this thing
called ‘life’
patchwork of
frailty

from robust seed
seared limp
through vagaries of
heat

seeking salience
as globe revolves
even without
us

days silken smooth
dangle sweet
stolen by capricious
winds

mattering's refused
recycling worn tapes
peanut gallery
within

judge self as abandoned
in Father’s absence
his character
slurred

deaf to lessons
as winter’s early
dusk and darkness
descends

solitary friend’s
presence
suspends in night
sky

song of bloom
pierces snow
Maker's voice is
heard

…In the Deafening Silence of the Night
a teardrop plunges on stillwater
Ripples turn into waves of emotions
deep in reflection
A clouded certainty of
blinding
deflecting
Illusions
Wading through shallow streams that
drowns me in a delusional enigma
Struggling to emerge from the tides
forged by swords and spears
And with a haze in the air I
sit and ponder where
to tread my path of beyond
To the eastern horizon I
would go
Anticipation of the sunrise in the
morning meadows of
angelic songs
Where brightly colored poetry
pens the sky of a dawn and
paints the rainbow of
bliss and serenity
Forever Sunshine of
undying aspiration
Radiating through sages and flowery vast lands
But the ebb of the flowing river streams with
the widdershin of a withering hope
A shivering truth now haunts
the very core of my soul
Seeds of yesterday will soon
come to season and
the reaping will soon rise beyond my
towering fort…