I'm afraid to kiss you
to lock our lips
and taste you.
I'm afraid that I will love you
and then you will leave
like most men do.
I'm afraid it won't be enough
to make you stay
and that desire you've always had
will finally go away.
I'm afraid of the damage
you will do to me
before I finally
let you go.

In this life
you will meet those
who hold on to your pain
like it’s gold.
They will
treasure your failures
and silently smile
when you fall to the ground.
It is their nature
to be so heartless and cold
because they don’t see
the love
they hold in their own soul.
The suffering
they see in others
gives them the illusion
of an enlightened mind.
When really
all they have
is a heavy soul
weighed down
from an egotistical point of view.
These are the souls
that will flap their wings
forever
without ever
lifting off the ground.
Then
there are the old souls.
The ones
that give their all
to living a life
that’s pure as gold.
They come from
the roughest cut of stone
carrying the heaviest baggage
under brittle broken bones.
Yet still
they smile
as they pass by
the young souls
desperately flapping
to get off the ground
unaware
of what the old souls discovered long ago
they must
sacrifice their wings
and be willing
to take the stairs
with all their baggage
with eyes full of tears
because that’s the only way
they will ever
get out of here.

The dark oaks’ gentle rhythm
caresses the faltering twilight
and a dim sadness creeps
into the receding day -
a pendulous cloud upon me lay.

In the hotel room
a hazy hint of doom
my limbs are weary
my mind made bleary
by the thickness of the day.

Mind you, this is but one moment in a journey,
but the glories of last week are swiftly fading
the darkness, a stealthy force invading.
I even wonder if death
might actually relieve
or even lift this aging me.

In my early sleep
images gently pass before me.

The greenness of Oregon,
its forests of fir sublime snow-capped mountains to climb beaches and surf
flung from the Pacific’s
awesome depths. Images and memories
of this emerald State,
and its coastal cottages
breach my fatigue and float me
into comfort and the peace
of deep blessed sleep.

I awaken from these restful wanderings
wondering about the passages of this journey.

Yes, we traveled the outside:
through babbling bubbling Portland
up and down Eugene’s hills
Salem’s capitol, shops, bars and grills
we drank craft beers, ate fish and chips,
spoke of the coming solar eclipse
storied ourselves to the sea
saw gulls and kids play in sandy glee.
All of these you could see, snap and post.
But the hidden passages strike me most.

As this journey ends
I reflect, I feel, I soar
through the opened doors
and windows - I see inside
what we’ve tried to deflect or hide.

Behind my tears she saw the pain and gain
heard my weakness when I’m drained
saw the joy in my little boy
finding gifts and a big man’s toy.

I watched her speaking with her hands
walking gently as if to caress the sands
not sparing self-critical comparing
telling stories of movies and hikes
and trips across America on bikes
I saw her in her sparkle-eyed girl
heard a woman who been IN
but not OF the world.

Maybe leaving this body behind
is not so horrible and baleful
not so very unimaginable
as when I was young
for now there are fewer songs unsung.

As I began this ballad
I was down and pallid.
And it’s true - the surprises of my life
are no longer popping or rife
with excitement and the new
of audition, graduation and debut.
Instead, now I’m alive and wild
with journeys of faith and love
hearts made of gold
and serene searches of soul.

“Oregon Passages,” Copyright © 2017 by Glenn Currier

and in a single look
   with no words spoken
     more was said
         than in an eternity of conversation
            and whispered proclamations

I can only ever
appear unbroken
in front of
other people’s eyes.

Inside, all I see
is a tangled line
of confusion,
in a pile of
never ending depression.