Gently to lay me down

How do all the flora know

the days that pass through spring

hours lamenting years

what the sorrows nurture brings,

grass upon the furrowed footing

wayward for the sea

edging unto infinity

woes to the soul and me,

tears are drops as rainfall

whispers in gentle pleas

settling into the afterlife

as winter upon the trees.

What need for love

And so the heart it reaches so

for the tender that resides

a deeper than the sea may reach

or the ever searching skies,

to where there is unknown

so too the blooming tree

where souls are sewn as one

on an endless tapestry,

stars may fall as weeping

and rains to dance the seal

still hearts remain in beating

as an onion gently pealed.

If ignorance was bliss

There is no time as nothing

and empty as the color blank

on a sea of empty rivers

moving forward flowing back,

what too may be remains

teetering upon refrain

where fleeting stays the dance

fleshing pulses from the brain,

not all that is can be

for the eternal has a wind

forward backward into upon

gentle tickling of the grind.

Multitudes away

Little to known along the way

as we whittle the long and daring day

in hopes to find some caress,

tis’ here the waves they run from deep

entering far and away from shadows

a moments respite from the rippling reef

of horrors that ring as the gallows,

stories of old and some not far off

gentle to the breeze that is spoken

of where to the farther one may go

by the blinding glare of two tokens.

Street carny live!

Grace, to see the luminant sea

and its ever flowing breeze

shifting through the space of time

my eyes a vision of the tease,

wayward on my senses grow

into a fading and aging slow

drifting into a sleepy glow

to the end of an opening show,

the tight rope walker in footing

fire eater sets the sun ablaze

step right up yells the troubadour

to the freak show, of the days.

The seasons dew

And winter she set once again

leaning in on the waning rain

songs of little droplets

to kiss along the pave,

hearts a flutter to the waxing

the summers noon on high

come forth sweet lovers longing

as the bloom grows to the sky,

but soon again

the moon will come dancing

to the seasons coming fro’

gently singing softly

for the life to ease its grow.

Gentle movements of March

The tenderness it aches me so

reaching deep within the tether

bracing for the torment

of the inner heavy weather,

where the mind will sit in fog

and the soul awaits for heaven

all things will come to pass here

for its fill as bread to leaven,

so gently the feet will wander

over trails and paths of life

each creak a moment of recall

each clink the shackle of strife.