This One Idea

Do good things come to those who wait?
Or do they waste their days
And months and years in wishing
For the slightest of displays

That what they hope for might come true?
It’s hard to make a rule —
That one could then encapsulate
To teach at home or school.

But this — this one idea I have
And you helped me to birth it —
I waited all my life for you
And wow
It sure
Was worth it


Inspired by this prompt.

 

(“This One Idea” – 11-16-2014)

Snapshot: On Finding An Abandoned Stall in the Desert (Revised)

There was a final time: the stall set out,
With jewelry and fabrics in a line —
The next day, and thereafter then, no more;
No more, and soon, no one with memory
To paint in images or words the scene
That once was daily, year on year on year.

The mundane, the quotidian: our lives,
Not big events, but habits of our days,
They soon lie empty on a sandy waste —
The firebird heads into the unknown,
High o’er the mountains, just past where we see,
To leave behind our stalls for someone else

The Grove

I woke. My people turned to trees.
Then wondered, if I had the chance
Could I, too, with the cold winds learn
  to dance?
 
It is the grove that gives us life.
The sun, the soil that we share,
The tears of those who watch o’erhead,
  their left-by mulch, subconsciously aware —
 
I sleep; my people growing tall.
Now am I just too fast to feel
The slower dance that’s only dreamed,
  but far more
 
  real?

… the end of all of this

Here is the end of all of this:
    most of us, one day,
    will lie in a room where the shadows grow,
    with memories crowded out by pain,
    knowing, only then,
    why we lit so many fires…
Just to keep these very shadows at bay.

Days we spend as interlocking cubes,
    silver and shiny, neat and trim,
    lost in the patterns of our illusions,
    pushing chaos beneath the surface;
    but look — down a hall you’ve already walked,
    there’s a bed and pillow you’re going to use…
And you’ll be joined to all the people who used it before