Day: August 6, 2019

Their little twigs and branches softly croon

I see  this house where you once lived with me
 I cannot hear your voice in any room,
I touch the  cushions,rugs and tapestry

I feel the silky sheets  my eye can see.
The silken scarves,the necklaces of blue
I see  this house where you once lived with me

The trees  bend in the wind, they cannot flee
Their little twigs and branches   softly croon
I touch the   well embroidered tapestry

The silence is the  lack  that makes me free
The other senses gratified, stll bloom
I see the sofa, marriage bed  indeed

No voice but mine  is heard , oh loss obscene
All I see is blackness  and faint moon
The cushions  comfort me ,oh heart bereaved

 

Yet all you gave is rich in my esteem
The wedding ring of gold  still has its gleam,
I  weep  at home where you once loved well me
I  flinch  then  rest  by love’s great boundary

So  in a rage we break our treasures fine

In a rage we break our treasures  fine
The china  gold, the artwork, worse…. a friend
Possessed by envy, hatred,  thoughts malign

Little children scream,no, that is mine
When we’re older wisdom might descend
Still in a rage we break our treasures  fine

 

We are human beings, not divine
We make an error, should that be the end;
Possessed by envy, hatred,  thoughts malign?

 

After we have   broken friendship’s lines
When in grief our  best garments we rend
So  in a rage we break our treasures  fine

 

Later in regret we  see we’re blind
And it’s too late to  make or do or mend
 Ruled by envy, hatred,  thoughts malign

 

Inside ourself ,  do know we ‘ve sinned?
Weep and weep , this  seems to be the end
In a rage we broke our treasures  fine
Now we live in  imprisoned ,unresigned.

 

 

Deep down we go into our hearts

  • Wind blows soft on my bare arms
    I ride through deep green woods.
    These simple pleasures still I love,
    Air on my skin feel good.
    The wind shakes leaves for  sidelong sun
    To make her  pictures from.
    So much, so rich the offerings
    This is senses’ realm.
    Alone in woods, I plight my troth
    To earth and gods thereof.
    I sing my own sweet melodies,
    To solitude and love.
    Far from the maddening crowds of folk,
    I hear earth’s own true songs.
    And then refreshed by woodland charms,
    I feel at peace from wrongs
    Inside my heart,there is a wood,
    And there I shall now dwell.
    And so I’ll solve the mystery,
    Of how we can live well .
    Each wood has its  special birds
    On tree tops in sunlight.
    And each wood has its special song,
    And each wood has its sights.
    I shall accept the mystery
    Of who has made my wood;
    And how we are all joined bodily,
    All sharing this green blood.
    Deep down we go into our hearts,
    To find out who we are.
    Just at the deepest,quietest parts
    We find all beings there.