Taking time to see,
to feel the peace of a new born day
as light filters in to find
an old dream brushed off of dust
and set out before the mind
to gaze and remember
that past intent.
We slip into the mode
as muscles find the niche of calm
and dive down deep into the abyss
of a belief resurfaced
just in time to fly.
The gift of words inspires
and the heart knows the path
of how to take the steps
into the light that shines,
that moment waits for the mind
to follow the signs
and beyond is every dream wanted
waiting for the open hands and heart
to simply ask.
I stand at the threshold and smile
as I walk through to find
dreams coming true.


We stand in the queue
beneath the magnificent crown of clouds
together in formation
of a randomness that reigns.
Kingdom of being
one in a million
amongst the human element
of a thousand varieties of seed
spread far and wide
to grow,
to become stronger with each wind
that cascades down upon our souls,
we dance in a harmony of kindness
as if each day could be the one
when we are selected
and plucked in tiny hands
to become something more
than we could be individually,
together we are a centerpiece
to appreciate
for each thought,
uniqueness that makes
the special piece
that makes us shine.
We grow where planted
and share the goodness
and the gifts of our heart
that we were born
to give away freely,
to lift the broken thin stem
that stands beside
beneath the crown of clouds
under a pale autumn sky.


And what becomes of the child
who ran across meadows in delight,
chasing beams of a falling sun
in afternoon games
as clouds played hide and seek
with the light that rationed herself
on cold Northern days?
Where is the child
who found rainbows at the tail of
poppies who stood tall in small gardens,
tilled by weary hands
who only longed to find the yellow brick road
and fall into the depths
of a place remembered from a dream?
Where is the child who dreamt deeply
of wild horses and days of freedom,
where words did not sting
and hands could not harm,
and the coming of a tomorrow
was just another day,
not a day to live for.
Where is the soul
of the silent one who watches,
as it all crashed down
like falling stars,
the loss of what it was that seemed
the most important of it all,
but in the end was nothing more
than useless ideals,
when hands were held open
and abundance seemed to be so hard to grasp,
the arms that held tight
through the simplicity of love
given so freely
and for no other reason
than that was all to give,
he found he had all that was ever needed,
and belief filled the hole
where hollow echoes had aimlessly reverberated
and the beating of the heart
crashed across the universe,
the beams fell in glory,
coming across in a beauty unseen before~
for it was all they knew
and the dreams that were perched
on the rough edges of stone walls
sat silently waiting
for the touch of a child
to release them to all.

A stream of conscious post, took the image and just rambled from there. Not sure what it all means, perhaps you’ll find something of use in a poets febrile writing.