Tag Archives: nature

On the Other Side of the Trees

Just settling in
quiet calm of the horizon.
Now it’s dark.

Eyes closing never to open again.
Now it’s dark.

Along the edge of the river she stands staring at a point far away across the water. Despite the stillness there is much movement between them; the water carries on, the soul stirs. The wind wanders amidst the turmoil and stalls against the rocks. Beneath the current a big fish is terrified of being caught, but it inside it wants to die.

That in itself is okay we are told
this life is a strange and brutal beast
raging against the thought of growing old
yet wanting some control of its end.

In the trees she sees
movement amongst the shadows
drawing her in.

Her thoughts may travel beyond the threshold
enveloped in that void to the east
that strange space she had failed to comprehend
where light descends and becomes deceased

Now it’s dark.

Return to the Earth

The throm of the bell’s toll calls all souls home
an iron melody to draw us out
lay low the day that brought us to such doubts

When we’ve reached bitter end of this tome
and the waters of life have met with drought
the throm of the bell’s toll calls all souls home
an iron melody to draw us out

No matter how many miles we may roam
or to what causes we may feel devout
there is always the same end to our route
The throm of the bell’s toll calls all souls home
an iron melody to draw us out
lay low the day that brought us to such doubts.

A Fly

Wind blows gently across the plane,
It’s soft hands sifting through the grain;
A golden ocean crashing endlessly,
Relentlessly splashing,

Colliding with the setting sun,
Deep purples on the horizon,
Lulling the world to sleep with hues of blue,
And sweeping clouds askew.

A depression hides in the field.
A secret quietly concealed,
Some wandering soul now lost to the earth;
A cost assigned at birth,

A body of anxiety,
Now bereft of society,
Become a bloated, bountiful buffet
All decayed and fetid.

Yet the wind still finds its beauty;
Perhaps a false sense of duty,
It circulates the smell through the valley,
Life rallied with a knell.

A perfect place for young flies,
One decides as it lands on an eye,
And then skitters about to find its place,
On the face to be mined.

It rises and lands on the cheek,
A landscape both supple and weak,
But then the cadaver struck the fly dead
And said none would have her.

Then settled her hand to her side,
Contemplated the world outside,
And enjoyed her death as best as she could.
The good life, she thought in jest.