The angels' harps play a sacred tune,
while planets dance around the moon;
In subtle strains our spirits rise,
and leave us grateful and starry-eyed.

Recalling life as it once seemed,
this vision floated inside a dream;
In many days of endless chants,
the angels' harps cause us to dance.

When voices touch each other's hearts,
there's always a sign creating sparks;
And with that strong secure emotion,
then lives connect with pure devotion.

No longer chilled in fears of life,
all folks fly far away from strife;
The added wealth of kinship stands,
as children sing while holding hands.

Walking across the grassy fields,
while smoky skies are thus revealed;
Spirits grow solemn in the dark of night,
as sinking hearts unleash their plight.

Coming together in friendship's goal,
our voices chanting as one true soul;
We rise in prayer with wistful sighs,
to see if angels could hear our cries.

The stars align in mystic trance,
as we lift our eyes in mortal glance;
And soon the moonlit skies appear,
in sparks of love beyond our sphere.

How great the world in misty light !
the haze of evening's soulful sight;
And as we look on heaven above,
we're comforted by its infinite love.

Whenever darkened songs of life decry,
a worthless moment glaring in one's eye;
One tries to climb the ladder to success,
but leaves behind its trail to happiness.

A stairway to the heights can be explained,
as something raw and central to life's game;
Yet in the shadows lurking all around;
it tolerates deceit as honor bound.

As if all subjects stop and lay their claim,
across the lacy trellis torn and maimed;
Now captivated by the wretched horror,
betrayal lies along the endless corridors.

Upheaval is the tale no one will tell,
from negligence imposed by Satan's hell;
And following the road professed to prosper,
will only serve to sink us through the quagmire.

There's a giant lot filled with grassy roots,
and flowers dead and gone;
A lonesome tree stands withered,
with its limbs now meek not strong.

It's an eerie place around the bend,
where we used to run and play;
But now the sunlight never shines,
in this hollow world of gray.

I recall the folks who lived there,
for years ago we often came;
To climb upon the hearty tree,
looking out to far off lands.

The house was a museum piece,
a bit crumpled but still standing;
Until a blizzard tore the roof,
and it crashed upon the landing.

I never knew what happened then,
for these folks moved from the city;
And left this ancient 'house of cards',
to rot away without heartfelt pity.

And so the ghost-like yard still stands,
around the corner where we would wander;
My spirit still resides within the gates,
along with memories of days much kinder.

Out on the sea we've watched clouds gather,
slate-gray and ominous overhead;
The weather report said all would be well,
but we're shivering now with fear and dread.

The sails are whipping in the gusty winds,
tumultuous with rain like a hurricane;
And waves so high above our heads,
we struggle within to keep ourselves sane.

It's truly a nightmare for us 'amateurs',
who eagerly climbed aboard this ship;
With fools' arrogance and ***** pride,
yet now relenting--regretting this trip !

But the storm surrounding us today,
reminds us of Nature's pure audacity;
For in our souls we fervently pray,
that the storm will abate--setting us free.

That's the story of life in our world today,
a raging storm which feels out of control;
But with patience, time, and faithful thought,
perhaps--we won't be left out in the cold.

Left solitary and bereft among the sounds,
of distraught emotions from the grieving;
Sad goodbyes have been properly displayed,
with sullen and surreptitious smiles receding.

I know not where my mind has finally gone,
and if its crafty echoes breed contempt;
From heartless words expressed--so well-defined,
while emanating sympathy in fraudulent attempts.

Believing I could rescue my own thoughts,
from far-off memories that often live alone;
But still I sit and mourn my current loss,
with tears and recriminations clearly shown.

The onslaught of the gods return in haste,
or are they merely phantoms of my sorrow ?
Bequeathed a link to what the future brings,
allows my soul to sink--still waiting for tomorrow.

Bringing me back, those memories of old,
to a place of wonder and beauty;
Calling me, as if in a dream, of mythical qualities.

Yet it was indeed real, life at its fullest;
the pear tree in the side yard glistening
with yellow blooms of autumn;
And the sun's glowing rays beseeching us
to run outside and play.

Even in the rain, there was no more sacred ground;
nothing more precious than the touches and sounds
of family, friends, and Clancy--
the Irish dog adopted by our loving Italian family.

How I adored the smells of coffee and hot cocoa,
wafting through the air on Saturday;
Peppers and eggs, my father's favorite, and every cereal
one can imagine, filling the bowls with sweet milk
Arriving fresh and cold at our back door.

The clamoring of feet, singing out like heavenly choirs;
the hustle to ready ourselves for the football game,
sporting our colors of black and red,
Heartily singing our school song--

And bringing mom breakfast in bed,
a weekend treat that made her smile;
My brother's apple pancakes (don't ask !)
were carried on a tray with steaming coffee--
(it was the least we could do).

Summer...ah...opening the swimming pool,
our friends crowding 'round as it filled,
listening to the humming of the filter,
Getting ready for the next day's delight.

I could go on and on, the joy was immense,
and the years so treasured, though they moved along swiftly;
But in my mind's eye I can slow it all down,
like the beating of my heart, steady and sure--
Of how it was, and what it was, that came to be,
our family's home.