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.”

An Evening Shower

The dog is playing in the sprinkler
My cucumbers are almost played out in the dry heat of fall
The few drops of water that manage to land where I want seem to just bead up in the soft dust of the garden
As I watch the dragonflies and hummingbird investigate my efforts
The dog in a perfect imitation of the sprinkler runs by and shakes down the rain over me
The smell of damp dog my reward on this beautiful day

Another World of Pure Imagination

Hold your breath…

Make a wish…

Count to three…

So says Willy Wonka

……

In my dreams
All the things
I dream for you
They come true


If only in my
Imagination

If you cry
Sob or sigh
And form tears
In your eyes

It brings me down
And brings me round
From off my distant cloud
Floating high
On a rosy river
Beneath a rose filled sky

So
Come with me
You will see
There is really nothing there
That could
Harm you

It’s just a wonderful world
Here in make believe

A wonderful world to live in

If only you
Could open wide
And reach inside

I know you

You really want to

See a new world
Beginning

Take my hand
But don’t be afraid
To let go

No more fears
Lurking in the corners

Everything
Living here
Is alive
Right there
Inside you

When life is a zoo
Fling open the cage
Wander free
Join me
And you’ll see
Dear
Yes you’ll see
Clear

It’s just a wonderful world
Here in make believe
It’s such a wonderful world
To live in
If only you could

Reach inside

You would see that

And I know
You want to see
A wonderful world
Again

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.

Memorials On Tracing Paper

Short words on a long day

Doors closed on faded memories

Listened to quiet hello’s

Silent good-byes

Young children and older siblings

Watched the wind blow through the spring leaves

Yellow daffodils visited by the honey bee

Remembered young faces to be put with old bodies

Cried because that’s the thing to do

The Whistling Wind

Through the cracks
I feel the colds
Soft silk touch
Slow to draw
The warmth from off
My flesh
Outside
I hear it call
Telling me to hurry
There
Come see what has
Been done
I’m no fool
I see
Through those
Same old cracks
How the withered grass
Roughly bent
Blows
I see the hard clasped oak
Leaf
Trembling there
Like clothes
On the line
Even the snow white
Clouds
Begin to blush
Pink
As the setting sun
Bleaches hard
Across a barren
Sidewalk
I know
And I will not
Go
For only the brighter
Shades
And pastels of
Spring to come
Will pull me out
From this warm
House

The Prince’s First Muster

The Prince’s First Muster