some beauty made the moon

some beauty made the sea

that same beauty made you

but it didn't make me

The season is changing
And so am I;
The soft touch of Spring
Has left the sky
And the harsh light of Summer
Streams in reply
While the clouds drift away
With an audible sigh.
The vines are a'creeping
Up and around
While green grass is growing
To cover the ground,
And the leaves are so breathy-
just whispering sound,
As the wind floats on through them,
Casting shadows around
Over hill, cross the field,
I can hear the call
Of the cold giving way
As the plants grow tall
And as I age too
I look and feel small
Like a walkway of mem'ries
Photos on the wall,
Telling my story
Wending it's way round
I feel rooted,
Attached to the ground.
What was is not what is,
And life is no game;
Life goes on,
But am I the same?
Or just like the seasons,
Do I flex and I flux?
Will I answer my questions,
Or do I question too much?
Existing outside of this existentialist ruse,
I sit and I ponder,
I think and I muse.
The wind answers nothing,
Nature's secrets to keep,
As I sit and I struggle
With a feeling lodged deep
Of confusion and progress
And confliction eternal
Between Summer and winter
Autumnal and vernal.
The flowers that bloom
Near my feet seem to nod,
No heaven to answer to,
No devil, no God;
No one to tell them
What they must be,
No decision to make,
Thus, blissfully free.
Bobbing and swaying
They bend in the breeze
A humble display of might
Born through ease,
A pillar of strength
Upon bended knees.
So too shall I be
For my confusion is gone;
I shall bend with my troubles
yet be as strong
As the mountain I climb,
As the rock I sit on.
I shall fly in the sky,
Yet remember to land;
I will open my mind
And keep my plans.
I am not just one person
My whole life through,
I will be many more
So:
I'm Me!
Nice to meet you!

When you're young,
You may write to
Your latest infatuation.
Or, maybe out of
Teenage angst, you'll
Write to yourself -
Catharsis for your built up
Anger and frustration.

When you're a little older,
You might write about your
Wedding day,
The vows to your bride.
Or maybe when you bring
Children into this world,
You'll write about
The fear that comes
From becoming a father.

In your thirties
Disappointment may come,
And you may find
Yourself writing to
The man you were 10 years ago -
Wishing you had taken the
Other path in that yellow-leafed forest.

When you hit your midlife crisis
You might write about the things
You have or have not done...
Or maybe you'll write about
Your newly found passion:
Harley Davidson Motorcycles,
The rumble between your toes.

Retirement brings the turn of the line
As "every season has its sign".

In your older age,
You may cease to write
For the muse of your youth.
More and more,
Your poems will end
With the words,
"In memory of..."

Each one reminding you
To be thankful
For the sock that helped you
Find the book that was loaned
To you months ago,

And you will notice things like
Those naked-spring-branches
So harmoniously intertwined -  
A piece of art that
No painter would be able to emulate
With a thousand brushstrokes.

And as you sit down to reflect
On the typed documents
Of your life's work,
You have a friendly conversation
With a long-distance friend,
Reflecting on it all.

You say you still want to talk
I think it's better if we don't
Don't worry, I'm fine
My heart is just a bit broke

I've never needed her more.
I've never wanted to open the door.
Letting people in.
Letting the voices win.
I'm weak right now.
Weaker than I've been before.
I need you.

They say when you feel
A certain way about someone
A song always seems to come along
And reflect your emotional state.
For you, that was a silly love song
By Sir Paul Mccartney.

My feelings for you
It's not quite big, not quite small
It's not quite short, not quite tall
It's just there
And to be fair
The world is a little better
A little more beautiful
A little more amazing
With silly love songs.