What if all we saw was smooth black-white glass?
Pale stares into light-absorbing morass.
Or these apathetic rays of piercing glances
Deflected from white forever away in angular trances.
What if absolute reason were grains of sand
Held tightly in the span of one’s hand?
Giving granular notions for finite thought
Thieving broader options in limited plot.
What if in a pondering maze
We thought about one sure beckoning gaze.
The basis of life for all to intersect,
Sadly still corrupted hearts callously reject.
But what if there was a sharp vertical mark
Etched in glass, separating light and dark?
All choose which side to fix his vision
Some Light, others dark antithetical division.
Is there room for common ground?
I imagine the width of a series of points is sound.
It is not the tight-rope walker’s dream,
Hoping harmony who shall He redeem?
We hold out our hands to meet their reach
And pull them from their tightly clenched beach.
And as engulfing light wraps untorn,
Welcome lovely child, you are reborn.
“for those who have not yet seen … “
“How optimistic the fields that grow
To appreciative eyes the fruit they show
Diligent is the northern breeze
Laying unfetter’d life over these…”
Diligent breeze virtuously
Surrounding the ones who seek
Above horizon’s razor-edge line and
Over mountain’s pleading peak.
Contrarily meandering, pitifully seen,
The anemic lights –
Of those eyes peering
Throughout lifeless nights.
Under shallow stones
They seek some way.
But, alas, another turned stone,
Another sullen some day…
Who wonders, my thoughts urge,
How optimism grows?
When routinely consumed,
With pessimistic throes.
Hold fast this offered warm embrace!
Lovely pale lights,
I won’t let you disappear
Into black-ink nights.
For diligent is
The northern breeze
Hope binds death and
Gives life and rest upon green leas.
Guardian eye, strict ray of light,
Protecting vessels adrift at night.
Whilst commanding swells pound the shore,
Offering featherlight droplets upon the moor.
I am one who spies things pass
From warmly within forgiving glass.
Wondering always, my thoughts abound,
As the laden sea air, my tears find the ground.
Sky obscured by phantom mist
Am I a vessel poised to list?
Askew I seem as waves overwhelm,
Begging sweet guardianship at the helm.
Lighthouse, now, radiant toward me
The paradise drama unfolds to see.
And I, this vessel, drift not as before,
God’s gentle patience surrounds me once more.
“…for she who watches the sky and moors,
safe and sound upon Somerset shores”
enticing murmurs hold subtle sway.
“come with us on our gentle way.”
and if i do i surely shall spy,
deception in a peppermint-coated lie.
sirens call ships upon the jagged shore.
O ravaged soul despair no more,
for if I shall, surely I witness true,
personal optimism bids adieu.
there is a truth that we fail to heed
the sweet savory sip of honey-mead.
consider more than the outward dead
for these murmurs originate inside your head.
and with pastel hues of setting light
days long gone, wing-ed ones taken flight.
fall not into the finite snare,
of limited wisdom ever unaware.
settled, peaceful, all, and all again,
eternal bliss bathing skin.
there is one who comforts you,
beyond the sea, above the blue.
“for those seeking purpose…”