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Best Poems Written by Louis Solomon

Below are the all-time best Louis Solomon poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Simply Love

I kiss you softly, and we hold hands
Our love brewed across two distant lands.
Where the nightingale shields the dove-
This is what I imagine as simply love.

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Where Do I Find God

He stumbled through its locked doors
And fell on its icy stone floors
Thrown away, he was long forgotten.
They called him ugly, black and rotten.

He called out in a trembling voice,
"Where do I find God?
The one they call Merciful,
Who will not spoil the child, but spare the rod."

And then he saw a figure wearing
Holy white. The forgotten man
Never saw a white so pure,
Innocent, he must have the cure.

He called out to him, but it as if his
Voice was mute. It is as if this holy place
Already cast down judgment, and he deserved no grace-
No mercy shall follow him.

The poor man finally reached 
Upon the figure's holy gown,
With a swift strike "Begone devil,
You are not deserving of this holy crown".

The strike was that of coarse thunder.
No lightning - only the sound of contempt
Which echoed through every wall until 
Finally piercing the soul's deepest depth.

So the devil got up and left.
With a contemplative sigh,
"God is not in this place."
He cannot be somewhere that does not show His face."

Details | Louis Solomon Poem

Memories

Am I the book keeper of my vast mind?
A library holding all my dearest dreams,
Hopes, desires...my sweetest memories
I hold so tender, my beloved shrine.

They run through my mind, a second's pace
Through the endless corridors of a maze.
Books fly everywhere. Pages turning,
Corners folding, pieces tearing - shelves raised.

My precious library, my beloved shrine -
Burning into cinders till only
Ashes remain. I stand there alone with
The mind fractured, broken...cracked.

Am I the book keeper of my vast mind? 
The books are illegible, the shelves toppled,
The corridors emptied, no more sweet
Memories left to keep.

Details | Louis Solomon Poem

If I Were To Have Eternal Life

If I were to have eternal life,
To be known as immortal-
I would travel across the lands,
For time is not of the essence.

I would learn all of life's secrets,
Hidden treasures, glorious gems
Which would have been kept from me.
Nothing left in darkness.

No more mysteries to ponder,
As I have eternal life to always wonder.
And then life and her beauty
Would become 

Boring.
The multitude of unique sounds, now
Folding into a singular monotonous
Drone... its meaning obscured and lost.

And then I would go from tedious boredom,
To eternal loathing. Deprived of the gift-
Never to experience life's final kiss.
Living is now my deadly art-

An art which all do poorly.
But I... I do it exceptionally well.
Living is now my craft, in which
I in all my genius, refuse to lay down the pen.

I am unwilling to write my last
Chapter, song - the final act.
And so death has been robbed from me,
Eternal life is a prison - a cruel ceaseless infinity.

Details | Louis Solomon Poem

Another Year

First there is spring,
For what can it bring?
Gifts in abundance to be shared,
Hopes for another wonderful year.

Kindness marks this season.
Rain showers its sweet blessings without reason.
Until time swiftly passes us by
And the summer's star is high in the sky.

Second there is the shimmering heat of summer.
She is sounded by the light beats of the drummer.
Oh the fire which burns in my soul!
Enough to fend off the winter's cold.

Sunlight stretches her arms across the land,
Her warm touch resonating from her hand.
We embrace her passionate fires
Until autumn falls on our desires.

Fall is here. He brings with him fear,
Torrential rains beating down on us -
Life withering into fine dust.
For winter is beyond all care.

Finally - the end of the year.
Winter with her icy kiss draws us near,
To her long, bitter, chilling nights.
No light, but only the snow pummeling us
Into a deep sleep...

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Darkest Black

I once dreamt a dream in darkest black.
The deep void within the bounds,
The endless solitude.

No light to guide, but blackness follows
Her beautiful maiden, a deathly hallow.
Her lurking shadow

Feeds off on me.
Her gritty teeth piercing
Deep inside me.

I lay still.
Unable, unwilling to move
Out of darkness' deepest spell.

She lays beside me,
Holding me, preserving me.
And her sister Light has escaped from me.

And so I dreamt a dream of darkest black.
Not a nightmare, only a ceaseless passage -
Taking me on sleep's miscarriage.

Details | Louis Solomon Poem

A Beautiful Portrait

Art is my skill.
My craft recreates what the eye
Beholds - And I am her humble beholder.

Today I shall paint a beautiful portrait-
Of what? Mother Nature is a fine mistress,
Her crystal blue seas, Her verdant greens.

Ahh yes, a fair maiden is what my muse 
Provides with her sweet and innocent face-
A gorgeous angel is what would be her race.

What about the portrait of the working
Man, who sacrifices himself for one single
Conquest - giving his family the best.

Or should I paint the tortured
Woman with her suffering from
Unjust hands, Casted away as a second man.

But then my painting would lack truth.
A beautiful lie to gather the masses,
The ugly truth behind the fresh multitude of colour.

My art, my craft-
What truth do you bring?
Or was there any to find.

Or am I just a foolish man forming the mask.
Exchanging authenticity for my soulless
Actors - The world is now my canvas.

Details | Louis Solomon Poem

My Last Love

There once was a happy, youthful pair
Living blissfully, not in arrogance - but without care.
The young man gave his heart long ago
Unaware that his sweetest love, that dear love would not show.
It was that final night, that the truth came into light.
She did not speak, only silently sitting in delight
Oh broken, crumpled, decrepit heart.
There she was with another man, naked bare
And so he left, not a shout nor a hateful stare.
But what he felt was the sharp tip of love's knife,
And slowly he bled until love took his life.

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The Funeral

I remain silent.
An etching of death carved into the brain-
I cannot hear your sorrow, nor your pain.

I could not speak, nor could
I hear the pitter-patter of the soft rain,
I could not see your tears hanging - those endless chains.

I could not smell the sweet flowers which you brought,
It as if they could have stinged my nostrils with dead rot.
And no matter how much you feel - I simply cannot.

So I shall wait - my tortured soul shall now rest.
My dearest friend go, for I am without a hint of regret.

Details | Louis Solomon Poem

A Book For the Morning

I wish to read something,
Anything which will allow my mind to wonder -
Exploring infinite cosmos of words that
Expand forevermore into an unknown darkness.

So I picked a book for the morning,
My imagination free to run wild
Like the mighty bulls roaring.
This trembling, terrible thrill-

The quiet whisper under my breath
Shaping and crossing the bounds -
A world free from the chains of my eyes,
And instead they break their rusty locks.

My fingers trace the words
Following its slender path until the overwhelming 
Climax - I grasp the curved edges, a rush
So high everything around me dissolves.

Then I am back.
The darkness of reality chases me restlessly,
Turning those bright brilliant words into black.
I feel lost - but found.

The book is at its end, but my life continues.
And I - its author - with fresh muse.