The rain falls
and a light shines through the mist.
One star
burning bright,
banishing the shadows.
The raindrops tell
of better days –
different days.
Infinite moments,
disappearing into the earth.
The rain falls
and no light shines through the mist.
One way
revealed
into the shadows.
The path disappears beneath my feet.
And darkness falls.
There is a place that I remember well
though never have I seen its setting sun,
nor have I walked its streets of gold
or listened to a bird sing up above.
And yet I know its rivers run so clear,
I hear its babbling brooks and rustling leaves.
I feel its winter snow caress my cheek
as softly as the kiss true lovers seek.
My heart beats in the rhythm of the breeze
that gently flutters from a swallow’s wings,
and in my mind a summer has begun.
There is a place that I remember well
though never have I seen its setting sun.
But it is there, each time I close my eyes
and listen as the day is put to rest.
And one day I will find the way, I know
to memory of sweet and endless night.
I caught a glimpse of some Eternity
as I gazed toward an almost setting sun.
And in that moment time stood still,
the ache deep in my heart relieved at last
as every leaf caught in a gentle breeze
stood frozen in a heavenly repose.
And as the light turned golden all around
a single snow white dove flew overhead.
With arms outstretched I reached out toward the sun,
but something told me it was not for me,
that on no beating of a white dove’s wings
was there a haven waiting patiently.
I let the tears fall freely from my eyes
and with one blink Eternity was gone.
And as the dull eternal pain returned,
I watched the sun again start to descend.
I walked in silence as the wind picked up,
in search of someplace I could call my own,
where one short glimpse becomes reality.
Last night I dreamed of some far place
where time at last stood stood.
Before me stood a golden gate
atop a grassy hill.
And I felt peace within my heart
like never once before.
I wanted to stay in that place,
now and forever more.
But then I opened wide my eyes,
and, oh! The gate was gone!
My tears fell fast, for then I heard
time’s steady march go on.
Across an ocean black as pitch, some say,
there lies a land that even time forgot,
an ancient place where dwell forgotten dreams.
And if one finds perchance safe passage there
by searching darkest depths of memory,
a golden city will at last appear.
Though don’t be foold by beauty’s shining light,
for ‘neath the gold is only an abyss.
And when the city opens wide its gate,
revealed is naught but endless empty streets
beneath which breathe the souls who came before.
There is but one way down the golden streets,
no way to turn back on the path once found.
And at the center of that golden place
is where all roads at long last will converge.
And in the center is an azure pool,
it sings a siren’s call to weary feet.
None can resist the pull to water’s edge,
the lure of knowledge in eternal sleep.
With just one touch the universe revealed,
and light of gold gives way to starry night.
And in that instant one joins with the sun
that ever keeps that golden city bright.
Silent, at the river
stands a man,
watching,
eyes cast down to the rushing water.
Hours pass,
and he waits
hands clasped in lonely supplication.
As the sun sets
he turns his gaze slowly upward
and the sky darkens.
The breeze settles
and the treetops bow
almost imperceptibly.
One leaf falls
as a teardrop in the night.
The man falls to his knees,
hands raised to the heavens,
one tear
never allowed to fall,
though the first star of night never rises
and the river runs
ever onward.
After the rain of evening the oceans cry.
Subtly does the water stir the sand,
the air fresh, cold,
but ripe with the smell of tears.
Drowning sailors cannot see beyond the maiden’s eye.
When every bluish wave retreats back to its bed,
whispers in the deep
rise to greet the air.
Unseen,
unheard,
except for one who knows when and how to listen.
Time goes this way and that
and always with a springy step.
Forward is one way now
and another the next,
thoughts unfurling,
turning backward without warning.
Waves break and rise and break again
until at last all voices are silent in the chilly death of one last winter,
the sand washed away to reveal that which is the only truth:
There is no one left to tend the field
and the last ray of summer sun
has died for the final time.
Silent tears rolled down the boy’s face. His father laid one hand on the boy’s shoulder, gentle but firm, the other pointing into the distance.
“Where do I go?” the boy asked softly.
“Where we all must go. The journey is long and dangerous. But you are ready.”
“Why must I go alone?”
“We are all alone, my son.”
The boy tried to turn, but his father’s hand kept him firmly turned to the horizon.
“Go now, my beloved son. We will see each other again one day. Until then, look to the end, and walk, do not run, until you get there. Go. And no matter what you see or hear along the way, never look back.”
The weight of his father’s hand lifted. The boy took one step, and then another.
A dull thud echoed from behind and to the left, and the breeze carried his father’s voice, whispering the boy’s name.
“I love you, too, Father.”
The boy’s words were lost on the wind as he walked onward, his gaze never turning from the horizon.
Onyx City Writing 