Morning Wakes Upon the Hill

The morning wakes upon the hill,
The moon awaits me in the glen;
I set out with a frozen will
To talk to you again.

The world is just a funeral fire,
A ceremony of remorse;
And still I’m climbing, ever higher,
Set upon this course —

I asked you for forgiveness once;
You set about it with good grace –
But you’ve been gone, and now your ghost
Moves softly through this place

Of missing leaves, and morning mist.
Mid echoes of intention,
I take the path that upward lies
Defying such convention

As would dictate a different course.
I knew you back when love was life;
And life was not enframed by death
And peace was not entombed in strife.

We can’t recapture innocence —
For once it’s gone, it’s gone for good,
And all our striving, in a sense,
Is just so much misunderstood

By others; and by (often) us.
How can it be the trees still know?
They lose their splendor; still, they stand.
And every single path will show

The wisdom of the rocks and trees,
The solemn beauty in the soil;
Where love is not some rash disease,
But more like liberty in toil –

To live, to grow: these are our days –
To strive to know as many ways
To scale the hills as we can find:
And integrate the body-mind

Into the whole ’twas meant to be.
Whether on mountainside or fen —
As morning wakes upon the hill,
And moon awaits us in
The glen

Cascading Thoughts

To love our lives
Is what we want
And need

But satisfaction’s

For empty yearning’s
Built into
The soul

A circumstance
Beyond our poor

The colors melt
And pour into
A stream

There is an awesome
In the glen

Though life seems
More a battle
Than a dream

It has its moments
Every now
And then.

And you:
What are you yearning for

Is it that thing
You just can never

Or is it something mild,
A place
Of peace,

Or maybe just
Some whimsy, some

Believe in who you are,
And what
You want.

And you can tell me,
I’m your

Well me, and all the others
This —

So maybe twenty people
Know your

To love our lives:
It’s what our hearts

We’re three parts reason,
Seven parts

Who’s minds are travelers,
In worlds
Of words

Who trudge like turtles,
Though we’d be

Like birds

to feel the dark again

i want to feel the dark again
to feel the dark
to know the dark
i want to feel the dark again
and let it stain my soul

but not with evil’s angry touch
to be no pain
to know no pain
but not with evil’s angry touch
amid the darkened hole

i want to sense what isn’t there
not with my eyes
my lying eyes
i want to sense what isn’t there
and into dreams embark

i want to be what i should be
but never was
and never am
i want to be what i should be
a creature of
the dark