Tag: Mood & Character Pieces

I see but only barely,
I hear, but just in part,
I do not reach for you, because
We’re meant to be apart.

I think I know the future,
And it will get here, at last:
Let’s just hope, when it arrives
It’s not chained to

The past

I think of her that last, long winter:
How it was supposed to be —
Walking down that lonesome valley
Past the fence, and tree lines —

But you — you never knew her, did you?
Eyes that laughed at simple things,
The ludicrous, the painful (sometimes)
Even getting old —

How many roads within a lifetime:
Steps, missteps, and retraced steps —
The people we love best, but find
We barely knew at all

The sleep that comes the last, long winter,
Blankets clutched unsteadily,
Until the morning, down the road
Across the hill

An isolated family
Upon a distant hill,
The springtime of a reckoning,
Renewal of a will

Together in their loneliness,
Apart in their distress,
The sunlight finds them reaching out
And sharing

Blessedness

It’s just so hard to understand
When grass is tall and views are scarce:
The great unknown is so unplanned
And yet she has the same old cares —

Or forms of them, a little bit:
How far away the recent past
Seems now, when she might think of it,
But she has time to think

At last

Most of day, he sits in shadow,
Most of night, he dwells on dreams;
Maybe there’s a somewhere meadow,
But that’s not his life it seems

No new thing, this isolation:
He knows what to be, and do —
When you live upon the mountain,
Loneliness comes with

The view

Let the ones who know be known,
Let the news be close and thin —
Lonely flowers still must grow,
Sunlight still needs taking in —

She needs company at times,
Roots that stretch must drink in deep:
Lonely flowers still must grow
With such contact as

They keep

(between these two parentheses,
  I close my eyes and hear the sound
  of waves beneath a summer breeze,
  and my friends laughing, townward bound,
  but me — I stay to watch the night
  reveal a thousand mysteries,
  and hold what I love best most tight
  between these two parentheses)

Trapped within the tents of our experience,
We see the same stars
But don’t associate them with
The same smell of wet canvas,
Pine trees and
Distant wood smoke