Love for me I cannot see
Amidst a jungle of tropics
– Canopy my heart burgeons –
Letter from an envelope
Stamped, embossed and sealed secure.
Patron saint tickling me
(Rummage in a broken bag
A morsel once saved: depart)
Planning with another name –
Sunlight reaching out.
Tag: canopy
Understanding Darkness (day 2394)
I don’t understand you in darkness
I don’t understand you at night
Sing to me as blinding
I shall remain to forever see
Frontier of a window pain
Aging and dusty rain
Here is my canopy
A gaslight shadowed gray wall
My words unspoken free
And I still cannot see you, darkness.
Dead Leaves (day 847)
Strolls through the park now are filled with dead leaves
Dead leaves float down from shifting canopies
Deciduous trees slowly sway with mother earths soothing motion
Dead leaves blanket soiled paths laid through summer
A softening, deadening all sounds of scraping dirt
But shuffling along as I push forward
Dead leaves dance with discarded cones
Tossed away in haste during a squirrels preparation
Dead leaves share with me a full spectrum of browns
Reds, oranges, greens, purples, blacks
As they run the test of time separated from their lifeline
Dead leaves tell of turning seasons
Lazy summer indulging into autumns necessary storage
And clear nights turning into frosts morning
Dead leaves share with me the art of romance
Harmony in age
Holding hands with Mother Nature
As she guides the procession forward
We All Die Old (day 503)
The water pushing past the secret doors of the needle riddled floor
Sing to the lonely leaves forgotten and rotting amongst the mushrooms
The trees that have spewn forth their dying seasons
Happily lap up the dotted dew resting a while in the sunlight
And spiders that haven’t eaten yet this morning
Share the same edges of bark with the sleeping moths
Burrowing into the nice alcoves of hidden mysteries
Stretching between the years written into the aging forest
With squirrels keeping track of all the scores
Hunting out that which shouldn’t be forgotten
But in this season of time that dances amongst the shoots
Where the fresh birds chirp happily to the echoes of the canopy
There is always the runner, he who ensures nobody gets comfortable
In the center of the trail he kills with rubber
The youngest of them all, the new growing sprout
But the earth is all life
The change is all good
The circle grows bigger
And we all die old