For Every Broken Heart That Ever Spent A Lonely Night Alone

p_rehbein · Aug 9, 2019

No, sorry....... She is much better, but it will be a long road for her recovery. God is with her, and wonderful Saints are lifting her up in prayer.......so I know she will be well.

God bless

p_rehbein · Aug 9, 2019

WASHED AWAY

He said My yoke is easy and my burden is light
I'm the Way, the Truth and the life.
If this Water you drink you'll never thirst again
And I'll wash your sin away.

Washed away, washed away. All the sin of my life washed away.
Jesus saves, Jesus saves, like that old song says Jesus saves.

To a tree they nailed the only Son of God
and His precious blood stained that tree.
But it wasn't for anything He'd done
He died for you and me.

Washed away, washed away. All the sin of my life washed away.
Jesus saves, Jesus saves. Like that old song says Jesus saves.

How I love to sing those old Gospel Songs
The Old Rugged Cross, At Calvary
What a day that will be when we gather on that shore
Singing Blessed Assurance evermore.

Washed away, washed away. All the sin of my life washed away.
Jesus saves, Jesus saves. Like that old song says Jesus saves.

Washed away, washed away. All the sin of my life washed away.
Jesus saves, Jesus saves. Like that old song says Jesus saves.

Like that old song says, Jesus saves.

p.rehbein

p_rehbein · Aug 9, 2019

YESTERDAY'S DREAMS

Too many long nights spent sipping coffee in a dim lit booth.
Trying to recall yesterday's dreams, misplaced somewhere in search of truth.

Quietly watching lifelong strangers entering and leaving the place.
The waitress serving loaded down plates of eggs and gravy,
Wondering why no one ever says grace.

There's always a too loud drunk, and a not so sober clown.
There's always a smiling Lady, and one more with a saddened frown.
There's always a truck driver trying to swallow one more cup of Joe.
And there's always one wall flower wishing he'd placed his order to go.

Too many long nights spent sipping coffee in a dim lit booth.
Trying to recall yesterday's dream, long forgotten in search of truth.

p.rehbein

p_rehbein · Aug 9, 2019

AND THOSE WHO REMAIN

To the four winds cast these ashes you see.
Scatter across this land as they wish
The remains of me.

In receiving life, I asked for pleasures few,
As my last request, for me
This would you do?

Remember not how I lived once in chains.
Rather, rejoice for the freedom
Of these remains.

Bound in life by ropes of fear,
Neither living, nor loving,
No more happiness than could fill a single tear.

Believing in freedom
And the right of choice,
Let this be the echo
Of my forgotten voice.

Give to me peace, that I may rest
In the arms of Eternity,
And those who remain shall be blessed.

p.rehbein

p_rehbein · Aug 9, 2019

IF I WERE TO WONDER

Golden brown, orange, with a hint of fading green;
The beauty of Fall in the mountains I've seen.

Splendor of sunsets with a hazy border of blue;
Sparkling streams of mountain snow, and a silvery moon or two.

Cascading brilliance of rainbows and their gold;
Wonders of the universe, all stories of Heaven untold.

A touch of gray, red and pink, when the colors of the rising sun
Chase the shadows of night away, to the very brink.

Rolling meadows of color, miles of wildflowers carpeting the land;
How many flowers in a field? Can they be counted by man?

I've seen the world and it's wonders.......yet, I must contemplate;
If any of these even come close to the wonder of you.

p.rehbein

p_rehbein · Aug 9, 2019

BLIND SIGHT

I was having coffee at a little Truck Stop
Just outside of Santa Fe.
When I noticed an old blind man
Standing at the counter asking for something to eat,
And admitting he couldn't pay.

I smiled 'n' felt sorry for him, nodded at the waitress
And invited the old fella over.
He ate, and we talked. Me about the cost of oil
The energy crunch, and the falling economy.

Him, about rainbows and wildflowers.
And all the time he talked, he just kept grinning at me.
I told him about Reaganomics, taxes,
And the advantages of Social Security.

He asked if I'd ever seen the desert after a summer rain.
'n' told me about a pet squirrel of his, not yet tamed,
Then he stopped, frowned, and seemed to be
Really looking at me.

"I ain't been blind all my life" he said.
"You see, there was a car accident a few years back
And I got thrown clear. But my wife and baby boy,
Well, they were killed. When I woke up, they told me
I'd never see again. Those were some hard times back then.
Let's see, about Nineteen hundred and sixty three.

I've had a lot of time to wonder about how things might have been,
And, you know, every morning I wake up, I hear that Doctor telling me
about it over, and over again.

They was wrong, you know, when they said I'd never see, and young fella
You'll have to reach my age before you realize just how wrong they've been.
I've spent these past fifty years seeing all the wondrous beauties
Of this world you youngins seem to overlook. Like the sounds of children laughing,
Birds on the wing, or the slow moving sounds of a country brook.

He stood up, and thanked me for the food, as I sat there stunned.
And as he tapped his way towards the door, he stopped, turned back to me
and said:

"No son, I ain't been blind all my life, I've been seeing real good these past fifty years."

And I swear, he winked right at me, then went on his way.......

Now, that old man's long gone, and I'm back at home,
But I sometimes wonder if he remembers me.
'Cause, when things are tough, and I'm fed up, enough is enough,
And the world starts closing in. I think of him, step back, take another look
And I'm able to remember when.

When children laughed, and played jumping jax,
And played in a box filled with sand.
And flowers grew, so wild and blue, where skyscrapers now stand.
And now and again, I'm thankful old man
For the words you spoke to me.
Through your eyes, I learned to see
Just how beautiful this old world can be.

p.rehbein

p_rehbein · Aug 9, 2019

FOR TWO BITS I'D......

I've won a few, lost a few, and took a few home.
I've come real close, and gone too far.
I've missed 'em short, and missed 'em long.
I've made it right, and made it wrong.
I've cussed 'n' fussed, and felt like busting loose.
I've spent a million dollars chasing that golden goose.
I've had my ups, and I've sure as heck been down.
I've followed some rainbows, and wished on more than one falling star.
I've done some good, and done some harm.
And I've come way too close to buying the farm.
I've bit the bullet, and bit the dust.
I've been in love, and, like that President, I've experienced lust.

All my life, I've walked around ladders, and stayed away from black cats.
I've pitched pennies in wells, and when inside, I've never worn a hat.
I've loved all the Ladies, and learned all the hit songs.
I don't eat junk food, fast food, or Chinese food, or grapes:
But, somehow, it's always the pits.

I don't want a bowl of cherries, a rose garden,
Or a silver lining for this darned old cloud.
I've quit wondering who'll stop the rain,
And I've learned to live with this constant pain
Worn around my shoulders like a shroud.

"So, what's this all about?"
Your asking me.
I've just been sitting here wondering the same darn thing!

p.rehbein

p_rehbein · Aug 10, 2019

FACADES

Awakened by a dream so real, it caused me fright, I found myself at the table with coffee and cigarettes through the early hours of grey, predawn light.

Where there is pen and paper, and a dawn not yet come, there are words unspoken and a job for the Poet left undone. Broken hearts and dreams that don't come true, are naught but fuel for the Poets fires. To mend a broken heart that cared and to sate a dreamer who dared, are surely thus the Poets desires.

The ones who love me most are always saying it is so hard to communicate with me, but I've yet to meet a Poet who could open up and ramble on for hours the way Politicians do.

Politicians are puppets reading the words that others write. How many of you have ever seen their Speech Writers shaking hands, or defining themes on a Campaign night? Politicians speak of promises, and the things they are going to do. Poets speak of wildflowers, loving, and yes, of hurting too. The Politicians words are spoken but once, then lost forever to the winds of change. The words of the Poet are spoken with pen and paper, and throughout eternity do the Poets words remain. Promises made during the heat of a Campaign, will surely never be mistaken for the promise of rebirth softly murmured by a gentle summer rain. If every Politician knew that he would be faced with every word he ever spoke, how much shorter would the televised Debates become?
I would suppose, not much more than a crowd pleasing one line joke, or two.

The Poet cannot be misquoted by an unfavorable Press, for his thoughts are quite clearly visible to everyone, displayed as they are in black and white. He has no predecessor to blame for whatever is found wrong. He has only the depths of a caring soul through which to search to find the rhymes of a love song to help us all through one more lonely night.

Reflecting upon all the barriers a Poet must search through to find the key to unlock the understanding chained in the darkened corners of the souls of men, is it any wonder that Politicians are in teeming abundance, and of Poets there are so very few?

Try to understand, if seldom I speak of the things in my heart, or the thoughts in my mind, for when I do relate these to you they will surely be most trusting you will find. A Politician I'm not, of promises I have very few. Rather, I'm your brother, your friend, your lover, and your son, but first I am a Poet, and there are only so many things that only a Poet can do. I share all that I can of my heart with you, be patient, be forgiving, try to see the poetry in the little things that I do for you.

I love you. Accept that, for it is honest and true. I may have some difficulty relating in speech my love for you, but there have been so awfully many times I've versed it for you.

p.rehbein

p_rehbein · Aug 10, 2019

FLICKERING DOOM

Silently flickering
Light of doom
Showing the way
To a lost souls tomb.

Beware raven
Which doth hunt in the night
And take heed your soul
Shadows not this light.

For, to fall prey
To this evil thing aglow
Is to curse the virtue
Of a new fallen snow.

Long years of torment and thirst
Await the one who doth enter by this light first
But so much more will he suffer
Than the millions who stray after, on this path acurst.

Go now, raven
Be the warning sign
So man may not lose his soul
And be damned for all time!

p.rehbein

p_rehbein · Aug 10, 2019

THE AMERICAN DREAM

Crouched silently in the shadows of the night, a small child ponders his fate, and draws tighter across his bony shoulders the tattered remnants of a shirt long since discarded by its original owner. The bitter cold winds of December, which rush through the alley in sporadic gusts, seemed but a minor irritant to the child. His entire being was concentrated on watching the late night Shoppers of the City. His eyes, large and dilated, glowed like wind stoked coals when illuminated by the headlamps of passing automobiles. His hair was shoulder length and beyond, shaggy and brown, and was blown into tangled masses by the wind, yet, the eyes never blinked.

Just then, one of the Shoppers noticed the child, and, being full of the spirit of the Season, he offered a hesitant, sympathetic smile. "And a Merry Christmas to you, my son. 'Tis a cold night, fit for man nor beast, and most especially for a child with no shoes." Stepping closer, the Shopper offered an extended hand which held a dollar bill. The child cringed deeper into the shadows of the alley, and the gurgling growl, animal like in its intensity, which escaped his lips caused a cold finger of fear to tickle its way down the spine of the would be Samaritan Shopper. "Well now, well now" he stammered, "a wild one that deserves to be in a cage he does." Quickly returning to the safety of the lighted street, the Shopper resumes his tour of the local Taverns, and gives an occasional shudder when the memory of the child pierces through his stupor.

The child snorts, and shakes his head, as if trying to rid his nostrils of the stench of bonded Whiskey and bottled Cologne, and creeps back to his vantage point at the mouth of the alley. The hour is growing late, some of the Shops are beginning to close for the night, and the child realizes that he might not eat this day, for there have been precious few opportunities offered by the Shoppers passing his alley. And, for the first time this night, a look of concern furrows his youthful brow, for the child knows that beyond the alley, amid the recent ruins of a Landmark, await two younger children depending on him for their daily fare. His hunger is an old friend. No longer do the crippling cramps of hunger cause tears to flow across his unwashed cheeks. Rather, now they are his reminder that others are depending on him, and an occasional wry smile is the only signal of the painful constrictions of his stomach.

Rising to leave, the child dreams of being warm, and of not being hungry. And, just then, the incessant barking of a mongrel sets off an alarm in his primitive mind, causing the child to hesitate. With the innate knowledge of all hunters, the child is immediately aware that a prey is near. Cat like steps take him back to the edge of the street. The unblinking eyes search for and find the mongrel, and thus, the child spies his prey. An old Shopper, bent with age and the weight of her packages, has stumbled. A bag from the Deli across the street lays torn at her feet. Its contents scattered upon the pavement about her. The mongrel is dancing stiff legged around the Shopper, desperately trying to win one of the scattered prizes for his own. Yet, even in his desperation, the mongrel is ever wary of the cane the old Shopper wields about her head, aiming to strike with painful force. Alas, she is too old, and not so nimble as to fend off the mongrel and gather her spilled belongings at the same time. At best, she can kick the nearest into a pile at her feet, for some have fallen too far to allow her to gather them without the danger of losing the ones closest to her now. The mongrel knows that if he is patient, the old Shopper will tire and, eventually, one of the scattered goodies will be his. He has sensed the helplessness of the old Shopper, and he begins to grow bolder in his dashes towards the spillings.

The child enters the street, and, as he does, the mongrel hesitates, the mongrel knows that a competitor has arrived. The old Shopper is forgotten, and the mongrel turns towards the child to protect what is rightfully his. The hairs on his back bristle, he crouches, growls, and warns the child that this is his prey, and he does not intend to share. Between the warriors, lying in the street, unnoticed until now, is a loaf of fresh baked bread. It's delicate aroma draws their attention, and each warrior decides that this is the prize they will win this night.

A first, cautious step by the child towards the loaf is answered with a tooth bared growl from the mongrel. Another step, the mongrel crouches lower, continuing to growl. Their eyes lock. A moment of frozen hesitation passes as each warrior considers his chances. The mongrel, belly flat against the pavement, the child, half bent at the knees, every muscle tensed. Then, with the blurring speed of a jungle predator, the child leaps with talon clenched fingers towards the loaf. The mongrel responds to the attack, and aims his own towards the naked wrist of the child. Needle sharp teeth sink into the tendons of the bone skinny wrist, yet the grip of the child upon the loaf remains firm.

Locked in mortal combat, the warriors are unaware of the impending danger directed at them. Then, at the last moment, the child turns, and his eyes are illuminated for a brief instant by the headlamps of the automobile going too fast to stop. The shrieking of tires, the sickening crunch of metal against flesh, the screams of not so callous Shopper, and the somehow peaceful sound of blood dripping on pavement are but a blur of sounds in the waning consciousness of the child.

Shoppers begin to gather, some other automobiles even stop, and they watch with gleeful anticipation, as the child tries to rise. His only thought is to reach the womb like safety of the alley, yet, even now, he knows he never will. Voices of Shoppers and Passengers alike fill his ears, his eyes will no longer focus, and the world he has known slowly begins to fade away. And then, falling back to the pavement, the child turns his sightless eyes towards the alley, and he smiles. For the first time, in a long, long time, he is warm, and his old friend hunger does not gnaw at his bowels: The child's fate is realized, his dream has come true.

The blue Uniform with the silver buttons, sparkling like rainbows in the lights of the Emergency Vehicles, stands quietly, confidently, over the lifeless remains. His confident air emits a power strong enough to keep the Shoppers and Passengers a respectful distance, half circled as they are, around the nights entertainment. Not a smile, nor a frown, no emotion is visible on the face of the Uniform. he merely stands there, completely in control, and everyone knows it. Not one onlooker dares to question his authority. The old Shopper with the torn bag from the Deli across the street, sighs, and turns to leave, forgetting the few scattered possessions still laying in the street, for they are not worth her challenging the authority of the Uniform.

Behind the crowd of Shoppers and Passengers, just beyond the flashing lights of the Emergency Vehicles, a mongrel with a half torn loaf of fresh baked bread clenched in his teeth slips into the shadows of an alley. Unnoticed by any and all...........save for two pair of eyes, glowing like wind stoked coals when illuminated by the headlamps of passing automobiles. Silently, they watch him approach, and they wait........

p.rehbein

p_rehbein · Aug 10, 2019

FOR THE LAST TIME AGAIN

Well she ain't much of a looker
And she ain't much of a hooker
And she ain't much of a Lady
By all counts I'm told
But when she sings "Blue Eyes"
There's never a dry eye
So Dallas wont'cha please sing "Blue Eyes"
For the last time again.

There's a Honkey Tonk in Houston called the Four Mile Inn.
They got Longnecks for rednecks and a Honkey Tonk band.
There's a girl they all call Dallas
Who will sometimes drop in
And when they double up the Sloe Gin
The Band will let her sit in.
The crowd will shout "Blue Eyes"
And Dallas will start to cry
But you know she's gonna sing it
For the last time again.

Now she said she wouldn't do it
Said she couldn't live through it
Said she'd never love anyone
Like she loved him again
But as sure as she's a hooking
You know she's a looking
And Dallas won'tcha please sing "Blue Eyes"
For the last time again.

Well, she ain't much of a looker
And she ain't much of a hooker
And she ain't much of a Lady
By all counts I'm told
But when she sings "Blue Eyes"
There's never a dry eye
So Dallas won'tcha please sing "Blue Eyes"
For the last time again
Oh Dallas won'tcha please sing "Blue Eyes"
For the last time again

p.rehbein

p_rehbein · Aug 10, 2019

WRONG WILL I EVER LIVE

I'm just a funny kind of Texas country boy
Looking for any little thing I can find
Running twice as hard as all the rest
And staying two steps behind.

I've given what I had to give
And done what I had to live
I ain't proud of all I've done
And it sure as heck ain't all been fun.

There's times I'd live again
And I'd like to think I made a friend
But it's time to take I can't spend
And there's places to see I ain't been.

There's those who'll call me a loser
Laughing my way to crying
A no account cheap wine boozer
Hard living my way to dying.

But I've seen a sunset sea
Golden green glistening on the sky
I've watched the gulls flying free
Where no man could go as high.

I've seen virgin snow so white
It would even eclipse the suns light
I've tasted the sweetness of new formed dew
And darling; I've been loved by you.

A dream writing fool I may be
And all the rest they claim of me
But if there's one who can say I'm wrong
For giving you my love in this song.

Then wrong will I ever live
And my love to you will I ever give.

p.rehbein

p_rehbein · Aug 10, 2019

DREAM FREED

Sometimes, of an evening, when I'm driving home, the westward setting sun might glitter softly off my ring, or, I'll be reaching for something, and the Office lights will sparkle across the band of gold on my finger; and it most causes my heart to sing.

I'll watch, some nights, as you lay in quiet slumber, and wonder if that smile playing at the corner of your lips is generated by your dreaming of me. Or, are you so far away in a dreamworld of lives before, and, in your sleep, found happiness drawn from another's memory?

Sometimes I wonder, and often I worry if I am all the husband you want or need? But those doubts are erased when you roll over and catch me watching you, and, with that same smile growing wider now, you whisper "I love you." In that moment, all my dreams are finally freed!

p.rehbein

p_rehbein · Aug 10, 2019

LAMENT, LAMENT

I used to write poetry
With a desperate flair. But, now,
I write of life, it's hopes 'n' hurts, ups 'n' downs,
Just to let someone know I care.

Medieval lyrics of demons 'n' princes and such
Designed in perfect rhyme
Are surely a comfort to a wounded heart, but, at best,
They are only a well disguised pass time.

Rather I could find a way
To mend the breaks so many caring hearts display
To pick 'em up, dust 'em off, give 'em a hug
And send them back on out to face the day.

It's certainly not
The macho thing for me to do,
"Real men" don't hug 'n' talk of their disappointments 'n' fears
But I've quit worrying about being a "real man"!

(ever since that night I sat with a dying Brother in Christ, and marveled the shed no tears)

p.rehbein

p_rehbein · Aug 10, 2019

OH, YOU REMEMBER...

My minds a clutter
with the present and the past.
I'v given up worrying
about the future,
it all seems to come so fast.

I think of all the people I've known
and if they ever think of me.
Do they find themselves awakened
before the dawn of morning
wondering what I'm up to?

I often wonder
if there is one person somewhere
who, when they hear my name
smiles, and remembers fondly
the times we shared.

What do people speak of me
in those times I'm not around?
Do they speak kindly? Or angrily, or in jest?
Is there sympathy in their voices
or can the echos of love be found?

There isn't one person I've ever met
who hasn't returned to my thoughts.
Each one of them
filter through my memories
as surely as do pass the sands of time.

What they think of me
isn't the issue,
nor would judging them be fair.
I'd just like to know that someone else
couldn't sleep
and sat there wondering if I cared.

p.rehbein

p_rehbein · Aug 10, 2019

BON VOYAGE

No distance is greater than that between two hearts. From one to the other takes a lifetime of searching through twists, turns and an occasional dead end. Quite often, two hearts will meet and seem to join, it is thought that love has been found, and oneness will exist. Sadly, most times, they learn that their sought for oneness of two hearts can not be gained through the murmuring of vows, or Parchment Seals. This awakening to the reality of compromise, the loss of individuality and the need for unintended commitment will cause the newly joined hearts irreconcilable damage. However, if there is a true desire to pay the fare of this perilous journey, this awakening can lead to a strengthening of the newly tied bonds, and may provide a shorter route to the mutually desired destiny. It is true, the distance is great, it's course not always clear, but the voyage is not impossible for the strong of heart that are wise enough to ask God to be their Pilot.

p.rehbein

p_rehbein · Aug 10, 2019

LATER, MAN

I've been there man, you don't have to explain. Eating when you got the money, doing without when your don't. Walking a million miles and getting nowhere. Listening to what's happening around you , wondering what's going down. Staying up 'till daylight man, sleeping 'till dark, playing the night spots and trying to hustle on more high. Yeah, I've been there man.

Not no more man, it just ain't my bag. I was looking for a way out, all I found was a shortcut to hell. Dropping, snorting, popping, smoking, man, it just played out. Somehow, it wasn't real anymore, so I packed what I had (which weren't more than what I was wearing) and I took a walk.

Maybe I was wrong. I don't know, but I know anything was better that what I had. Somehow, one day, I'll find it, and then I can sit and relax. Until then, I'll just keep on moving. You sit too long you can forget what it is your looking for, and that can be the biggest mistake of all.

Maybe you think I got old, maybe I did, and maybe I just got tired of being something I'm not. I'll take my woman and a place of our own, and then I'll find my own way to "turn on." What you need, I don't, that's cool. If that's what you dig, fine, but don't down me cause I don't. What I need I'll get. What I don't have, I don't need, so take your way of turning on somewhere else, they might need it, I don't.

I ain't knocking you man, I've just found another way. This way, I figure to find out if I was wrong: and if I'm mistaken, at least I can say I've tried. And, when you come down to it man, what else can we do?

p.rehbein

p_rehbein · Aug 10, 2019

WOULD YOU THINK ME LONELY?

If I we to tell you
about the times I've cried.
Would you think me lonely
or would you think I've lied?

If I told you of all the things
you ever meant to me.
Could you open up your arms
and let your heart be free?

Could you walk along a seashore
with nothing but a smile.
Could you hold my hand and make me feel
that life was all worthwhile?

Could you be the woman
that's been promised in my life?
Would you be my friend, my lover,
could you ever be my wife?

Oh baby:

There's been so many times
I've needed you to hold.
So many lonely nights
my heart's been broken cold.

Spanada and the radio
every Saturday night.
Going down for the third time
and not even putting up a fight.

Are you to be the one
come to chip the ice away
from this heart that dies
a little more each day?

Or, are you just a vision
to see but never touch?
A dream to be remembered
come the light of dawn?

There's been so many times
I've needed you to hold.
So many lonely nights
This heart's been broken cold.

Spanada and the radio
every Saturday night.
Going down for the third time,
and not even putting up a fight.

If I was to tell you
of all the times I've cried.
Would you think me lonely,
or would you think I lied?

p.rehbein

p_rehbein · Aug 10, 2019

THE DEATH OF AN ARTIST

When inspiration is awash
with the tears of broken dreams
those who would create, seek solace
amid the lines of long forgotten rhymes and schemes.

Hiding such,
they quietly search for what once they believed.
That love, and moonlit nights,
and the warm days of Spring
were things eternal; yet, still they were deceived.

They peruse
faded lines of discarded pages,
as if the dusty thoughts of the past
will reveal the key to unlock the forthcoming ages.

With vision blurred
they stumble through forests of incomplete verse.
Seeking non but the warmth of one candle lit phrase
with which to combat the agony of lost loves perverse.

Yes, it is so,
many hearts have faded like the flowers of spring.
Once brilliant in bloom, now silenced
by the long cold sleep life's winter doth bring.

p.rehbein

p_rehbein · Aug 10, 2019

RETROSPECT

Having entered into a time
when memories
are naught but visions of the future
I find myself
mistaken in my dreams.

As I have done,
surely will I do again.
For, once the path is chosen,
the course is set,
and only eternity remains.

Now and again
I may stray near or far,
yet, as sure as the rising of the sun,
'till it rises no more
will I again find the way.

Must I suffer
in my future
as I see it pass
before my eyes
in memories?

Progress is a circle
that must eventually be joined.
All that I do
to evolve into a greater being
only leads back
to the humble birth
I first awakened to.

Each day
leads not to my future,
Alas!
The truth lies in that
each day leads back
to the past.

p.rehbein

For Every Broken Heart That Ever Spent A Lonely Night Alone

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