Rolling Back the Years

At some point,

promises given out…weigh greater than…the ones kept.

The heft of diminishing worlds…overwhelm delicate scales of time.

An eternity of missteps…lost in tall pines.

Stockpiles of contrasting beauty…yet, no apparent sign.

I frequent my primitive vows.

Though they have snapped and rotted…

Cracked and shattered…

Receding over the years.

Bare and illegible, I must own my incomplete ‘why’!

Seek it out under azure skies.

For without ownership,

I am but a false warrior.

With a fistful of lies.

to Breathe or not to Breathe

I have written off that which is not known

Crashing into the earth…secrets come with the winds.

Dismissive pine needles of discourse…go, flow, go.

I choke on the ashes of the earth.

Soiled and turned and forgotten…

what is it that leave the belly of the beast that grows, grows and grows?

Perhaps a bitter forested pill which is embedded in plumes of snow.

To breathe or not to breathe.

The swaying maple, birch and alike,

are crying.

And, I sit singing their refrain.

Respite Places

These are respite places.

Or, so we are told.

But in the interim, a simple plotted gesture for wandering souls.

I tell my lover, to make her aware.

She never hesitates to let me be.

She, alone, understands the expelling of, demons, no one else can see.

It is not mystique I seek.

Nor, blind guidance, from sacred places.

It is the silence that can only be found by…

pursuing to understand…

Understand something that will never be…

Never be completely understood.

Yet, the quest stays like a solemn secret stage.

A critiqued, columned, colloquial,

in which peace is at play.

Paths Crossing in the Night

A rush of water reminds me of night

Something, I can see but…

is vacantly out of sight.

Dark as it may be,

the earth blankets me.

It covers me with luminescent sky.

Warning me to,

look behind words.

To pull truth from starred gods and…

listen in silence…

to be heard.

This love affair with mother nature has been such as,

a blind date.

a sideways glance from a well versed stranger.

Hints of dodging raindrops.

Nights when paths cross

and

dreams are caught.