One day I woke and looked around
but everything was different.
Unfamiliar shapes
loomed in the morning sun.
Had everything around me changed
as I dreamed of someplace better?
Rising slowly from my bed,
I cried
as memories like raindrops fell
through the shadows of my mind.
To my left
an open window
showed me someplace
I thought I knew.
But there was no way through the glass.
Outside a bird flew by,
its wings fluttered
like a heart in pain of death.
I looked away
and a face appeared,
staring through the windowglass
as though I were not even there.
I saw the sun
but all the trees were steeped in darkness,
bent and broken,
as though the weight of summers lost
would never let them find the light again.
I lay down,
crying,
for all was as it ever was,
save for myself,
the only thing different
in a world now strange
forevermore.
life
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I ran through a golden field,
the grass beneath my feet
soft as satin,
sunlight on my face,
a warm and gentle breeze
lightly stroking my hair.
I heard a laugh like little bells
and reached out toward the light
that shone from everywhere.
I stopped,
breathless.
Before me was an open door,
a staircase on the other side.
I looked to the sky
and watched a bird fly overhead.
I stepped through
and the door closed behind me.
No grass beneath my feet.
But I walked
up the stairs,
looking for the sky above me
and the bird with restless wings,
but above me all was darkness.
So I walked
up and up.
I looked down only once.
No stairs stretched out behind me.
So I walked up
toward the place
where the sky should have been.
Darkness Falls
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
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.
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Through the window glass
I see
a bird flying high.
She twists and turns on a warm spring breeze.
Below her is a field of clover,
every purple flower
staring up at me.
And I watch,
silently.
The bird flies by the windowglass
and sees
a face staring out,
motionless
despite the warm spring breeze.
She circles once
and then again
and lands,
asking everyshing flower,
why?
Why does the face watch through the window
and never ride the warm spring breeze
into a field of purple clover?
I Caught a Glimpse of Some Eternity
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.
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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.
Into the Woods
Into the woods I wander
searching for a special place
that calls to me.
And the trees,
they guide me
to the light within the dark.
To my left a river runs,
and the wind whispers in the leaves
telling me I have found the way.
Though the path is long and dark
and I may never reach the place where my dream lies waiting,
I give myself to the woods,
knowing I am safe at last
for never will the whispers
tell me to go back again.
The dream alive forever more.
And I am free
to wander.
The Knight On the Hill
In a kingdom in the north there stands a solitary knight.
He sits atop his horse high on a hill.
He keeps one hand on his blade, always prepared to fight.
For his king, a foe he’d swiftly kill.
His free hand gently strokes the long mane of his brindle steed.
A teardrop forms so slowly in his eye.
His mind turns back to long ago, his last heroic deed.
He shakes his head and breathes a weary sigh.
Behind the knight a castle stands, once home of his dear king,
tall as the trees and black as starry night.
On his finger still he wears the royal signet ring,
but no squire has he by his side.
The castle turrets crumble and the moat remains dry.
No tapers burn in sconces, clear and bright.
Ivy clambers up the walls, bats through the towers fly.
Weeds choke out the early morning light.
In the great hall thrones sit empty, no court jester plays.
The kitchen sits cold with no oven fire.
No servants run on the long stairs all through the night and day.
In the chapel sits no jolly friar.
No longer does the brittle stone keep out the summer rain.
Bedrooms fill with winter ice and snow.
No horses nicker, eager, in the stable down the lane.
But the knight has nowhere else to go.
The knight will stand there waiting till his very last day.
In his heart, the kingdom always new.
“We won’t look behind us, dear one,” to his mount he says,
“but to our duty always remain true.”
After the Rain
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.
Onyx City Writing 