run home, run home

On By Beleaguered ServantIn Original PoemsLeave a comment

now it is time to run home, run home,
where the air is dry and the couch is warm;
now it is time to run home, run home,
from out of the reach of harm.

in the fields by the river he played, he played,
near the circus tents across the way;
with wild abandon, great plans were made
to join with them one day.

for a born death defier like him, like him
would feel at home on the high trapeze;
yes a born death defier like him, like him,
would do all that with ease.

but now it is time to run home, run home,
where the air is dry and the couch is warm;
now it is time to run home, run home,
from out of the reach of harm.

or maybe with lions he’d work, he’d work
as the crowds looked on in breathless fear —
maybe with lions he’d work, he’d work,
as their sharpened claws drew nearer —

or high on a tightrope he’d walk, he’d walk,
the highest one anyone had seen yet;
yes, high on a tightrope he’d walk, he’d walk
and he’d never use a net.

for boys in the circus do well these days,
he thinks he read it sometime, somewhere –
though the people look kind of scary, and
a few did stop to stare —

but now it is time to run home, run home,
where the air is dry and the couch is warm;
now it is time to run home, run home,
from out of the reach of harm.

she lived the fairy tale.

On By Beleaguered ServantIn Original PoemsLeave a comment

the “once upon a time” they had
was good as good could be:
and when they danced their wedding night
it was pure ecstasy

a long-haired cinderella, and
her handsome, charming prince;
and in the castle that they built,
they had been happy since

oh, yes. she lived the fairy tale.
the days of love and laughter
when happily they spun their lives,
and would do, ever after —

if ever after was a thing.
it isn’t now, it seems:
and flowing hair just a ghost
that she sees in her dreams –

for when the curtain finally falls,
the play is not the thing,
but our brief times upon the stage
when we’ve got strength
to sing

When Autumn Comes

On By Beleaguered ServantIn Original Poems3 Comments

When autumn comes, and leaves are blowing wild,
I think of her when we were young of face;
And how she all my fantasies beguiled,
And came to mean that season and that place.

She moved on years ago, and so did I;
I have the love I dreamed of all those turns –
I could not say what came of her, or why
One love goes cold, another stays and burns.

But still the autumn ages come to us,
We freeze them in our hearts for times when we
Can reexamine things, without a fuss,
To know our hearts in their insanity.

For love, like autumn leaves, may come our way
To rustle past, and soon be blown away.