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.

Bitter Wind

A barren field, which way to turn,
The paths all the same are worn,
The dusty earth, the pallid sky,
the heavy winds, a forlorn sigh.

The waters move the planet well,
Yet so very laden is the swell,
the rush, the current be so strong
Mountains are sand before too long.

What to do when all is gone,
Perhaps listen to the winds sad song,
Or the birds that carry the ages tune,
They comfort the spirits so alone.

Oh, Chagrin, the bitter cold wind,
The dust is painful in my eye,
Let the ages fall beneath me,
Let the waters run til dry.

The Word

Why are the most expansive hearts,
Limited by the conveyance of words,
There is only that interval of time,
To which the soul must be heard.

The birds are many over the land,
No wonder anymore the grace to fly,
The fifth day and this day be theirs,
And the sixth and the rest be mine.

Whether the raven parts the air lost,
Or the dove reveals a better way,
Still the sea never ceases to toss,
And the waves fall over the bay.

Beauty, the earth that brings forth life!
And the strength of toilers under sun,
Each sent forth into the waves,
May forge new paths to freedom.

So quick does warm summer turns frosty cold,
And faster the sun that cracks the ice,
Heed with caution the visions revealed,
Where does the dark turn to light?

It is the destiny, it is the will,
To raise the soul to the highest peak,
And from the first words e’er spoke,
We were blessed with life to be.

Love and Light

Love is finding the light

in someone’s soul,

and strengthening their own

from the light.

The spirit casts its shadow

on that which is loved.

We are light,

a flicker, a dance,

brightest in the darkest,

A lightening strike chance.

And we are love,

as the atom in a quantum field,

Or a magnetic, falling wave,

a water crystal pure as light,

a movement in the flame.

 

Fairy Dreams

It may have been out of place,

The intent somewhat askew,

it could have been the planet’s course

or the light from the full moon.

how would I know the dream,

Without the moments stretch,

At least in reaching for the light,

may know there is nigh to catch.

the fairy pond shimmers in silver ray,

and the ethereal mists hover low,

my hand the surface breaks,

as the mist surrounds me whole.

The suns light will break through,

in the still breath of morn,

the dove will sing the choirs song,

as such a new day is born.

the fairies dance to timed twangs,

the ladies sing and muse,

The children laugh and carry on,

The elders speak lost truth.

now at least I know for sure,

there is magic in each fairy night,

when the silver turns to gold,

in the dream before the sight.