I see a life in the distance
away from here and this moment of loss.
I see a change on the horizon
away from the struggle and terror.
I see above a way forward
through the pathway to the heavens.
Poem – Pathway
Poem – The Wanderer, part 3
In the middle of a field
empty from horizon to horizon
I wandered beneath empty skies
until the fog appeared and I
changed direction toward
the emerging mass of white
devouring the sky.
I wandered faithfully
but with diminishing hope
that at the end of this journey
I would find salvation.
Poem – In the Shadows
In the shadows
there is a path
there is hope
if that is what
we choose
to see.
Poem – What is Left After the Words
The slow music fades
into the background.
The thoughts and words
I am left with
feel hollow and weak,
they have lost meaning.
I throw all of the words away
in an attempt to start again
after some time has passed
and the raw emotion becomes real.
I start down the path
collecting what best
describes the turmoil and
the twisted sense of being I have become
when we hear news of another event
and we are set back, we are pushed.
We are tested and we become one.
Poem – Fragmented Days
The more we hear the more we turn
away from the voices carried from
beyond the horizon on broken winds
as each day chips away at the armor.
Thoughts scatter through the empty field
past the tree line and I stop at the border.
What inhabits the forest I cannot see or hear?
Days broken.
Trees hold the evening sky on fraying leaves.
Birds fill empty branches and the valley is alive.
As the sun falls into the horizon I am reminded that
each day comes to an end before beginning.
What took place today, what struggles we endured, force a reflection, a chance
to take a fragment of the day, a glimmer of hope, to carry into tomorrow.
Poem – In the Aftermath
In the aftermath
we become introspective
and concerned with immediacy,
the ones most near, and once
settled, we look up beyond
our fate here and hope for hope.
Poem – Here Before
I have been this way before, down this same path,
and most likely not for the last time.
I have been here before looking for a road,
a way through the ever-increasing obstacles
with a distant light ebbing and flowing
surrounded in the absolute silence
where I only hear my breath and the
rising panic inside.
It would be easy and a relief to stop and
allow the tree roots to take over and bring me home
but that light is still out there beyond the mountains
a fragment of hope cast from unseen hands.
Poem – Hope
As the sun sets on another day
and the weight of each person’s
burden, responsibilities, and
hopelessness reach a tipping point
there is the outside view
into the mind of each tree
into the soul of nature
into the womb of the universe.
Poem – An Eye Turned Inward
It is frighteningly easy to give up hope and lose a sense of place and purpose when the earth is scorched and the people are lost. Miles and oceans separate lives, cultures, borders, and tragedies. Arbitrary definitions aim to keep lines drawn and natural tendencies in check, but this only suppresses the internal instincts, the desire to fight, the need for hope – prolongs the true being which walks the ridge-line, getting closer to the shift.
The evening sky reflects the fields of glass, the desert sands, the tropical rain forest, the calving glaciers – a mirror of processes beyond our control digging deep, removing us from the present day, existing beyond time and distance when the connections and energy between everything was more clear and made sense.
The evening sky is an eye turned inward, focusing light on our true being and the threads we all share, the bonds we must strengthen and the call we must listen to as the sun sets and the darkness descends across the fields.
Poem – Beneath the Lights
Sirens fade into the cityscape.
Cigarette smoke encircles the face.
She stands at the corner lost.
She stands at the corner waiting.
The city lights mask the darkness
sleeping beneath bridges,
the depth of hopelessness
strolling midnight streets.
Beyond here false prophets
speak hollow words and promises
that never come to fruition,
they never come down here.
What is left when hope has left?
What do I tell my children?
She looks each way, pause
and crosses the street to
another corner, another street light
hoping this side will be different.
