Perhaps, sensing some minute shift in the
Humidity, the heat, the angle of the light,
The greens pack up their bags and depart
The leaves, in slow, steady, silent, flight,
The greens soon replaced by immigrant
Families of orange, yellow, brown, and red,
The cool whispers hints of the coming cold,
Where the greens went, unknown, unsaid...
Time spent in the vertical:
Reactionary, stressed,
As opposed to horizontal,
With its dreams and rest,
The vertical day, a fight,
Against gravity, until
Surrendering each night...
Quietly swept by a daydream's
Whirlpool, into a special place,
Where imagination has the
Ability to ease and erase
Tension, tedium, but then suddenly,
Vanish without a trace...
The words carved into the old
Stone, bordered with moss,
Weather worn words, in the
Shadow, record an ancient loss,
Memories on a rock, which
Will not crumble or rotten,
Which will not tumble down
Into the dust of the forgotten...
Life is like a road,
Long and winding,
Walk, search, but
Never really finding
What you thought
You were looking for,
Your journey fraught
With friction and more,
Life's road, a graveled path,
Leading, declining, to an
Unexpected aftermath...
Away from cruel bloody Syria,
Into a boat, and onto the waves,
Casting our fates, like a roll of
Dice, hoping it somehow saves
Our lives, hoping we will reach,
Somehow, a safe-haven beach...
Summer sparrows bathe in the dust
Beneath a heat-tired Sakura tree,
Sun setting into tropical night,
Bell crickets trilling magically,
No hint yet of the day-end cool,
Which will arrive, inevitably...
It happens instantly,
First glimpse of her face,
Loins start churning,
Forgetting time and space,
All miraculous and burning,
Dreams become haunted,
By someone you didn't know
You needed, or wanted...