nonsensical text

Saturday, August 12, 2006

poetry through the ages (by request in jest)

Ask, and ye shall receive - even if you weren't serious!

When I was 16:

Nature’s Child

The mountain stream
sent gentle cascades
through her heart.
Moonlight danced
within her eyes.
The dew on the grass
sent shivers up
and down her spine.

As she stared up
at the glimmering stars,
a tear glistened in her eyes,
as if to return the sigh
of the infinite sky.
Life seemed so empty;
she realized she would
never touch the sky.

The steps of small animals
echoed in her mind.
The music of nighttime
reminded her of long ago days
when she danced in his arms.
As she slipped, naked, into the cool water,
she remembered the nights
spent with him.

Stretched out on the
cool, comfortable grass,
she had dreams of love.
The water gently beaded
on the skin he once touched.
It soothed her to think these thoughts,
until she opened her eyes
to the empty sky.

His eyes used to glow
into her waking face
just as the stars now did.
But, warmth, love and
understanding were not
the secret of the stars.
She held out her arms
And embraced the night air.

The sun slowly rose,
hesitantly touching her skin,
waking the world of nature
to find her there, alone.
The creatures of nature
became a part of her solitude.
She was born again
a child of nature’s emptiness.

and twenty:


You paint for me -
Delicately lacing fields with
The softness of autumn-blue skies.
A breeze, felt in the warmth
Of the colors from your brush,
Trees dying their leaves
With farewell orange and gold -
Until we meet again.
Our lips touch with a fire
Only known by us.

When I was older:


A handful of ashes tossed on the grave,
A shovelful of dirt - followed again and again,
And it is over.
Go on with your life -
Three days acceptable mourning are up.
Go back to that job; paste a smile
To the lips
You show to the world.

Inside, the ashes
Are tossed,
Slow motion,
Each granule striking
The polished wood -
The beauty, carved and crafted
To cover
The ugliness of death.

And ancient (though the same age as older):


Under a shade tree
with eyes closed,
dreams -
filtering through the
translucent with sunshine -
float away
with the breath
of springtime.

The wind bears the kiss
of a mystery,
the touch of hands
never seen or felt.

As the hair is blown
from her face,
she knows in the emptiness
that she is not alone.
His fingers trace
the line of her jaw,
her lips,
then flutter away
as the breeze calms and departs.



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