A Poem for the wind
When the veil of darkness finally descends,
and that light within us diminishes,
perfect peace and contentment shall stand for eternity then,
when our days on earth are finally finished.
When I stand on a tall mountain side,
gazing far outward across yon valley,
inside the mists of heaven I wish to abide,
not in this horrible metropolis alley.
I stand upon this outward extending stone gazing directly down
upon a small river string mite near half a mile below;
I contemplate where in a single leap an incessant cheerfulness might be found,
only a Utopian endless slumber I would know.
A world so repressive where I simply don’t fit in,
ne’er a place I might somehow call my own;
now I can cast it all into the wind,
gliding where the greatest eagles have flown.
Why remain, drifting along?
Nobody really cares.
Why lie to myself and pretend to be strong,
since when I am gone few would even be aware?
Often tines I stand in silence upon some golden sanded shore,
gazing far out into the surging seas,
longing deep down inside I could make a higher life score,
living day to day in relative ease.
Once I had dreams,
but life security ne’er came to pass.
No matter how hard I try it always seems,
my success to the side has been cast.
When the sun eases downward across yon round,
among the blue swells I could strike out on my way;
with coat pockets filled by rocks holding me down,
so that somewhere on the sea bottom my withered form might lay.
Then my soul might dwell in perfect ease aground,
as a radiant glow of eternal light leads me forward in a magical way.
Floating, ne’er stumbling, moving along, ever so gently,
as does a king’s diadem carried in a saint’s parade.
No more pain, void of all crying, no sickness, nor more death, nor luxury diminishing,
when that wonderful escorting angel in my dreams has her final say.
Dwelling in an eternal mist, exalting in a splendid ingenuity, where one’s obsession may send
where passion and creativity, nor dignity, nor grace
knows no end,
when I finally enter into that marvelous valley of magnificent perpetuity.
Magic Flower On Fireside Mountain
There’s a pretty purple Hydrania by the window,
with fluttering petals appearing so new,
makes me feel so mellow
when my remaining hours are few.
She dances merrily when the wind blows
as if angels dwell in her midst;
when the sweet birds sing those divine melodies only God knows,
offering pleasure souls can’t resist.
She dances more graceful than a court yard ballerina,
moving smoothly as a dangerous viper,
while the grass beneath her was at its greenest,
as if blustery wind and golden sunlight were spring time’s magic piper.
All the bunnies come from near and far
to simply bask in her cool shade,
without food stores, roof top, nor kitchen bar,
all are cheerful in this mountain glade.
Her superficial sight is most luxuriant,
behold, her form is perfect!
Her portrait I am painting is magnificent,
not even heaven’s seraph would object.
The valley spirits all surround thee,
oh ye splendid flower in the oaken wood;
Would you be as wonderful without me?
Could e’er I do you any good?
I am so honored only to stir the leaves at your feet,
my pleasure is to simply pull the grass away!
I am soothed with your gentle rustle by my bed side window in my sleep,
I am greeted by you every morning when I awake.
Oh ye glory of the heavenly gods!
Thy scent bears the embrace of a wood side nymph!
I long to visit you back in a distant time of glorious enlightenment and wealth that was,
but today I must go where heaven has sent.
I sit and gaze beholding your spectrum form,
I perceive your divine spirit before my very eyes!
You are certainly the most immaculate paragon outside of secular norm,
I sense the motion moving inside.
I perceive thy face,
thy lips and radiant golden hair,
inside our valley there is not sufficient space
to contain this marvelous sensation in your lair!
Flower of wonder!
Oh ye angelic lady so fair!
Hear the rolling thunder?
Sweet cherub with the flowing sunlight hair,
come waltz with me to the never-land down under!
Lynn Dowless is a national & international academic/ ESL Instructor. He has been a writer for over thirty years. His latest publications have been two books of nonfiction with Algora Publishing, and fictional publications with combo e-zines and print magazines; Leaves Of Ink, Short Story Lovers, The Fear Of Monkeys, and Frontier Tales.
