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Monthly Archives: April 2015

The Life Of A Cloud

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They are as prophets,
foretelling the ways of man
with their comings and goings,
and with each wave,
their forms across the horizon.

They are as warriors,
storming across battlefields,
and yet they fight for no master,
but simply march en masse,
as of warlords in a pageantry.

Brave and bold is their way,
moving at their own pace,
by their design, at their will,
and perhaps simply to move
as their freedom of expression.

If called upon, they do not answer;
if tempted, they do not succumb;
if opposed, they do not yield;
yet if spurned or forsaken,
they seek their brand of vengeance.

With each day, a new awakening,
when each new prophet or soldier
makes its way across the sky,
teaching us to know ourselves;
such is the life of a cloud.

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Posted by on April 16, 2015 in My Poetry

 

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Forgive Me

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Forgive me
of the injustices
I have made in my youth,
for I was neither wise
nor tolerant then
to the farther reachings
of mercy
and human decency.

Forgive any ocassion
of my absence,
either of mind,
body or spirit,
especially in times
when a friend
needed me the most
and my own indulgence
led me astray.

Forgive me
of my foibles,
my mistakes
and misjudgements,
for I have since
come to reconcile
my actions and words
within the terms
of my character.

Forgive the rust
of my sword
and the tarnish
of my valor,
from lapse of will
and declining conviction
to fight for my ideals,
for I have resigned myself
to bear defeat
and merely learn
by suffrage.

Forgive me
of all these flaws which,
though cannot be erased
from my being,
may yet serve
as proof
that I am mortal,
and in recognizing
my frailty,
let it thus imply,
at least,
that I have
understanding.

 
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Posted by on April 14, 2015 in My Poetry

 

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Alone

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And I, alone,
with heart sighs,
to lose a single breath,
lest it fall from my lips
without your means
to take it in
and hold it dear.

Thus, I pray you,
take this breath
from me now,
that it may saturate
the stillness
of treasured desire.

‘Tis for you, alone,
I do live;
for e’en starlight
in your eyes, alone;
thus in sighs,
do I breathe,
and yet remain still,
for you, alone.

 
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Posted by on April 14, 2015 in My Poetry

 

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Western Skies Aflame

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The fires of wooden death
consume virgin grounds
of the tinder west.
Flames dance
among the western skies,
charring the air
with the dying breath
of arbor souls.

And, yet,
in this feeding frenzy,
the prey becomes
stronger for the hunt,
cleared of its congested body,
returning the following spring
in fuller force.

And, for the hunter,
the flame of its heart
shines white
and incandescent
with joy,
for it has become divine
by its own fulfillment,
the destiny
to which it was born.

This is the way of nature,
the harsh realism of life,
the cycle of evolution,
death, birth, life,
for which death
would surely surpass,
were it not
for the unending cycle.

There is no cure
for that which is not diseased,
no need to save
that which has met salvation.
Let nature
take its course,
its due.
For man,
despite his arrogance,
cannot alter this.

 
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Posted by on April 14, 2015 in My Poetry

 

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The Wind And The Road

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“Watch for wind,” the sign read,
obscure, I thought, at first.
But, was I to see the wind,
be it on the road, or apart?
And, would it see me?

I wondered this while driving,
searching the landscape
for any evidential signs,
as of its comings
or goings along the road.

The road, I know too well,
for having embraced it
steadily onward for hours,
following its course,
a thousand miles or more,
as it leads me on my journey.

I hug the road,
my wheels’ embrace,
and now search
for signs of the wind.

Will wind kiss the road,
sweeping across
its blackened skin?
Will the air dance
to the music
for which the wind
has such fancy?

Blow wide for me,
sweet wind of Wyoming,
I shall dance to your tune;
but keep soft and slow,
that I might still
embrace the road.

 
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Posted by on April 14, 2015 in My Poetry

 

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A Parting of the Clouds

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A parting of the clouds;
as if by mere chance,
that I have come here,
not in my indolence,
rather in need of motion.

A sharp turn of the sky;
in which, even the birds,
despite their deftness,
cannot follow the way,
and merely sigh in return.

This is the place of now;
my life is in this moment,
where light is fleeting,
yet each glimpse is wonder,
and words swell in arise.

In vestiges of breathing;
not unlike somnific slumber,
where the sky is my breath,
and everything becomes one,
there is a moment’s epiphany.

My face turned to the stars;
even the air is my hope,
that in this hour of night,
at peace with every form,
may all my dreams awaken.

 
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Posted by on April 10, 2015 in My Poetry

 

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Shall It Be

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Shall it be
that the sky must remain
in all its grandeur,
and without intent or cause
to be so vast,
and without reason to be,
but that it exists.

Shall it be
that the rain must fall
upon the undone
and without any need,
to be so filling
and with wetted caress,
render its quenching.

Shall it be
that the moon moves us
at merely a glance,
or that it rules the tides
and gives shadow,
cast prolonged by the sun,
accepting its place.

Shall it be
that this whispered breath
knows all of these,
each question left asked
to answer thusly,
holding onto nothing more,
until only silence reigns.

 
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Posted by on April 8, 2015 in My Poetry

 

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