Waking, the world comes into focus,
slowly revealing my surroundings until,
I coalesce, yesterday’s self blending,
with night’s dreams and new day.
Writing in silent early morning hours,
almost untouched, almost undisturbed,
save for the slowly growing sound,
of unquenchable hunger, approaching.
It grows toward me, this unease,
perhaps disease, eating all, success,
the dream of those who sell their lives to race,
to countless gain in days of thoughtless waste.
Consuming my life’s stories, all
their: Untilled fields, wild flowers, clear skies,
the glowing auburn browns and greys burned bright,
on sun touched farmhouse walls in mornings light,
undivided forests, stream songs, sun’s glimmer
and silence, save for natures moods.
Silence now, in blessed silent space,
where every thought is stilled and silence grace,
to nourish hearts in rest till silence breaks
and morning turned to frenzy at lifes pace.
The spirits and stories linger;
in ever shrinking solitude,
invisible on hilltops, with altitudes
just below notoriety, or recreation,
shaded by small groves of elder trees.
Life is not mocked, but missed,
lit with color like the rose,
washed in spring dew, new born,
beauty blessed, purified by courage,
Those ever changing seasons bear its life,
and ever is it lost and then reborn,
from sun kissed spring to chill October morn.
its blood red beauty courage made its own.
Then like the rose, perhaps beauty may grow
Behind those abiding not the love of life
then lust for all may find no end in grief
but learn in loss to find another way.
Infused with beauty, my greatest gift of life:
That like the rose my days in beauty grew
So after my October comes and goes
I leave like petals memories at your door.
Dried by your hand and stored, my fondest hope,
That what I leave will fill a small sachet
the morning sun, the stream, and sunlit wall
the beauty of a life stored safe away.