Land of the Trees

Here is a poem I posted on another blog that I have a lot of pride for making. I hope you enjoy it.


Originally posted on Weekly Writing Prompts on 02/27/2017.

An original poem by Coeur d’un Poète. 

The green sight that soothes my eyes
slides between the shades of sunlight.
I followed the last chain of footsteps
into this forest full of radiant flora.
Breathing in the air that bears of calm beauty,
I let conscience and calm wash over me.
Within the sights and sounds of sweet serenity,
there’s no path on which I’d rather be.
There’s no time lost that’s not regained
in a space both a distance and a center.
I place my hand on the tree’s periphery
to feel the duality of presence and absence,
lost from thought but present in the beat,
finding fullness that felt absent on old paths.

This is the land of dreams, a landscape of life
that lives a pace alone, and paces along.
These are the trees that stand beyond many,
that endure duress and the tests of time.
Theirs are monuments to moments long gone
of a nature sans master or needs to nurture.
I ventured in a forest of purest foliage,
in a voyage through time; a Man-less memorial.
As I march on the path of pride and resilience,
I reflect on the endurance that’s passed on to me.
Tree leaves dance in the music of the wind,
but trunks stand still, unbeaten and eternal.
I am in a hall so timelessly natural
that outlives all that rises and falls.

The foliage revives the life in my lungs,
the pure air cleanses the senses within.
I recall immediately the necessity of these trees,
yet I remember that they do not need me.
Leaves dance down and fall to the ground.
In them is found the beauty of no sound.
I take a breath as the path goes on,
and fauna feigns presence in this living forest.
Sound sets their stage where sight does not,
their voices resound in a musical mosaic.
I am grounded, matured on this land,
communing with care in the core of my nature.
In the home of fathers and ancestors distant,
I am present and thriving with the Trees.


by Coeur d’un Poète.


This short poem I wrote is based on a popular misquote by Plutarch.

You can read the misquote here:


Photo: Copyright © 2017 500px.


And so, I sat,
contemplating the end
of a path
without much substance.
So I wept,
for there was
no time remaining
to explore it.

I mourned the death
of the man
I could have been
instead of building
on that which was
but won’t be again.
Thus, I wept once more
for what I am not.

I wept for them;
the hearts I loved.
Had I shared
and opened mine too…
I wept for them,
the undiscovered countries
and the buried stories
that could have been
but never were mine.

And so, I sat,
contemplating the shallowness
of my domains.
Thus, I wept,
for I understood then
that there was little
I truly did conquer.


Here are three quick rhyming shorts for you. Three varying themes.

  1. If silence could speak,
    then words would be wasted.
    Truthfully, silence is louder than words
    when nothing worthy is said.
  2. Patience is mightier than the sword,
    and yet, is a sword in itself.
    While the impatient weaken with rash action,
    the patient stay strong and undaunted.
  3. Modesty is unbecoming of dishonest men
    who disturb the honor of modest men.
    For false modesty is no modesty at all
    if there be hidden motives to the honest man.

    by Coeur d’un Poète

Blood Money

This is how the world runs.

Green dollar bills – the sin of privilege
that few do eschew, but keep to their profits.
Money is their birthright to protect as they see fit
even earned off the backs of many a pillaged.
The Bill is blood profit off the weak,
feeding these who earn far too more in a week.
Blood money is oppression, the quiet segregation
made to remake their nascent congregation.

Green dollar bills are the silent accumulation
of centuries of oppression by an evil racial nation.
So twisted is this law of survival of the fittest
that the nation of man is ever so diminished.
Blood Money builds on the backs of the desperate
short of hope or aid that grow so desolate.
This is the weapon more murderous than arms
that shackles the world in rule under their terms.


by Coeur d’un Poète.

Poem: There is always another day

There is always another day.

Hope. After love, it’s the second greatest feeling Humans have.

There is always another day

Live for hope, for the dream of dawn.
Go forth, bathe yourself in the glory of the sun.
Living in life is not for the weakened hearts,
but even they can hope, and find their start.
Whenever shadows grip the corners of the mind,
and happiness, a luxury that’s so hard to find,
stay strong, hope, and mind what they say;
beyond today, there’s always another day.
Life should be full, and spent in solidarity
with people many, brought together in unity
through joys and dreams expressed in modesty
of a future for all, the nation of humanity.

There’s always another day, through the bleakest of times
when strivings past are lost in our lifetimes,
when bullies rize, and seize the world whole
and echoes of shame reverberate in our souls.
Hope is the standard we ought hold most dear
looking ahead to opportunities we best not fear.
Believe in yourselves, stand as one, looking to the horizon
to the greener pastures that wake with the sun.
There is always another day, even in the darkness
for hope grows within and spreads around the fastest.
There’s always another day to leave pain behind
and live life in joy, where you pay it no mind.


by Coeur d’un Poète.