O, fearsome cherub,
your whirling wheels
fly forward, crawling,
with eyes forever looking back!
Every great work
is petition to thee
but the undulation of your wings
laid low in streaming desert
’twas but a trifle.
And even should a
Homer, Virgil, or Grecian Urn
canvas all you’ve seen
and that which lies between,
still would you decree,
“All is vanity.”
So wisdom bids one pause
to smell the roses
while they may.
doing everything imaginable
all at once: I can
slay a dragon,
explore new worlds,
Reality, what have ye
to offer? … April?
Ha! Every month is cruel! —
and the sensationless embrace
of an undead community
seems far warmer
than the indifference
of the living throng.
dimly I perceive
myself an emperor
with no clothes —
that beneath the
shiny, splendored surface
of my favored realm
lies a vast barrenness,
For I’m immersed in
pseudo-satisfied with same,
as I live this electronic life —
one non-descript unit of time
into the next.
Now my heart is being overrun:
flesh that once sought similar
is slowly assimilated:
replaced by fibre-optic cables
tentacling squidlike, seeking some
digital port to call home,
yet ultimately left …
This sun-kissed day of cheer,
the songbirds fill the air
with melodies of you.
Life is sweet, because you’re near,
and seems without a care.
I reached out my hand
to grasp the sun,
and in the height of my hubris
for infinite creation —
Supreme art — the canvas of God,
where I will find my home.
I thought life was a race
that I needed to win —
and so I ran to be first.
broke the tape.
Then I gathered my breath,
and looked back to the crowd;
but the view from the front
was not as I had envisioned it would be.
For what I saw
was only the hollowed-out husks
of friendships I had lost or never known,
in the wake of my battlefield.
Now none remain
to celebrate my victory —
and I can run no more.
without saying anything at all,
as though they’d seen it all,
yet still accept
because they know
that nothing lasts forever,
I couldn’t remember a time when you were not there.
For every childhood joy, you were there.
If I scraped a knee, or shed a tear, you were there.
Time moved forward, yet you stood still
and watched, while I grew.
Your familiar loft had welcomed me when once I snuck in
to steal my first kiss —
a secret you never betrayed.
I’ll always remember how wondrously foreign everything felt in that moment!
Nestled on the crest of an impossibly verdant hill,
it seemed as if the land itself had birthed you,
so perfectly were you situated.
Your unassuming white doors were a backdrop
for every spring’s breathtaking palette of colors;
and your ruddy red walls were like a warm beacon
which could be seen from miles distant defying winter’s gloom.
The passing years took me away;
yet nostalgia urged a return —
and so pleasant memories of simpler days
frolicked in my mind as I ambled once more
through your forested enclosure.
I never dreamed that when I emerged
you would not be there.
But too long had I been gone, for you did not greet me.
What I saw in your place, most called progress —
though I will always know better —
and so I resolved to build you anew with my pen.
Connection is a mysterious thing
which people can share — it makes us sing!
It’s like the grape to the parent vine,
yet more complex and hard to define.
As if a web that a spider’s spun,
it weaves two minds until they are one;
the simplest of gifts any might give —
since if alone, for what would we live?
Yet what composes such ethereal glue?
Just the words which we say, and the things that we do.
So peer real close — straight down to its heart —
now surely you’ll see that love’s the main part.
Ah, caring and sharing, what joy to be
mingling forever in such company!
Yes, friend — you and I, I and you —
I know nothing else more true.
Life is relationship.
The union of love yielded you, precious daughter.
And the memory of that moment
when your eyes first opened fresh,
and stayed upon my own,
will forever breathe perfumed air into my soul.
Two tiny windows revealed a tranquil sea
of joy and innocent mirth,
the brightness of which no camera could capture —
and an understanding passed between us
such as I had never known —
I saw eternity in that instant.
That gift, once delivered, perhaps your purpose fulfilled;
for then you departed and would not return.
The years have passed, yet the thought remains —
who would you have become
if only you had more time?