And so what if I walk this cold, dirt highway,
And what if I remark, on how the moon falls,
In the bosom of the hills,
Winking to the night, shadowing sun’s melodic calls,
And a cool night’s wind pushes long unkempt grass back in waves,
Dew flowing with the breeze, eddying and flowing, in perfect still,
Save the whispering of the wind,
So the rolling hills meet the sky, through some higher artist’s will,
And so what if I say that that point, is all that really matters in the world,
If, where the two realities meet, floods forth heavens unfurled,
And as my feet might brush along the dusty floor,
In haggard steps of lead,
I might come upon some resting place,
And remark on the beauty I'll no doubt soon forget,
Soft spoken jest, s'all it really is,
Radiating, shifting sands,
Flames lick the soul, and stir the mind,
And time flows free, from hand to hand,
And with each grain that cascades, rises from the depths, a roaring squall,
To quench these metaphors, and soak faded canvas sheer,
Made impure by strokes from the artist’s hand,
To cup one’s fingers in the river of hue, and sip the nectars of fear,
And gaze at colours fusing, in open reflection of compassion’s chime,
Set ablaze in the wake of sun, ripping sky and time,
In all o' the colours, of the days and the night,
It hangs, enamouring, stills idle hand’s wrath,
Unconstrained, flow to the tools,
And we'll embark on creation’s path;
As the breath of the world,
I wish I could say something, deeper than these words let on,
To fill every crevasse, completing the soul,
Profound in a manner, surpassing the bounds of the song,
Sympathetically whispering sweet nothings in your ear,
Yielding child of desire, fleeting bliss of silver haze,
That descends from stained glass waterfalls,
And envelopes the mind’s eye’s gaze,
To dream again, exhale one’s soul, and forge tapestry imbued,
To shape the scene, a wondrous trance, and then believe it true,
Seamless spheres of auburn bliss,
Gracefully, eye for eye, though never seen,
What could I do but dive,
Fool I was, to feign serene,
Seeping into consciousness,
Emotions coursing together, in some abstract dance,
Far cry from the thought themselves, epitomized,
In a moment’s grasp of purity, drawn in a sneaking glance,
And then a sort of hush, descends upon the scene,
Faces off the wall, stilled in silent awe,
Against sheer beauty beyond words,
Frozen in the foreground, of the wraithlike winter’s thaw,
Blue-white frost caressing crimson edges, forming the perfect contrast,
That perpetuates into eternity, and holds its brilliance to the last,
And it's here I can lay myself down,
Let tender rainfall catch in my hand, thrown absently askew,
And speak softly the words that feel so right,
... I love you.
This message has been edited by WondersmithWest from IP address 68.144.28.13 on Nov 7, 2004 11:31 AM
Normally I write as I write, which is probably portrayed in the medocre quality of some of my stuff but usually it is a direct result of thought processes.
Sometimes though I do have to put 'work' into a poem - and no way would I have the courage to do what you have done ........... even if I could find that courage, then I would fear that the 'magic' would fade.
In your case Daniel, you have done brilliantly and, I might add, it was a pleasure to observe your thought processes .......... and the end result is superb.
