Claire V. Bogdanos

The fog slips in like a shroud eclipsing the panorama

of the mountain’s sides

Where life is as a winging that must soar above the pall

or suffer all it hides.

Some context of this vast unchartered wilderness which

is the confines of my heart

And breeches o’er those valleys, there within the depths

of ignorance that was my start,

Has brought to me upon its beaten breast a shallow

consciousness of what I am

That whistles on the winds of plains wherein reside both

king of beasts and gentle lamb.

There time itself will bare the seed that lives with joy

or dies alone in discontent

As it fulfills an aim that is the longing of the soul or

of the mind, intent.

To move with space and wander in its bright expanse

beneath the sky where mood began

There, confirming this great world is an elegant cushion

for the footfalls of man

And as such must cradle his intense wish to dream and

hope and love and laugh and cry,

For man without one dream is a garden that never blooms

and does not wonder why.