Poetry

Good is all I feel
I don’t think I’ll die
Do what I desire
As the days go by

Say whatever words
See whatever sights
Hear whatever tales
Tasting all delights

How I love to dance
To the tune of joy
Mirth is my religion
Passion is my toy

Seconds roll to minute
Minutes roll to hour
Hours to the day
Until I climb the tower

Lonely up above
Here upon my bed
Satin feels like bramble
Tearing through my head

Every blink’s a year
Every breath’s a storm
Every burning tear
Fails to keep me warm

Busy, busy, busy
That’s all I was to me
Busy, busy, busy
Is all I’ll ever be

How pure the object of my love
That makes my hapless self envy
A mist of floating cloud above
And down in meadow swaying tree.

How sweet the object of my praise
That makes my wretched self envy
A spider in its webby maze
And pigeon nested peacefully.

How blest the object of my song
That makes my sorry self envy
A frazzled rug that runs along
That patch of Garden eye can’t see.

Every season
Has a reason
Hidden somewhere
No one knows
Dig it up where
Faith is constant
Love sincere
Patience flows

Let the seedlings
Of remembrance
Leave your lips and
Find a home
Let your tears
Fall as water
Let forgiveness
Press the loam

Lush and tender
Grows your garden
Paths of fragrance
Bright as day
Long the journey
To your garden
While you’re standing
In your way

A fistful of joy
I didn’t get a hold of it
I could have and now that’s
A thing to miss

It may seem superficial
But the real reason why
This feeling makes me cry
Goes like this

I once knew a face
The closest thing to grace
And I had a chance to give it
One more kiss

But the kisses came too late
For the faithful dance of fate
Washed the room in perfect crystals
Made of ice

You may think the story’s done
Should’ve done it on the run
But that’s not the way you read
The fallen dice

Every chance you missed is not
Everything you lost is got
All just waiting where the wait’s
Eternal bliss

You’ve got your way of doing things
The more you rest, the more it stings
You’ve seen it all before a hundred times

You’ve loved all sorts of folk there are
You’ve written songs and traveled far
You’ve forced the meter into empty rhymes

It’s lost down in the darkness there
Where frosty shoulders chill the air
It’s warmer to look for it in the sun

They’ve looked before you too, my friend
There’s nothing out there in the end
This quest is nowhere near being done

The seeker and the found must become one