In faith perceived a chance to mourn,
and learn to live without the scorn;
Of hatred's voices through the years,
which claims the soul with wrenching tears.

With peacefulness to rule our days,
meandering together through the maze;
Of tortured anguish which presents,
a force we need to guard against.

The seasons bear the fruits of love,
from Heaven's Host who lives above;
In missives sent so loud and clear,
as gentle angels calm our fears.

With stillness of the whitest light,
no longer torn apart by night;
Those ghastly hours melt like ice,
in whispering winds relieving strife.

And so the echoed hearts arise,
to chant their wills thus to survive;
Despite the sadness of the past,
we hear the prayers arrive at last.

The ephemeral voice of solstice fades,
in solemn hushes from the sky;
While August melts its perfumed air,
and yellowed leaves go floating by.

Summer dreams define our will,
to follow our hearts' desires;
And when each day is briefer still,
we cling to sunlight's fire.

Looking ahead toward Autumn's face,
with wistful sighs of loss;
We spend our evenings under the stars,
feeling an early touch of frost.

And while the ocean dares to play,
its siren's song of love;
The blackest night can never fade,
when mists caress the doves.

Only the poets feel the pain,
of climbing up the mountains;
Where thoughts and visions are pursued,
and run down the hills like fountains.

Yet often running far too fast,
and under a mystical spell;
At first it seems like heaven's arrived,
then we're burning as if in hell.

Opening our eyes to what's around,
the solemnity and beauty engaged;
Just as the theatrical moment begins,
to set the long sought-for stage.

The words sublime yet subtle too,
in notions of earthly pleasures;
But still the poet seeks the heart,
to burst out loud with treasures.

Alone inside this cavernous room,
with torrential rain falling outside;
I watched as seagulls flew away,
racing onward to the raging tides.

Climbing up to reach a poetry book,
in this library that became my home;
My fascination grew stronger still,
as I pulled down a massive tome.

Shakespeare and Tennyson filled my mind,
with words and phrases of delight;
I read aloud till my voice gave out,
and sputtered along into the night.

When a single light glowed from the sky,
I called out to the heavens with tears;
As keen memories of the lessons past,
ignited a yearning from childhood years.

I stood and watched the sullen moon,
then spoke aloud my own soliloquy;
Enlightened once more by literature,
which calms the soul and sets us free.

My mirrored reflection begins the story,
that hearkens back to ancient glory;
In the ageless wonder of fantasy,
my face seems smooth with smiles carefree.

If under the sun I call my name,
the wisps of clouds fly away in shame;
Forever the brightest star I'll be,
like the leaf of an autumnal tree.

Slipping back to current reality,
my rugged skin seems foreign to me;
I never thought of growing older,
I only believed in becoming bolder.

So where in the world did my life go ?
is it hiding under the hills of snow ?
Or perhaps a vibrant dance to the sea,
where everything seems wild and free ?

I guess it's such as others proclaim,
the solitary voice which speaks our name;
Is the one which only the Lord God knows,
in a gift of love from so long ago.

There's another time before this time,
frequently lost in space;
A kaleidoscope of fears and doubts,
desperately longing to escape.

But in that world of inexplicable time,
worry dominates thought;
The needless, mindless misery,
from a heart that can't be bought.

Wherein lies the answer still,
for moments tossed aside ?
As torment and grief curve into waves,
roaming aimlessly through the tides.

We may never know from where it comes,
the substantive relief;
But perhaps one day the ebb and flow,
will rescue our beliefs !

Nearer to the wall I carry this torch of fire,
from beastly growths of toppled weeds to open meadows;
Its flame creates a lightning rod of strength,
and from the earth time rages onward as it glows.

When will we discover the sweet seasons overhead ?
the message speaks more of ferocity than sorrow;
As walls close in and try to crush the ancient flow,
our fleeting thoughts will encounter new tomorrows.

With profound faith and mercy heaven sends,
a prophet with another torch to lead;
And somehow in the darkness I relent,
to wander off and find the open sea.

While beckoning the rivers to follow me,
wraith-like figures float among the willing winds;
How solemn are the starless nights ahead,
filling clouds with sights and sounds of angels' wings.