Mysteries surround me everywhere,
those incomprehensible puzzles;
Which take me to the oddest places,
in my mind, I'm quite befuddled !

Throughout my youth I was lonely,
hiding away in the attic with books;
And music that would assuage misery,
every evening I crawled through nooks.

I recall how mesmerized I could be,
by the power of the written word;
I sought to write about my torment,
but was afraid I wouldn't be heard.

With the wafting of each musical strain,
it was easy to imagine and pretend;
I'd hum along with pristine tunes,
sending my heart into such a spin !

I'm still that shy person who wanders about,
with visions swirling through my head;
Yet somehow despite my complex existence,
within me, there's no fear nor dread.

Befuddled as I may always be,
the language of love and life will endure;
I'll see a sign posted on the road one day,
beckoning me toward an open door !

Welcome it, everyone, with open hearts,
from feathery wings of angels;
Its clarity washes away each tear,
and blankets us from all angles.

The evergreens swathed in oyster white,
exquisitely aligned with holly berries;
Which light up the yard in rosy glow,
and comfort us from our worries.

No longer alone the cardinals fly,
and meet their mates high above;
Cheerfully sitting upon the branches,
nestling together with wintry love.

Gracefully floating through the air,
like delicate lace from times long ago;
While we watch this glorious solstice scene,
enchanted by the sight of first snow !

A backwards glance into infinity,
where remnants of memory fill the pages;
Of nightly whistling from trains at the station,
worn and tired yet oddly engaging.

Time seems to move on so slowly,
rearranged but distinct and intense;
We turn over in our bedtime ritual,
as each witching hour eerily descends.

Long ago we could hear in a whisper,
that fearless wraiths send us nightly stories;
And dawn brings us sleepless sunshine,
casting its beams searching for eternity.

Somewhere in the night we closed our eyes,
while spirits provoked by myths and legends;
Were sainted souls projecting cosmic signs,
which swirled 'round about toward the heavens.

Ethereal notions then crossed into darkness,
where nothing can be easily explained;
But in the night our whispers still linger,
along with the screeching of infinity's trains.

The maple trees turning to amber and bronze,
cool, brisk winds running through my hair;
Skies of blue changing to purple and gold,
as Autumn brings us her loving care.

Summer is gone now--we can't go back,
to the lazy sounds and warmth of the sea;
Standing near the beach on the eve of Fall,
ocean waves start to crash with ferocity.

Children skip off to school in sweaters,
and can soon see their breath in the air;
Pumpkins grow round and full in the garden,
ripe and ready for this year's County Fair.

Cornstalks emerge, tall and graceful are they,
the new harvest is about to begin;
With its honeyed apples, pears, and walnuts,
filling straw baskets to carry within.

There's never a time when Autumn fails,
its storms bring refreshing rains;
And the moon is golden and frosty at night,
after a crimson sunset of fiery flames.

This transition time between seasons,
is something we can all taste and touch;
It brings with it great hopes for tomorrow,
which we'll welcome and cherish so much.

With life's confusion and delusions,
and every day another quandary;
I feel as if I'm flying upward,
to escape all the pain and worry.

It takes a moment to realize,
how truly lovely the world can be;
Within the sky's reflection now,
wonderment is all I can see.

So why would I leave this place,
in order to melt into sadness ?
Why should I return to my home,
when upon me falls such gladness ?

Home is where the heart is,
as the saying surely goes;
But now that I'm up in the clouds,
my happiness is all that shows.

It comes in spurts, the words and the visions,
sometimes jumbled, and other times clear;
Fascinating stories to flesh out on paper,
images that haunt us from far and near.

Pick up that pencil and sketch the soul,
in phrases both mellifluous and mellow;
Continuing to erase, over and over again,
until the piece uncovers its intimate flow.

Resting, then wondering if thoughts relent,
pausing, then swirling inside your mind;
While taking a chance that others will get,
the message you've molded and left behind.

A fabulous thing to entertain our gifts,
regardless of what the outcome may be;
The torture of creativity can rule your heart,
yet the process leaves you open and free.

When children ask adults questions,
our answers seem to descend;
Into a melting *** of confusion,
secretly hiding all truths and trends.

We want to set things straight for them,
through our wonders and visions of light;
But often our words spawn more questions,
while wrestling with demons in the night.

There are many complex issues in life,
enough so, that we'd rather forget;
How the universe is changing quickly,
and we cannot handle our own regrets.

It's simple just to close the door,
and fill our lives with faint illusions;
Yet somehow the sun comes up each day,
reflecting more than our delusions.

Children deserve our forthright honesty,
despite the apparent horrors and dread;
And we'll find a way to cushion the fall,
sewing their thoughts with golden threads.