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My Hidden Voice

Copyright © 2004 - 2018, David Ronald Bruce Pekrul , all rights reserved.

Poetry which speaks of the Human Spirit


The poet Robert Frost once said, "A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words." And to quote the poet Carl Sandburg, "I have written some poetry that I don't understand myself." Both these thoughts sum up my feelings about my poetry. Some of my poems are from my life experiences, some are works of fiction ("a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness"), and some, well, I have no idea where they came from.

Please enjoy, and as you read, keep an open mind.

Thanks so much,
David Pekrul


Scratches On The Wall

Four men standing in a row and then one laid across,
Just sticks of time and marks upon the wall,
A measurement of attitude, of loneliness and pain,
But others see it as a lot of scrawl.

Sticks of time, a calendar of wasted days and years,
Just scratches of a life that’s gone to waste,
While taking time to tell a tale of life behind these bars,
With years ahead there’s never any haste.

Four men standing in a row and then one laid across,
It’s now a crowd that stands upon the wall,
As five men turn to twenty-five, then eighteen thousand strong,
With fifty years of scratching on the wall.

Fifty years, an army strong, the witnesses of death,
Accusers to be first to cast a stone,
Such ridicule and torment is a thing that I accept,
For there is not a way I can atone.

Four men standing in a row and then one laid across,
Just four men and the one who holds them tight,
Which binds me in this prison for a life and then a day,
And nothing I can do will make it right.

-David Ronald Bruce Pekrul-

Razor's Edge

I walked upon a razor’s edge,
My feet were bleeding crimson red,
The pain was great, I slipped and fell,
And landed in the pit of Hell.

And Satan greeted me with glee,
He said, “How are you, can’t you see,
That you are in my world to stay,
I own your soul and you will pay.”

And voices taunted, visions swelled,
In total darkness, in this Hell,
I begged and begged for sweet release,
A little hope, a little peace.

And then a ‘savior’ came to me,
With powder white, “I’ll set you free,
If in your veins you take me in,
You’ll feel alive, like you can win.”

I tried to fight against this foe,
To turn from what he would bestow,
But in the end surrendered all,
And set myself up for a fall.

The powder melted in the spoon,
I felt the rush and very soon,
Was walking on the razor’s edge,
With bloody feet upon this ledge.

-David Ronald Bruce Pekrul-


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