay, there's the rub;
For in this dream of love what truth may come,
When loves immortal virtues have shown their face.
Must cause us thought; please hear the truth
That mends the gashes of the broken heart
For who can live life immortal alone,
The hope is nigh, sorrows song has faded,
The pangs of unrequited love, of,
The tears of pain that burned the cheeks of man,
That always failed to dry before the dawn
When morning breaks, a mask is painted
With the ease that comes from repetition
To hide the truth from the world's prying eyes
But the dread of discovery looms
The terror of truth revealed has come
No escape is clear, no salvation is near
And drives us to the brink of freeing death
Then love's sweet sound pulls us back from deaths grip
Thus what we fear most is our salvation
And so our fears appear unfounded
Is this the truth or have our eyes been shrouded
And keeping us unguarded from the pain,
With sorrow creeping in, to steal our hearts
And take from us all that remains of hope
The fair princess! True love of my heart
Be all my sorrow remembered.
My Home, My Land, My Heart's True Pride
Nathaniel Troutman
October 4, 2000
When I look across her rolling plains,
And gaze upon her snow-capped mounts,
I see nothing but beauty in her face,
I say, "My home, my land, my heart's true pride."
I stare across a valley deep,
At the mountain range,
Overhead the eagle cries,
"My home, my land, my heart's true pride."
Through her forest great I hike and see,
The leaves change from green to gold,
Then fall to the ground now covered in snow,
The wind howls cold, and whispers low,
"My home, my land, my heart's true pride."
Grace and majesty is all I see,
'Til I look at our nation's gate,
This land once ruled by godly men,
Who held their morals high,
Now led by men who trust not in God,
Who made this great land,
Hence she falls with shame,
With a deep dark fate,
"Alas," I cry, "my home, my land, my heart's true pride."
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