Save the patter of the rain, for it might save your life one day,
What was taken slowly from you, it can not easily be repaid,
But may in time give lessons of past virtue and proove,
What once was lost is not gone forever, just moved,
Whilst you still remember what was once there,
It lives within, deep down, a marker of time,
The certainty burnt to you forever more,
Curcial to who you have become,
A marker for your stride,
Should it still atest,
You may know,
For I am now,
I hope god is there.
Keeping a balance good and fair.
For if I am but a figment,
Naught but a swipe of his brush and pigment,
It matters not what I can bare,
For decisions are made from lofty chair.
I hope god is kind.
So they would be in heart and mind.
But what is love, when cast by creator,
Is creation kindness enough, spoke the debater.
Could all their actions leave love behind,
And shed responsibility of thoughtless mankind.
I hope god is wise.
Not the instigator of their own demise.
As thoughtful as their very silence predicts.
Rather than shadow to a world that contradicts,
A very presence past serene skies.
Could a world of cruel logic, be their disguise.
I train my mind not to wonder,
But it’s most precious thoughts are those,
That I did not try to build or find,
But float into my waking repose.
My mind’s sight no longer clouded,
By creative whims or urge,
For in it’s age brimming full,
With darker thoughts, all converge.
And would you wish to break free?
To lay in that inspired light,
For liberation has a cost, a price,
Could it be idleness and plight.
For only the tragic are moved,
Do the inspired seek the forsaken,
And keep their purpose drawn close,
Are we to know what truely made them.
So why not wake into my own story,
Shape what was truly gifted to me,
For aren’t we all cursed and broken,
If I plead my creativity to be wild and free.
To capture the stars and their perfect form,
A dream of preserving their light.
Like trying to capture the eye of a storm,
Oh how could you keep something so bright.
To us they sit quiet, on night’s dark platform,
Just out of reach, from any grasp or might.
But in systems they burn as a swarm,
A life cycle itself, it’s own death, it’s fright.
Distance hides their terror, their reform,
True nature a mystery which passions do insight.
In it’s mystery a wonder stirs, keeps warm,
Those far off pieces of our puzzle, our right.
Wretched thoughts to ere did steep
And keep from me my urge to sleep
From my mind those poisons seep
Whilst I protest my sense to weep
At loving faith, I do not leap
So still I sit to ponder deep
The life I crave I can not reap
But pray hope comes so fast asleep
Peace and serenity,
As I look to the burning horizon.
Pertinence and attention,
Soon the sun takes to the sea it lies on.
But the sea itself,
Unpredictable as any that hold the waves.
Refracted a new display,
One that any observer anticipates and craves.
The swiftest span of green light.
Explosion and beauty,
An emerald hue radiates before the vale of night.
A blaze so short,
But this jade fire drops no ash.
My senses know,
This was that fisherman’s tale, the green flash.
I once did walk on shores so kind,
That I did forget to worry and curse.
For in those shores I did so find,
A feeling I could never reimburse.
If I found that feeling so special again,
Unique it could no longer be.
It would be lost to the realm of the vain,
And to those no longer free.
To search for beauty, a privilege.
To treasure the fleeting, divine.
For how could anyone take from my pilgrimage,
That irreplaceable feeling, it is mine.
Direction and grace
It’s trunks grow like old fingers
Pillars of the wood
Warm to the fire
Close friends with the new ice
Bring light to the wood
Smile for it’s power
It’s years of experiance
All known to the wood
Those roots run beneath
Deep and tight through it’s mother
Give much to the wood
The good and the evil
Those pure and corrupt
Defined by judgement
And tested by time’s cruel chances
Our conscious is the decider
Brought to fruition by desire
But it is not our actions which mark us
The good and the evil
We influence the world
Daily decisions of consequence
But our conscious is the decider
Of who’s won the war and not
It’s own answers are the key
Truth is not in it’s understanding
Yet it’s judgement will be made
Our conscious is the decider
From now, until their end of days
Both a year and a day have passed in the last twenty four,
We rung in the date with much jubilation and praise.
Abnormal it was, such time to pass not as a fiend nor chore.
But still you might wonder what was in that passing of days.
Certainly there was reflief and reflections, hope and fraternity.
But a year lost in a day in raught with so much concern.
For am I any richer or wiser as I loose a piece of my own eternity.
And when I look at mankind, I dispare at what they do not learn.
Still as we open a new door, the lid to the most coverted box,
We know this feeling familar, as we look at what we have done.
Man does not betray as we scramble and cheat at locks,
But hope for something better than the world we, ourselves, have spun.