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David W Sep 2017
Preface:
This one is raw and unedited. It's about the forest in the Columbia River Gorge, here in Oregon, USA, that has been all but burned away in the last three days. I simply needed to get it down before I lost the light. That said, I would love any corrections or critiques you might have, as it needs a lot of work.

I walked these halls in happier days,
With climbing emerald walls,
This home of mine with laughter filled,
And chattering down, the falls.
These rooms were filled with golden light,
Floors carpeted in green,
That caught the twisting shadows cast,
From Ancient swaying beams.
Our stony seats with careless cast,
Arranged by smiling brookes,
And the ceiling somewhere whispers —
Pages in ancient books.
This home of mine had stories, once,
Written in wood and stone,
A joyful secret always kept,
For family alone.
I’ll walk these halls again, some day,
Though my bones will then be old,
My memories of happier days,
I’ll have written down and sold.
This home of mine will laugh again,
And chatter in the falls.
The golden light on mossy floors,
And younger, greener walls.
But this home of mine is hollow, now,
Her mossy crown laid down.
These walls are dark and ashen now,
That once were tall and proud.
My children will not dance upon
Those golden, mossy floors.
These rivers in their endless run,
Now weep, and laugh no more.
Those stories now are burned away,
That I once used to know,
Those secrets now are stolen from
The ceiling laid so low.
I wonder why with foolish hands,
They’ve burned this house of mine.
With gleeful shouts they sent it off,
To bleed, and burn, and die.
What amusement could be worth the cost,
Of this home of mine?
I hope it was worth the laugher,
That killed this home of mine.
I’ll walk these halls again someday,
I hope in happier times.
For oh to rest my weary bones,
In this old home of mine.
David W Jul 2016
The Defeat*

And so I wander,
Into fading trees,
As if to seek out shelter,
In gold shifting beams
My prayer for peace and solace,
Rises to the leaves,
And into fading trees I go,
To seek among the beams.

Why wander into fading trees,
Perhaps
To seek comfort where
No man’s angry foot has set
Or find some shelter, for,
No evil trespassed there.
Perhaps to fading trees I go,
To sleep beneath the beams.

Why into fading trees to flee,
At once,
To beneath shifting shadows find,
Or deep inside,
A place where broken things may hide,
Or high above.
So into fading trees I go,
Perhaps to learn to fly.

These fading trees their hair let down,
Their ancient heads they bow.
Amongst the fading trees I’ve found,
There is no comfort now.
Their gentle arms are withered up,
Their brilliant light died out,
Amongst the fading trees I’ve found,
All life has faded out.

So into fading trees I leave,
My love,
My prayer for peace and silence,
Their leaves will never hear,
I go to sleep, to die,
to live and let it be,
My fading trees have faded out,
That once had carried me.
A tribute to the oldest of friends.
David W Jul 2016
It was the quiet set of sun,
That breaking darkness through the light,
That set upon his eyes in dying sight,
The contentment that tomorrow we
Should finally get it right
Living in the present is an odd combination of fond memories, remorse, hope, and folly. Finally getting back into writing, which is the best way I know to stay in the present. It is only when writing that time travel becomes appropriate or helpful.

Make tomorrow worth the wait, and live today.
David W Jun 2016
10w
V: Walls; A Confession**
—                      

Sometimes broken things,
To heal,                
Must let their walls down
Reflections on myself, and thoughts on looking forward.
David W Jun 2016
As we waited for God to speak,
Our old world cried itself to sleep,
And in the night I heard him creep,
Up to the lonely heights to weep.

With gentle rhythm he climbed the stair,
With treetop temple waiting there,
Where howling winds that bite and tear,
Laid all our silent spirits bare.

And while we waited, God did sleep,
As quiet still within the deep,
Did secret words with jealous creak,
Our desperate wanderings greet.

So he upon the door did knock,
Through quiet dreams and wailing rot,
To find that angels treaded not,
On earth where only devils walk.

And so the weary world cried on,
To quiet devil, jealous god,
With eyes gone blind from searching long,
For promised never coming dawn.
David W Apr 2016
We used to write poetry.
Well love I’ve run out of words to write.
I’s uncrossed and T’s un-dotted,
Half written lines all tangled up,
In fleeting memories
That do us little good these days.

Remember rainy days?
Faltering steps on wooden floors,
Flicker, creaking boards, and fires.
Hot tea and dreams of sunny fields,
Pens and paper to keep
a ledger of our schemes.
All was dim lit and cold, and beautiful,
The way it used to be.

Remember half scribbled lines?
Jotted thoughts in dusty books,
Well friend,
To tell the truth I never kept a meter,
My words fell odd and flat.
As the rain tapped out the rhythm,
My heartbeats tried to syncopate,
To the music your voice had made.

And the offbeat breaths that wove between,
All filled and left me empty,
There was little I could say;
I’d no ***** to give about rhyme schemes,
I wonder maybe sometimes,
Did you leave because the rhyming stopped?
Or because the breaths fell out of place?
Or was it just the cold stares?

You write your own poetry now,
I can hear it from my window.
It rings so true and beautiful,
I hope you know it calms me still.
But I don’t write anything close,
Because the tripping steps have left.
My heart just falls in place, my dear,
And the rhymes are faint and weary.

I have no more lines to write, my dear,
Without your voice to move me.
I haven't written anything decent in a while. It's a busy time in life. But here's one from a while back that I did for a friend. It's rough and clunky, but it's something at least.
David W Nov 2015
I fear these fleeting bones,
This fragile flesh can scarce contain.
I see the weight of lipstick stains,
Oh how they anchor me to you.
But dear if this is love,
I want no part in evil things.
For the violence of affection
Casts my soul like a rising wave.

So I draw in crimson bracelets,
And circle wrists around,
And write my love in red between the tiles.
The mooring ropes cast off
And as your raging storm shall fade
I set sail upon some fairer seas.
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