Return of the Native

Will the streams still flow as clear,
Will the numbers of the flocks be strong?
Will the wind still carry the pleasant sounds
Of the quiet village and the mountain song?

Will the sun still be as warm,
Will the winters still be so cold,
Will still the crimson sky fires burn,
Will the aspen leaves be as gold?

Will the soup spice flavor tickle the tongue,
When a long day ends with an evening begun,
Will the flutes still ring the same melodies,
Will the beat be the same on the leather drum?

Will the herbs in the air still be as sweet,
Will the earth be as firm under my feet,
Will the spring herald the same old joy,
Will the same folk be present for me to greet?

Or will the land be barren now,
A desolate field of fire and war,
Will the same structures stand,
That have firmly lasted for ages before?

Will the stories still be remembered,
When the tongues to prisons are tied,
Will the people’s will and strength abound,
When their greatest dream has died?

Will the valley be all toil and strife,
Will the village totem be a city gate,
Will the cry to the spirits beyond,
Be a pledge made to the state?

Will the river water be dark with blood,
Will the wolf have made his kill?
May the waters still be cool and clear;
May hope and life prevail.

Lost Dream

On the equinox I dreamt a dream,

I saw my love again,

He stared at me with angry eyes,

Yet took my hand in his.

‘What were the reasons?, he asked,

How could you wander so?

Where abouts and whattofor,

life is love, you know.

Our hands formed a spiral,

as the clutch was so entwined,

been a shadow in my memory,

Since our two hearts aligned,

I tried to tell him in my dream,

that is not like how it is,

the strings that pulled my limbs before,

now I have been rid.

But now there is a forward momentum,

and I’m lost to the pull,

the road of return is fogging up,

yet the promise is still full.

It may be many moons distant,

it may be many years,

I know the world is smaller yet,

when the soul overcomes the fears.

Thus I stirred in the morning light,

so glad to see him once more,

no longer will I shed a tear,

with hope behind closed door.

Yet in the window of the night,

in the light and darkness schemes,

I’ll not let the feeling fade away,

I’ll not forget the dreams.

 

 

 

 

Crystal

“Light is the shadow of God’s brightness, who is the light of light.”

 

There is a crystal in the center,

Behold! The glint, the shine,

it looms so high overhead,

so clear, a quality fine.

Perfect and pure the translucence,

it may be passed by unseen,

and the secrets that stream the lines

remain guised by transparency,

But, behold! It is there, in the cave!

The deep, the dark, the gloom,

whose ancient sand and craggy walls

house the ones that loom.

The sun pours down the same old way,

perhaps the light will glint,

and the present fire, whispering of

elephant stone tables, forgotten pyres,

is by the sunshine lit.

The arc of the sun is wide,

the water and air are bent,

the cave inlet also crests,

and words always echo stringent.

The cave is like a busy eye,

the crystal like a ball of light,

and a pull of the tiny star

could turn a day to night!

 

 

 

World Clock

Always looking towards the clock,

so much time, and even more thought,

to fill the chasm, limitless void,

the eye, the ear, the mind have toiled,

the spirit reaches when the feet must rest,

and the mind remembers which of all were best,

the feeling of a place drawn across time,

the power in hand when motivations align,

the inspired song when the muses take flight,

the remorse when the light grows dim in the night,

the delight when the stars fall and fade,

and the fiery sun sweeps the brisk morning away.

in one direction every thing must fall,

the rhythm is surely without, withal

and whoever set the motions made man

a wandering ‘low sun soon as he began.