The Music of Emptiness

We have known the music of emptiness,
and truth be told,
at times, we have sought it.

Times when we seek,
not to make sense of it all,
but to accept the senselessness
and vanity that comprises much
of life.

This is not sadness,
it is a hollowness:
this us not despair,
it is more like
resignation —

But it is also
a type of detoxification,
an emptying out
to allow for the possibility

of refilling.

The Yearning Season

We seek, at times, we-know-not-what,
Empowered by our yearning;
A season’s born and dies away,
The restless earth keeps turning

We scan, we search, expectantly,
Just hoping that we’ll see it —
The future that we long for, maybe
We were meant

To be it

if minds could touch…

if minds could touch,
you’d know that i was near you,
if hearts could sing
you’d hear me everywhere,

if eyes could see
when all around is empty,
the dark’ning day
would never seem so bare —

i’d kiss your wearied thoughts,
and rouse your courage,
i’d stroke the edges,
worn and frayed too much,

of all your fading hopes;
a loving blanket
i’d be for you, today,
if minds

could touch

A Place to Launch

Another phase, another type of platform,

A place to launch, a time to say goodbye;

A thousand things we meant to do, but didn’t,

The Fir-tree and The Catcher In The Rye

 

The literary lessons learned in losing,

The hopes of soaring ‘neath a brand new sky —

Another phase, another type of platform,

A place to launch, a time to say

Goodbye

a hundred-weight of dreams

a hundred-weight of dreams inside
a thousand-weight of fears;
some scattered days of hope within
and dozen months of tears —

a dread that’s born of emptiness,
a questioning of worth:
a plague of such anxiety
as rends the very earth.

the colors of accomplishment,
ineptitude, or both;
the tearing sound that signifies
both injury and growth —

the hotel with its silence, or
the spotlight with its cheers —
a hundred-weight of dreams inside
a thousand-weight
of fears


© Andriy Bezuglov | Dreamstime.com – Redhead girl with wet hair sits in the bath full of water with m

A Country Autumn – 3

I am the forest and the trees,
I am the road that calls you home,
I am the friendly surfaces
Of every “welcome” and “shalom”

That waits for speaking at the door
Of all the “where’s” where you belong
Should you be tired, weak, or sore.
I’ll be there, love, however long —
Today, tomorrow,
Evermore