Blue shut out, marred by perfect gold,
Shadows withholding green.
Glistening light meant to behold
A sky perfect and clean.
Shifts of darkness passing the ground
With a child below.
This young man smiling, moves abound
Drifting with light, the glow.
He, with his spot beneath the sun;
There he set finding rest,
And reflected upon what he’d won –
To sleep his thoughts, at best.
This gentile sir turned to the sky
To give his face a tan.
Splashes of light caused him to cry;
The sun came down in bands.
Then with each light of an ember,
He thought of excellence.
That which caused him to remember;
This made the difference.
The man looked at his shifting thoughts,
Changing with the stiff breeze.
And all the meaning that all it wrought,
Just like sunlight through trees.
One evening I did dream
Of visions black and white;
My thoughts a silent stream –
All color lost in night.
This world empty and dark;
Void of any cheer.
My heart bent in an ark;
From this my thoughts came clear.
No substance in a shade just meant to be –
Blind of the difference;
Color I could not see.
Now I speak so sadly
Of this world with my thought;
Lose it I would gladly
To find a color lost.
One color do I miss;
For this my soul does cry.
I wish this shade to kiss;
Simply, the blue within your eyes.
Once I smiled and turned to you,
then felt a pull that had begun.
I remembered this to be true:
That your smile swallowed the sun.
But this dreary dream is wrought,
with emotions all sublime;
This moment of chance is caught,
as your hand looks perfect in mine.
Then I feel how swift are my thoughts,
With my tangles all pulled through.
And all the pain you have brought;
I think of something between everything and you.
First flower of the summer;
No easy bloom like spring.
Not an early comer;
But many smiles you bring.
Having waited for the hot air –
Slept through rain and windy days;
Into heat and hot glare,
Searching out the sun’s rays.
All the glitz and glamor is gone;
Back to the simple life they’re drawn.
Cursed are those of us who stay;
The better have walked away.
No longer from the masses be berated;
No longer called upon and hated.
Few turn back; fewer still stay.
Blessed are those who walked away.
With the year, daylight grows
And shows its signs of loyalty.
In the extra light fawns and does
Display their royalty.
But I being human
Find it harder to use my time;
And with the horizon looming,
I begin to hear night-birds chime.
Now, not knowing to rest or play,
I think that with you I should walk,
Which would then end a perfect day –
In the sunlight of eight o’clock.
A thorn has its rose.
The clouds have the sun.
The dead live in heaven
Where tears and joy are one.
For you, my sweet, sweet flower,
Are my silver lining;
And you lift me high above
All sadness and all crying.