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Harold Bracy Nov 2013
Have you been able to see as I do?
To take a step, remove and separate
From past and march with sun in view
And forth to darling future loving date.
For if we see as each of us all feel,
And know that within we are all alone,
We learn that scrutiny is harm, a deal
Our blissful lives, our peace, will not condone.
The purpose to make things best and calm
Is only natural to life, the bright
Sweet jewel in that ivory hard palm,
For life is soft, but an amazing light.
As long as I follow nature's example
I find my peace and happiness ample.
Harold Bracy Nov 2013
Short spring, how do I long for you to stay!
Gone quick to yield the dead so far in year.
First bird in song, for love it sings relay,
For you I hear, I ask you soothe my ear.
Young life, your time returns, begins anew,
Impress the world, expectations exceed,
Your shivers absent, vibrancy is due,
Only you to attend my eye I plead.
I dread the leaf of falling, swaying as waves,
Careening side to side as ground caress
And cold receives the life that leaf it saves
To dry against unnatural brisk mess.
For I do know and do rejoice your turn,
It will be bringing more: worry sojourn.
Harold Bracy Nov 2013
The good of fall is that there are no pests,
But only air and bare trees to provide.
For needs my eyes are satisfied
By none but summer sun high crests.
The leaves are spinning softly, thrown,
As would the life that once was strong:
It fell from high to low and now is dirt,
The dirt which now is cold and hard and wrong.
But I assume that there, within nothing,
Is reason, purpose, for my world to change.
I'm sure that spring will come, to bang and ring,
A declaration loud with birds to range.
Until then, time will turn, to woe and woe,
But spring I look as my content is low.
Harold Bracy Nov 2013
I hope that when I die there is no dark,
But rather comfort starry night provide.
For all convictions sway when stars all mark,
All light, all sing, for world to please the tide.
Explode, react, and fade before my eyes,
To all entreat the same, to none my pain.
I fake forgiving cheer, accrue your demise,
but shine no more and only witness strain.
World away, consider my overture,
The somber plea: ignorance, asked for yours.
Allow me to enjoy what I know sure:
At fear, the brink, I'm glad it soars.
For what is worry but prepared for death?
As long as stars are there, I draw my breath.
Harold Bracy Nov 2013
Beyond a soil so old that serves a tomb,
And streams that run so sweet to flourish blue,
Next a wilderness loving like the womb,
There grows a tree, old patron solid true.
He loves his children much with winding root,
The charming birds band, number on him much.
Old witness pays his dues and reaps of fruit,
But is he always good to love and touch?
He withers like all things so good, he must.
His branches spread, so high and dry they die,
Wind brisk through his leaves fly, and so they rust,
As all the forest, all the sadness cry.
He stands, but dead, as all his children strong
Await upon his wake to look so long.
Harold Bracy Nov 2013
For past who can recall, or done undo?
To live, today, such life at summer height,
Reflects one who knows passed transgress and rue:
A sin to those, and us, themselves who slight.
As life reels on without any kind thought,
And foaming edges wide recede as life goes on,
Our people pass, the happy wind they brought,
When in reflection, days of halcyon
Beseeming only false as sad but glad,
For lives there should be none like your regret,
Our time is only wasted, chances had,
When left without success, unpaid our debt,
For if we are to nature contribute,
Ourselves and ours we must love distribute.

— The End —