When I have found the day's delight is done,
And brought the labor's duty to its end,
When a limit reached is a battle won,
And from only this, now tomorrow lends
It's purpose,
though in haste we seek its end,
From past days we search to find our meaning,
This folly followed fast by wiser men,
On yesterday the future ever leaning;
Completed we turn back to see the chore,
To lessons learned our future now confined,
Our failures turn a lock on every door,
And then with lonely fear must they combine;
From tomorrow then, should tomorrow take
And from the future, future purpose make
Upon breaking waves
I saw you floating
above the water,
daughter of Neptune,
sprouting from your root
Above the mountains
I kissed you softly
Cybele spied us
and sought to convert
us, before we fled
In great green forests
I chased you and caught
you, and built you a
home from their branches
Silvanus saw, and
cunningly trapped us,
making us the guards
of his woods and fields
Seeking to escape,
you sang to him once
a sweet sad song of
Pomona, making
him her sweet hero,
providing a home
to her luscious trees,
thwarting Vertumnus,
making her his own
In gratitude, he
granted your release
Even today I
work his fields, walking
up and down the rows
and sing to myself
minor harmonies
of the song you sang
Waiting long for your
return
You sit beside me in your silence
as the road rushes past
and the hum of the tires on the road
the only sound
Your sad eyes sing a song
which no one else can hear,
they wander up and catch a cloud
as it strolls by
The road before us is pocked with hills
and the landscape covered with green
The future, once a mere reflection of the past
Swimming in memories
your eyes are a fountain of hope
Wispy cirrus strands stretch on for miles
paving a path for their cumulous compatriots
who fail to hide the sun,
which peers above and between
in strands outstretched to the earth
Your precious past rolls by as you turn to look
and you see it fading in the strands of light
But now you know that that is all it is
- strands of light that fall upon the fading green
where once stood walls
At last, a tear runs down your cheek
as you say farewell to the constructs you created
You close your eyes and finally see no future
And then you see that you are free
Have you ever noticed how there are some books
you have read, some books you want to read,
and others that you want to have already read?
That last one is an interesting one because
I tend to think that those are the books that
would probably bring the greatest satisfaction
if I read them, but yet I just can’t muster the will to do it
Everyone will ask you about what you have
read, and the rare person, attempting to get a
glimpse at your soul will ask you want you want
to read, but I think the question of what you want
to have already read is far more telling
What keeps you from reading it? Is it full of facts
and figures you want to know, but find dreadfully
boring to digest? Is it some classic novel that
you don’t want to take the time to read, but you
want to be able to tell people you read and not
feel like a poseur? Maybe it’s just that it’s too far
down your list and you know that unless you live
to be two hundred forty three years old you’ll
never get to it.
I just can’t shake the feeling, that somewhere
out there in the distance – out where the soul
wanders free, a part of me is standing there
in a heavenly library with a book that I want
to have read, picking at the inseam – almost
pulling it off the shelf, creating some
alternate universe, where I actually pull it
down, check it out and read it – and then
I know there is a me out there somewhere
that has taken the time, and experienced the
joy of having accomplished something
that I resisted
But I also know I’ve just created a dozen
more universes where it still just sits on the bed stand
you are a rare
bird
and I am a hunter
through red gardens
I have walked
and cold forests
searching for you
I suspected you were a story
that old hunters told their sons
yet still I laid awake at night
and dreamed you
I dreamt your bold color
and fragile frame
perched proudly on the
precipice of fate
I dreamt of the day
when I would see you
and draw carefully and
slow
daring not to let you go
and then one morning
bright and cold
you appeared
I watched you perch and flutter
and beheld your grace
turning for one still moment
you looked into my eyes
then flew quietly away
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