I walk beneath the shadows of dragonflies and
in fields of stunted daisies
A witness to migrating monarchs
Whose voyage is eons from being completed,
when they only have 3 weeks at most to live.

I walk in pale fields of dusty sunbeams
and loud fading moonlight
Humming crickets play accompaniment
to solo pairs of feet, making way for still creeks
and large lily pads
to find a nice place to think.

Like waves on the seashore
sadness washed over me.
Like moving shadows
despair set in.

Waiting to drag me under,
waiting to crush my soul.
It is a void of darkness
fathomless depths I could not reach.

Like wildfire in the night sky,
it could not be quenched.
Its cold icy grasp soaked me to the bone
gripping my frail heart in its clutches.

Where were you my love?
where were the winds of the wylde,
that used to sweep through my heart.

Where were you my stronghold
my safe haven from the things of the dark?

Like the cold winds of winter
you left me to die,
you cut into me like a noose
squeezing the life out of my soul.

For me without you the end was near
the light was gone
the darkness set in.


To whom then
could I lay those burdens?
To where then
could I have rested my head?

In the silence of my defeat
I laid my burdens down.
I swayed the pale flag of surrender
and I hung my head
low towards the ground.

For how could I see the light,
when all that was ahead of me
was a shroud of mist and gloom?

When all that my future foretells
is my doom,
creeping nearer and nearer.

I looked into my future
I saw tears, and I saw blood.
I saw wicked winds
Ripping into my body
tearing it apart.

Crushing my lungs
choking me of love.
Ridding me of my joy.

Then out of the shroud of my despair,
in a mirage of reality
a light appeared in the distance.


A glistening star shined for me.
Mocking the darkness
scorning the fear.

Steadily as I watched
it grew in volume.
It crept closer and closer
to my beating heart.

As it came nearer
it exploded alive with color and life.
Suddenly as I gazed into that bright beacon,
that beautiful pure light.

I saw through the realm of my eye
glimpses of beautiful things,
shining halls and glistening walls.
Golden streets,
and glorious beauty.

Fields of green
of violet.
Flowers of yellow
of blue and crimson gold.

"Is this the end"?
I cred and cried
"Is this the moment where mortality
and eternity meet"?

From the shrouds of the deepest sorrow
I had emerged.
On the wings of this glorious star,
my heart now soars.
Suddenly as I earnestly watched,
the star grew brighter and brighter.
As this took place, from somewhere
in the midst of the glory
came a voice deep, soft, and forgiving.

"Welcome my child,
welcome my friend,
Welcome home to the life
I have made for you.
Come and your troubles
shall be washed away.
Take my hand
and follow the light of this dazzling star.
The light of my heart
the light of my life.”

And the farm endured
seven fields to forty acres
the days of my father
saw grass and crops rotate
his toiling obsession now spent
gave way to a bigger scale

the old house storeyed
by one and a half
the bedroom where I slept
in the shadow of an older brother

the roof of grey slate
the peak of my world
reached my childhood sky

the overgrown garden
the consequence of labours elsewhere
the sycamore tree
my view of a world outside

I lay in fields of green as my day is almost done
My skin is radiated by warmth
And distant rays one by one
Envelope me in heat
finally touching the sun

And the farm endured
seven fields to forty acres
the days of my father
saw grass and crops rotate
his toiling obsession now spent
gave way to a bigger scale

the old house storeyed
by one and a half
the bedroom where I slept
in the shadow of an older brother

the roof of grey slate
the peak of my world
reached my childhood sky

the overgrown garden
the consequence of labours elsewhere
the sycamore tree
my view of a world outside
the patch of monkshood remained
where I trapped bees in a jar
the fuchsia bush with flowers to pick
and **** nectar from within

the old dirt track road
the start of a jouney far beyond
the realm of a farm
and the dreams of a boy

I first saw the wheat in the morning,
smelled the wind blustering forth--
Wondered that it must taste like
that very morning, in what complex way crops do.

And when the bear-locusts eat them,
what they would say
if they bled pans of gold to romance their amber,
if only then
would they be jubilant
if only on their death beds!

"Don't admire the fields," says Agricoltore.
Why?
"Because they like--they don't change."