In the opalescent shroud
Of this brisk autumn night
I find myself gazing sordidly
At the rippling waters of a river.

As I stare deeper and deeper
Into the dancing lights of the water
My mind spins and wonders.
Pondering my existence and worth.

Within these reflecting pools
I see myself dissected,
My being strewn across
the steady yet constant flow of time.

All the past's pains appear
As a thousand slings and arrows.
I see nothing but devastation
within these flowing waters.

Until, I'm struck with a seething revelation
that burns in my troubled mind.
That the waters of time will always flow forward
And it's direction will never change.

We are all just debris within these waters
Flowing toward a distant horizon never to be seen again
Never to be remembered.

He colors the room
with his painted garb
and painted white face.
Making the kids laugh

A piercing laughter
after every joke.
As he hops and skips.
As the kids chuckle .

With every gag and
every joke they lash
out in high pitch squeals.
As the clown dances and bounces.

But nobody sees the frown
under the painted  smile.
Nobody sees the pain.
Under the colored garb.

On a night like this
I find myself gazing
upon the serene glow
of the midnight moon.

The sterling light paints
the fields and casts shadows;
creating a scene of
surreal silver night.

How the moon dances
in the ebon twilight!
Dancing to nightingale songs,
dancing gracefully.

The shines tonight.
Set aglow by the moon
and all her luster and grace.
Making me feel whole.

And as she departs;
falling to the coming dawn.
My heart tears as I yearn
for that sterling light

Even as the sun
sets the morning dew ablaze
with golden rays so bright.
I watch her leave.

As she descends
from the heavenly canvas
her cleansing light, her touch
leaves the painted fields.

I will remember
that evanescent hue;
the last breaths of the fainting moon
as it leaves the sky.

But it isn't the light
I cherish now.
It is the memory
of that piece of eden.

The piece that shaped me,
that piece that made me whole.

This giant silhouette
blocks the rays of the sun.
Two burning eyes pierce through
the frightening black shroud.

With every labored step.
Darkness descends upon
the serene, lush valleys
masking the solace of the sun.

How I yearn for the light.
The warm touch of the sun.
Being trapped under the shroud,
the shadow of this titan.

I fear the beast's fury.
To be crushed under it's heel.
Ensnared in the abyssal black.
of its infernal shade.

The light coats the rolling hills.
Leaving dense shades in their valleys.
As the soft wind brushes the jade grass
and leaves its print in the land.

The sights, the smells, the senses,
You can almost feel them all.
The warm summer air on your cheeks.
The sweet scent of roses.

But after the first frost
only the memories remain.
Sleeping only to return
Laying dormant in the cold

But the warmth stays in your heart
You yearn for it, you dream of it to return.
But nobody should dream of soft summer winds
While the frost still coats the vales and hills.

They just out from the horizon.
Two black fingers split the setting sun
These two ancient towers casting
their crooked shadows in the plains

They shutter in the temperate winds
standing like broken old men.
Their weathered frame brittle
as they stand skewed in the distance

All their ornaments, all their garnish, gone
stripped by the belting wear of the passing days.
The smooth white surface stained
now withered, broken, and concave.

They solemnly wait in the plains.
A memory of something once profound
now forgotten, a sad relic
left to the plains and the setting sun.