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David Pekrul
A Life Honoured
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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


My Dearest Yesterday, I Have Found A New Love

My Dearest Yesterday,

I am writing this letter to say goodbye.
Although you have been good to me and have treated me well,
it is time for me to move on.
I'm not saying that I don't appreciate all that you have done for me;
I do, yes, I really do.
But nothing seems to be new between us anymore,
nothing exciting or challenging,
nothing dangerous or mystifying.
I seem to know what you are thinking before you think it,
and what you will say before you say it.
Our relationship is like an old record being played over and over again,
and quite frankly, the music is starting to become monotonous.
I don't mean to sound ungrateful.
You have been a comfort to me when times got tough,
a safe place to stay when my world would spin out of control.
But I'm starting to feel suffocated.
I need to reach out and find new adventures,
new challenges, and yes, maybe even new problems.
But they will be my adventures, my challenges and my problems,
ones that have not yet been lived,
overcome or solved.
I know you'll understand how I feel,
for you were not always my Yesterday.
Remember the time when we first met and looked forward to what lay ahead,
always surprised at each outcome and how we handled each situation?
Wow, those were the days, weren't they?
But here I am, once again thinking only of my beloved Yesterday.

I have found a new love, my dear;
her name is Tomorrow.
She has promised me those new adventures,
challenges and problems that I so crave and desire.
I am giddy with anticipation, as we start to walk hand-in-hand,
facing the unknown, but facing it together.
I hate that saying, "We can still be friends".
But even though I have found a new love,
I would still like to be your friend.
We may not always be as close as we used to be,
and maybe I won't think of you or depend on you as much as I did before,
but I would like to believe that you would still be there for me
when I need a place to rest.

Tomorrow sounds like a wonderful person,
but I know she will be a handful.
I just hope I'm up for the challenge.

Most sincerely,
Today

-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-

The Power Of Music

Electronic synthesizer,
Modern music organizer,
Never being any wiser,
Music critics and advisors.

Music they have never known,
Played with feeling and home-grown,
Shakes emotions to the bone,
Music that we call our own.

Playing music by the hour,
In the basement or the shower,
Music that will give us power,
Always sweet and never sour.

Music far outside the norm,
Helps us to outride the storm,
Though it doesn't fit their form,
From our feelings it was born.

Please don't judge the way we play,
Or the many things we say,
Black and white is often gray,
We're the potter, not the clay.

-David Ronald Bruce Pekrul-


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