Brown and red littered paths
marked by the passage of summers heat
Broadly worn by springs softer ways narrow
Fallen limbs natures toll bridge
Uprooted trees invitation to take the divergent way
Here and there the last morsel of acorn, beechnut, and walnut left in prominent seating
Dropped as if distracted picnickers were startled into flight by some lumbering troll
I look about and see nothing
Perhaps some green man lurks nearby
He too picking seclusion of deeper woods than chance encounters upon the track
And so I travel upon my way
Filled with thought and color of this autumn day
Tag: blue
You
The days and nights now merge
Trouble and torment cascade together
Sadness and sorrow but a fond memory
The sage’s quill slowly writes
Words trace out upon invisible parchment
Ink drying before the sentence becomes complete
How odd time has become
Blind eyes seeing clearer that those from sparkling youth
The Lord gratefully granting skill in both hands
Even as the right ends its useful purpose
The left grows more in skill
I digress…
The books stack together upon the bench. Many completed for their story was short. The few that remain unfinished will perhaps never conclude. Those that believe being granted everlasting life for Death and Hell have long since past.
The Sage puts down his pen…
Pat sat comfortably in his chair. The chickens and geese happy to be out roaming the yard blessing him with ruckus crowing and the pleasant clucking of a satisfied hen. The only distraction from this pastoral paradise being the occasional black ant foraging up between pants and sock.
“Those little bastards…”
The Watcher paced about nervously. His mind distracted by the events not yet seen…
“No. That’s not right. Events not yet witnessed to.” The Sage correcting thoughts even as the scroll unrolls.
The Watcher’s pacing unaltered continues on. Even as that which is false is spoken of so too the doer is busy exalting of himself. Money and power are of this world. No greater chains were ever forged in the darkest pit. How vain those people are to trust and believe in the words of their own mouth, and works of their own hands.
“I have been here for a very long time. I have watched as the light has filtered in through the many seams and cracks of this reality. I have watched as the myriad faces flowed by. Often our eyes locking for an instant then timidly released by you in sudden fear. I see you. I know what it is to be you. Like a shadow your fate and mine are bound. There is no escape.
“I am as you are as you are as I am.”
Wise words from an even wiser man who saw only after he was blind.
This I say to you, “Repent! The glass, darkly obscuring, soon shall be removed, and you will know even as you are known.”
The Garden of Our Youth
Where have the flowers of spring gone?
Those were the days of our youth.
Spent in the hope of something better. Only to be wasted by those who did not understand their value.
Furrowed Fields
It wasn’t that long ago for me
I still remember
Summer fields fresh plowed
Planted with seed
Green tips slipping upwards
Little fingers grasping for sun
Watchful of the blackbirds
Grey-brown grasshoppers slowly grazing
Very much like an errant cow
Turned into the wrong field
Yes
I remember tripping over the tilled furrow
Clumsily wandering about my chores
Daydreaming about some other life
The future
Now here I am
Oddly wandering in my golden years
Picking through each furrow of my mind
One moment I am the locust
Next the slow grazing cow
Searching out each savory grain
Every tender green wisp
Until reality wakens me
And the startled crow
Nimble and quick
Takes flight
Gleaning away another memory
Forgotten
Fractured
There in a blue room
Yellow light flows across the firmament
A silver glimmer promises hope just outside the door
Desperation transitions between salvation and escape
A butterfly flutters with each breath the body dies
But the mind lives on
Trapped
Tethered to a waning moon
My flesh is burning
The skin just falling away
White fire blisters
Boiling blood to steam
Just need a little help now
All attempts to extinguish the flame
Ends up just spreading pain
The Tree’s at Sunset 11×14 oil on canvas
A Summer Day
There is beauty in the dance of the butterfly
An image in contrast to the blue of the sky
Her yellow wings beating out rythm to nature’s song
A peaceful presence helping to move time along
And magically blending the colors to green below
With a pleasant smile I say to her a quick hello
Her time more important than you or I
It does not matter when she makes to me no reply
