Chasing Sunshine

We must go on a journey together –

You and I,

To where the birch trees grow

Where you wanted to go,

Not so long ago;

And on the way,

We can have ice creams,

Every flavour from your dreams,

And you can tell me

Every wild story

That you’ve imagined,

Those the others find hard to believe,

And I shall listen

To each one of them,

As only I can,

And smile at the reminiscence;

And when we get there,

To where the birch trees grow,

You can take a moment,

To bask in the glow

Of the virgin sunrays,

Kissing the face

Of a bright new day;

And I shall draw you in

For a tight embrace,

Before I let you go,

With a tear or two

In each of my eyes,

Knowing what I do,

Of the gnarly pain

That awaits you,

Beyond the glow

Of the promising sunrise.

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I

The large glass bottle

On the table top,

Looks heavy, and ornate;

And it is home

To a lovely bunch

Of beautiful flowers.

But as the children run around,

Coming perilously close

To toppling it o’er,

I cannot but wonder

Why it is placed thus.

II

Why do we choose

To put at risk,

The safety of things

We’d rather not lose

Or the wholeness of those

We couldn’t bear to have shatter

Such as self-worth and honour?

Are we led by fate?

Perhaps it does not matter

To the powers that be

That pull the strings

Of our fragile lives.

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My words have stalled –

I’ve waited for them to tumble and fall

But they’re seemingly stuck,

And unable to flow,

So they cease to show,

The darkness of

The depths from where they would’ve sprung.

And in the absence of words,

I can only hope for an else

Which alas

Remains elusive –

Just like peace,

That has gone missing.

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Tread carefully

For the night is nigh,

And in the fading light,

You might fail to see,

The littlest creature

Hurrying home,

Its tiny body

Just as weary

As yours;

And all it seeks

Just as you do,

Is peace

And rest.

So tread carefully lest,

You place your feet

Upon a path,

That leads to the end

Of a life,

No matter how insignificant,

Or worse yet,

Maims it forever,

Leaving a stamp of ignominy

To live with,

For what might seem

Like a gruesome eternity.

Image: From one of my early morning sojourns

I stood here long ago,

At this same crossroads,

That served as a courthouse;

Where I was served a sentence,

Where they refused to believe

The truth in my story,

And in my apology;

Where they stripped me

Off my dignity,

Where they crushed my dreams –

The grandest to the most tiny,

Where they left me wishing,

For a descent into oblivion.

And now years later,

After much time under water,

As I resurface

For a breath of fresh air,

I find myself

At the same crossroads,

And the menacing ghosts

Emerge from the darkness

Of the distant past,

One by one,

Ready once again,

To pronounce a sentence

That is as cruel as it is humiliating.

But this time I seek

Not the pursuit of dreams,

For they are long gone,

Buried six feet deep;

All I need

Is to nurture a seed,

Of enduring promise;

And hopefully someday

It will become a tree,

That’s all I seek really,

The promise of a solitary tree,

To show the world

That I did exist.

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I used to think,

That the meaning

Of life,

Is revealed

In the grandest act,

Whether in fact,

It means gaining success,

Fame, or wealth,

Or reaching the epitome

Of being kind;

This meaning,

The quintessence

Of my existence,

Must be something

Of deep significance.

Until one day

Not long ago,

I realised

That the meaning of life,

Is different

For me, than it is for you,

That we must each write

Our own story;

And so I choose,

To let go

Of the grandeur,

Of my borrowed dreams

From when I was wee;

And instead to embrace

A return to the roots,

To where it all began –

To plant a tiny seed

Or two,

Or more –

To water them,

To watch them sprout,

And then bloom,

Adding to the green

Of my surrounding,

Making it a haven of peace

In time,

Maybe that is the meaning

Of my life.

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I walked down a road one day,

For I had nothing to do or say,

There was just too much on my mind;

And in walking, I hoped I would find,

Peace and its ally, quiet.

The verdant green

Was soothing,

Not just to the eye,

But also a dull ache deep within,

And I walked on,

Eventually lightening enough to sing a song,

Until I came upon,

The prettiest, most brilliant orange,

Of a dead butterfly.

Here lay beauty

In all its glory,

Not much different,

From the surrounding lustrous green –

In that, they were both stationery;

If I wanted to,

I still could,

Breathe in the beauty

Of both,

And move on,

Pretending,

That it was asleep

On the wet ground;

But I could not,

So my newfound peace,

It returned

To the distant realm,

From whence it had come.

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It is the start of a new day,

The break of dawn so to say,

I wake up to find

That I’m longer who I was yesterday.

So much has changed

In the darkness of the night,

A battle was waged,

And as the fires raged

The sinister demon

Had again won.

The sweat on my brow,

And the scream in my throat,

Both mellow,

Not pronounced

And yet evident.

No, I am certainly not

Who I was

When I went to bed,

With high hopes for a dream,

Sent down on a moonbeam,

And most of all,

A peaceful rest.

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Silence
Is a language in itself –
Speaking loudly
To convey the essence
Of strong dissent,
Or the defiant thunder
Of protest,
And on occasion
The gentle whisper
Of submission.

The absence of words
Spoken, or otherwise,
Is seldom
A dead end;
It is often
A portal to open,
And cross over,
To fathom
The power of the unspoken.

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I welcome new days

That hold the promise of sunrays,

For I love the warmth of them

Kissing my skin;

And when the sun has set,

I hope for a reset

To still my mind,

And give in to the quiet

Of the silent night,

That settles in gently;

The sunrays now, a distant memory,

Their warmth, no longer alluring.

The saga of my trysts

With sun and moon,

Shall play on repeat

For as long as I live.

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