The Earth's Return

The earth has not a thing to inherit more fair

Blind would be the soul who passed by

A sight so majestic in it's antiquity

This land now has, like a gem, care

In the bliss of morning; serene, bare

Ships, towers, stadiums, and churches lie

Open unto the valleys, and to the exalted sky;

Forever bright and illuminating in the smokeless air

Never did her sun more elegantly sleep

In her requiem, every valley, stone and hill;

Never my eyes saw such a calm so deep!

The ocean rides at her own sweet will:

My God, how her children seem asleep;

Her immortal heart is lying still!

On Death and Dying

Another moment passed, leaving behind

its rich pine residues: petals, leaves,

the unpicked crops withering sadly

in the absence, light weakening

from the fading waters

of this autumn, between here and somewhere

the corals of life, sinking

in the everlasting abyss

of unsolvable mysteries¾dust and wandering wind

harvesting in the passing earth. This

I can never forget when time's essence

painfully drains, for the breath of autumn

now upon us, a glimmer of light

longing to stay¾how everything shifts

from one humble moment to another, leaving

behind only uninhabited valleys.

For Madison

Such a speed to her budding mind and fragile body,

Such a grace to her footfall,

It is not to imagine why her precocious study

Astonishes everyone and all.

Her dreams realized from her bedroom window,

From where she looked and conquered the oceans and beyond,

Cinderella bade her goodnight in the night's shadow,

Into a sleep she went with the angels on a golden pond.

Underneath the Moon

On a hill-top we lied underneath the moon

The gathering wind passing over us like a silent croon.

Born unto the night, beguiled by the fires of dawn

From above flew tales of cosmic lore now gone.

We could not resist the urge to marvel

Such a rapturous display, an enchanted carnival.

An astrological odyssey no mortal would ever make

The blue velvet tide bound for the heavens to forsake.

Inside the twilight our souls found ebony sorrow

Hired temptations raging in the wake of tomorrow.

Ascending like seraphim into the mended wrath of God

Leaving fantastic rainbows among the stars' lamented sod.

Underneath the moon, in this chamber of ominous wonder

We lied on the hill-top, our dreams running asunder.

Unmerciful in our plunder of resplendent riches unseen

Living on borrowed time in a purgatory mundanely serene.

The Traveler

An undying energy sweeping through like a falling star

Over rooftops and monuments, mountains and oak trees

A random force so brilliant and sublime in its posterity

The witness to time's passing, the observer of man's evolution

Worshipped by witches, praised by natives

A savior to some, a demon to others

A bearer of life and a catalyst of death

Immortalized by the poet's hand

Damned by the ways of learned men

It has seen battles won and lost, nation's rise and fall

It has heard the cries of enslaved peoples

Tasted the blood of innocents slaughtered

Seen the rise of tyrants and the triumph of allies

Joined in the celebrations of neighbors and kin

Lovers quarreled in its midst, friends departed in its grasp

It has felt the wrath of God and His angels

In the garden it saw the deception of the serpent

Spirits have wandered by the graces of its mobility

A spectator of the creation of galaxies far and beyond

A companion of storms, a friend to the seasons

An accomplice in conspiracies planned and wars fought

It lived in the time of gods long since dead

Surviving by the essence of its abstract nature

Alive it will always be as long as the universe remains

Oh what tales it could tell!

Visions of My Son

I often wonder what kind of man he'll be

Philosopher, commoner, a fearless soldier

Fierce and courageous, gentle and reserved

A dreamer perhaps or maybe a visionary

An erector of buildings and monuments

A healer to the sick and savior to the lost

A good husband to a good wife

A good father to a good child

The best friend among a legion of confidants

His mind and wit sharp like a bayonet

His pen blessed with the rhetoric of ancient poets

Strong on his mountain like the gods of lore

Saint of all saints!

The patriarch of all mankind!

Or will he be the one who bathes with serpents

Raping the tithes of the common man

Pitting the saints against the sinners

A shepherd clad in the garments of lust and ire

Watching his flock perish with a silent grin

His ire released like a storm upon the helpless ant

His soul too dark to see the light of remorse

Too debased for hand that offers forgiveness

Fiend, adulterer, banished from the garden

A tarnished spoke on the wheel of justice

Sinner of all sinners!

The destructor of all mankind!

I see my son, so young and innocent

So far removed from the tribulations of life

And I wonder, what will he become?

Who, in the dawn of his manhood, will my son be?