Sunday, October 17, 2010

Broken Bird

Broken Bird

This bird with broken wings
Is cradled in my hands
And lies as still as death
Against my aching breast.
Its heart is soft and slow,
Perhaps in peaceful sleep
With dreams as bright as life
Of flying towards the sun.
Perhaps it can forget
The sticks that broke its wings,
The hands that dealt the blows,
The eyes that turned away.
I hold it, share its pain,
And seek the proper way
To help this broken bird
Arise and fly again.

Image credit: Gaming 4JC, from Wikimedia Commons, under a Creative Commons License.

Sunday, October 3, 2010

Sub specie aeternitatis

Sub specie aeternitatis

A golden morning of autumn
Has passed into dusk with a breath,
And shadows beckoning midnight
Are murmuring dirges of death
With tears as parents of laughter
That shimmer as stars on the sea
While everyone restlessly slumbers
In dreams of what was and will be.

A cold winter's dawn is approaching,
Its heralds the withering leaves
In myriad costumes and colors
That cover the Earth when it grieves.
But spring and summer are waiting
In temperate climes far away
To come back again where they started
As green in a garden of gray.

Now the clouds seem to ceaselessly circle,
And the Earth seems to sleepily spin,
And the universe seems to grow smaller,
And a song seems to rise from the din
As we wander forever and after
And follow what paths we may please
With shuffling feet in the twilight
Through the leaves at the feet of the trees.

Image credit: Nikater, from Wikimedia Commons, under a Creative Commons license.

Friday, October 1, 2010

Mysteries & Miracles

Mysteries & Miracles

In memory of Kristin Leigh Highfill
December 23, 1978 -- September 17, 2005

Hummingbirds twirl and flash around
Glistening flowers awake in their beds,
Catching the morning’s first light.
Who knows the taste of freshest dew
Rolling along their tongues?

Well-tuned bands of bees busily buzz,
Bumbling in blossoms newly born,
In praise of their conquering queen.
Who knows what treasures they find
Deep down where pollen hides?

A group of children gather to play,
Sometimes friends and sometimes foes--
But always children at play.
Who knows what secrets they spell out
In letter-blocks and finger-paint?

An old friend crosses the street
In the calmest hours of night
But does not reach the other side.
Who knows what she encounters
Or where her journey ends?

Spring, summer, autumn, winter pass,
Leading every thing to come and go.
Who knows what gifts are waiting
In nature’s gossamer shawl
If we would but hold out our hands?

Who can solve the mystery
Or analyze the miracle
Of the sunshine cupped in my hand?
Of the seed that has dropped from my hand?
Of the life that has slipped through our hands?

Image credit: EdyaT, from Wikimedia Commons, under a Creative Commons License.