We are immortals until we die
When our final breath leaves with a sigh.
Our last cuss, sworn
No more we see the dawn
Our bodies abandoned, just lie
Soul set free to fly.
Like a bird, take flight
Into darkness or light?
Life
All posts tagged Life
We are immortals until we die
When our final breath leaves with a sigh.
Our last cuss, sworn
No more we see the dawn
Our bodies abandoned just lie
Soul set free to fly.
Like a bird, take flight
Into darkness or into light?
Full of self
Drifting contently
Carefree life
Inflated, never dated
Not deflated
A joy
To girls and a boy
Bringing smiles to faces
As I drift to many places
Earlier today at a wedding
A couple, pledging
A tiny hand released us
Not with a fuss
But with wonder, a little sigh
As we headed high
Into a deep blue sky
Floating forever onward
Over trees, a songbird
Brought up, to a sharp halt
A single branch ensnares
End of journey?
End of life?
No more smiles!
But no!
To a leafless tree, tied
To adorn,
And bring a rye smile
From a soulless entity
To photograph,
To share with others
Hoping to elicit
A final smile.
Good Morning from Exmoor.
This Exmoor pony was full of bounce , he and his twin rushed around the moorland, scenting the morning air. I watched, fascinated by their antics and the joy of their play when for one , long, moment, he stopped.
“Ah love! Could thou and I with fate conspire to grasp this sorry scheme of things entire! Would not we shatter it to bits – and then re-mould it nearer to the hearts desire!”
Omar Khayyam
Ah Sunflower, weary of time,
Who countest the steps of the sun;
Seeking after that sweet golden clime
Where the traveller’s journey is done;
Where the Youth pined away with desire,
And the pale virgin shrouded in snow,
Arise from their graves, and aspire
Where my Sunflower wishes to go!
Wooden soldiers
Tall and strong
Guarding woodlands
In rows so long.
Hard and fast
Taller than grass
Grown to last
of old, cut as a mast.
Reaching skyward
Surveying all around
Casting long shadows westward
Towering flora that abound.
New saplings now old
One story they have told
Deep roots make them bold
As branches unfold
Some older than man
Cast deep in the ground
Hid the old clan
Felt the wet nose of a hound.
Lovers lay beneath it’s branches
basking in the sun
Exhausted from their horizontal fun
Beads of sweat, down their bodies run.
Words of love trip off their tongue.
Tall and mighty
Bark textured rough
Their leaves small and flighty
Young children’s shoes did scuff
Catching their dreams
As they climb so high
Of rescuing maidens
From pirates near by.
With bows and not so straight arrows
They grin and they smile
As they aim at a sparrow
and miss by a mile.
From it’s branches they do swing
Hanging by a limb
Lot of noise, not muffled din.
Hot summer, time to swim.
Ah, steeds, steeds, what steeds!
Has the whirlwind a home in your manes?
Is there a sensitive ear, alert as a flame, in your every fibre?
Hearing the familiar song from above, all in one accord you strain your bronze chests and, hooves barely touching the ground, turn into straight lines cleaving the air, and all inspired by God it rushes on!
~Nikolai V. Gogol, Dead Souls, 1842