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Poems By Poet Patti Masterman  7/24/2014 9:17:51 AM
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Perhaps Heaven

We imagine that death leaves no victors,
That all the spoils stay with the kill;
The voices hollowed out, by the echoes,
The blood running in hapless spills.

We imagine grief's the only answer,
To one consigned living, sans others,
We imagine the dead go away,
Leave no spirits, to hover.

Our imaginations leave nothing for death,
It's a place our minds don't want to know,
The hellish underworld of tomorrow,
Is somewhere we'd wish not to go.

But imagine if death had an embrace,
And imagine, was only the end
Of the troubles and pains of this body,
At the end, when there's naught left to spend.

Imagine, as everyone's going,
To leave that cold vacuum, of being-
But death goes much deeper than living;
It's only effects, you are seeing.

In death, imagine the reunions
Of mother with child; love with love:
It's the last gift that heaven could give us-
Perhaps heaven was never above?
Patti Masterman



Perhaps it was you

It's not that we have tasks, that I complain-
But that never-ending doing never wanes.
It's not that people think the worst sometimes-
But the awful times, they choose to make their minds.

And how the ones, I would have thought as friends
Wait till my sad bereavement, that to end;
Allied themselves with con men, and plain thieves,
To then imply it's me- the one deceives.

The bosom buddies, who just loved to judge;
And my recent wounds, unsubtly rubbed-
How they assumed, they knew my secret mind-
And then assumed that I'm the one, unkind.

So if you do not see me haunt your door,
And my voice is silent, your parlors;
No letter in the mail is yet to come-
Perhaps was really you, the ties undone?
Patti Masterman




Being a broken vessel, how can I ever mend
What has once been put aside as unneedful, forgotten-
A pass chiseled by harsh winds, a bridge crushed by cruel rains;
I have forgotten every forged implement of knowledge.

Being alone, how can I ever force together
The two farthest poles of being, the past and future,
The known and unknown must repel by their certain difference;
The frequencies of being permit nothing to pass beyond.

When words fail my kind, there is nothing left to hold on to,
All that is left is vibrating molecules and air currents, clear water
That leaves no trace afterwards, clouds vanished into dreams,
Dreams vanquished by bright lights of morning, into perhaps-heavens.

Whatever happens, may you find heaven wherever you come to be.
Patti Masterman




Life, when it's clothed in living flesh
Is fresh and unpredictable
As the makers dream must have been

Life, once the spark flies
Is perfect, still and motionless
As creation, before the first flare gasped
Patti Masterman
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Poems By Poet Patti Masterman