Paths of Poetry

This Melancholy Mindset

Every day I wake to
Grey morning skies.
Every day I seem to fill
With whimsical heavy sighs.
Rain falling softly
Onto the forest’s trees,
Tossing leaves into the wind,
And raindrops to the breeze.
Silver wings of gossamer
Carry me today
To a land I dreamt of,
A land so far away.
Where the trees are grey,
And where there sing no larks,
Where the angels shed their tears
Into the waters dark.
The only words for such a place
Are lonely, sad, and lovely.
The mindset that created this place
Is silent, dark, and melancholy.

Death and Heaven

I sit and watch
Silently,
All the while
Pondering,
As the grave robs the cradle
Of everything that it
Is able.
A small sweet being
Gone from earth.
Oh, so shortly
After birth.
The baby’s last breath is drawn
So shuddering.
As it happens, my mind’s uncluttering,
Releasing every idle thought
Of mine,
Except that of the dear
Lost child.
“Goodbye, my sweet one,”
I whisper tearfully,
As I tremble
Ever fearfully.
Looking up, I see,
Through the tears,
The angel of death
Drawing near.
Not evil, as in
Many fables,
He kneels slowly
By the cradle.
As he lifts the baby
In his arms so shining,
The baby wakes,
Quietly crying.
And as he turns toward
Heaven high,
The angel of death
Sings a lullabye:
“Sweet, sweet child,
Worry none,
I’ll take you to the
Holy One.
He’ll cradle you gently,
Now His own,
In His arms,
Your eternal home.”
As the angel
Floats away
The night is dawning
Into day.
I glance at the cradle,
Hoping that, maybe,
I will find the
Dearest baby.
Alas, the cradle sits
Empty and sorry,
And I feel
A deep melancholy.
But through the sadness,
Pain, and sorrow,
Life continues
On tomorrow.
I’ll remember the
Angel’s words.
The small sweet being,
Like a tiny bird,
Has met the Father by
This time,
In life, not death,
Where glory shines.
The brave small being
Met his fate so fine,
And I’ll see him again
When I meet mine.

Adrift

Simply lost amid the trees,
A soul adrift, untethered.
Wandering throughout the woods,
To realms yet undiscovered.

Simply lost among the branches,
Gnarled, twisted, strange.
This land so barren, so cold, so vast,
Always changing, yet never will change.

Simply lost in crowds of people,
Pushing, shoving, rushing.
This soul, this person, this young one,
Can’t face a force so crushing.

Simply lost in this world,
A soul adrift, set free.
The soul of a girl, a dreamer, a schemer,
Wanders back into the trees.

Simply lost in mystic lands,
Imbued with indigo glory.
This is where the soul resides,
Inside this magic story.

Simply lost in something new,
Something yet unknown.
In a place so dark and different,
Like a tomb built out of stone.

Taking Flight

Twisting tongues of silver water
Leap from the trickling creek,
Taking flight upon the wind,
A new residence to seek.

Crushed bits of Autumn leaves
Dash from the greying ground,
Taking flight upon the wind
To dance fleetly ’round and ’round.

Tiny birds humming happily
Jump from their cozy nests,
Taking flight upon the wind
To fly content and forget the rest.

Broken butterfly wings, their owner dead,
Tossed into the breeze,
Taking flight upon the wind,
Soaring again with ease.

Small children dangling from tree branches
And letting go, tumbling now,
Taking flight upon the wind
And never wondering how.

Crumpled sheets of yellowed paper,
Forgotten poet’s work, unmissed,
Taking flight upon the wind,
All their words now so pointless.

©The Wild Poesy, 2012-2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.

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Paths of Poetry

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