Life dishes out a lot of stuff
Before too long we’ve had enough
The tides of time, sometimes too strong
Will somehow carry us along
To events we have never seen
Or places we have never been
I believe all peace doth linger
At the behest of God’s finger !
The silence slips into the night
Too many hours before daylight
To soften all the morning sounds
Before the noise of life surrounds.
The light so dim grows brighter now
Promising hope survives somehow
Wherefore we have been lost so long
Help us to rise above the storm !
The wind moves quickly through the trees
Loose missiles sailing on the breeze
Branches bristling flush with their leaves
Some landing there upon the eaves
Some flying swiftly to the ground
Others blowing turn round and round.
Like fugitives in some mad race
Each seeking their own resting place
Gusts increasing now growing bold
Like vestiges of legends old
That leave to us our final quest
We must survive old Natures best.
I listened to the sound of bumblebees at play
While the muted echo of caterpillars’ sway,
Subtle and seductive, lent a special whistle
To the singing reeds where hid a dancing thistle.
The clamor of the wind where hungry leap frogs strayed
Mid grass alive with noise when all their eggs were laid,
Made unvenal chorus, too vibrant and alive
Like a blaring trumpet I thought I’d not survive,
Then with one rousing movement and crescendo rise
Hungered for the silence to follow my demise.
See the mist rising from the flat earth in hazy layers
With cattails parading plumes erect as stalwart players.
The wet and steaming pools of teeming water peeking through
A veil of fog that hugs the road’s dim edge and clouds the view
Drown me in my thoughts arising from a sea of want and waste
Arousing fears I can’t forsake with time nor leave in haste.
Thoughts like forgotten goals do need a place to heal and thrive
Within some habitat that speeds their quest, keeps hope alive
And mocks not this inconvenient meadow of use no more
That sheltered many idle tears and fed the earth’s dry floor.
Fleeing from the wake of life where the forceful currents ran
Far from the ocean’s depth, understanding when it began
That not all creatures could survive the tidal lap and lash,
Some need the gentle marsh wherein survives that smouldered ash
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Claire V. Bogdanos 