“… just a season.”

“Death is just a season:
  spring turns to summer,
  summer to fall,
  and fall to winter.

They may seem slow to come,
  or late,
  but they show up,
  and they always will.

Like changing colors on
  the walls of a classroom;
  the seasons change, the colors change,
  and a new class is sitting in there soon.”

exploration

tangled fall and wind aslant
should is shouldn’t, can is can’t
up and moving, must away
find the heart, forget the day

clouds that beckon from the skies
wind that laughs, and ground that cries
soul that sorrow knows, and grows
simple devastation

mangled wall of former grief
love is long, but life is brief
up and moving, in the fields
harvesting the flow life yields

though the path be wet and cold
though the back grow weak and old
conquered fears, and heart that hears
still in

exploration

Soft The Rain Falls

Soft the rain falls
On a little girl’s dreams
As the windows streak with tears

For the mother and father she barely had:
The ghost of her Mama, the voice of her Dad —
Before she came here to be told, “don’t be sad”
In this impassive place

Still the rain beats
On the roof overhead
As her mind jumps past the years

To a festive wedding with her the bride;
Lovely, with her Daddy there by her side –
But she can’t make the face out – the love, the pride –
Nor see her Mama’s tears

Sad the wind blows
From the far mountain streams
To join with her in her plea

Soft the rain falls
On a little girl’s dreams
With nobody there

To see

The Love That Was

The love that was, where does it go?
Why does it slip away?
She wonders, as the autumn slow
Comes drifting in with orange glow,
To keep her hopes at bay,
To keep her hopes at bay.

The love that was, why does it rage
And storm to find no port?
Just scribbled hearts upon a page,
The price of pain, the lover’s wage,
And dreams cut far too short,
And dreams cut far too short.

The love that was, why does it end?
Why should such sorrow be?
But none can ever comprehend
The ways of life and loss of friend
Or love, that endless sea —
Or love, that endless
Sea

{ expendable }

another life that barely started
laid upon the sodden earth,

another tree cut down, uprooted,
branches lost forever;

but choruses of lies turn silent
with the keening wind

when those we deem expendable 
are used up once again.

 the day breaks beautiful, and painted,
 but the sorrowed heart

 seeks for answers not forthcoming,
 people have moved on —

 so much we see is just landscaping,
 hiding all the holes,

 except for those inside we carry,
 or, that carry us.

another future once imagined,
placed upon a shelf,

a circumstantial enterprise,
an existential guilt;

a fenced-in yard we can’t escape,
a walk that has no goal,

the place of the expendables,
our clearinghouse 

for souls

{ pewter }

Time, the punisher of spirits,
  has left me these reminders that
  just a year ago, you sat at this table.

Scenes I relive
  over and over,
  smearing them
  like these dingy pewter utensils,
  for what is real is always imperfect.

What is important in life is simple,
  in the end:
  and at the end,
  you knew that I loved you, and
  I knew that you loved me,
  in the midst of your pain and my heartache.

Time, the enforcer of mortality,
  has left me these reminders:
  and I will one day leave them

  as well