there you lay
in your cradled bed
unable to move
hair thin,
skin frail,
bones sagging,
your eyes open
but, so far away
perhaps you are where i
remember you best,
smiling,
on your knees on the carpeted floor,
round, radiant summer skirt,
spread about like a pool
Under southern summer stars
she dreams at night
of northern winds
sighing in the sycamore,
whispering of kisses.
The rain on rooftops
hisses.
A shadow falls across her bed
and fills her head with tender words,
unheard again,
unspoken yet,
until the morning comes.
rumbustious rivalry,
clowning for all they are worth,
jangling hormones,
uncertainty,
nerves and bravado,
the boys at the front of the bus,
huddled and pushing,
their shoulders colliding,
create a passengers nightmare
the girls look on,
full of disdainful glances,
dreaming of their brothers best friend,
the sixth former at the back,
quiet and serious
and oh, so desired
i feel a deep urge to tell them,
wait longer than that
before they awaken your heart
boys are slow in their growing
and some never know
they have that journey to make
but i only sit, making a note
in my constant notebook of life,
my smile benign
The river always pulled this way,
quiet in its flowing.
I followed close
but had no way of knowing.
I only had a longing,
undefined, unsatisfied,
a well too deep to fathom.
I bowed my head in sorrow.
But life is strange.
The river curved and flowed away.
I could only follow.
It lead me to a pasture.
The waters pooled.
The stars, reflected,
shifted,
a secret, silent mirror.
When night was at its darkest,
I made a lonely sojourn here,
So tired from this journey.
I lit a fire.
It flamed
It burned.
I built it to a beacon.
You saw it where you wandered.
Home was never truly home
until you came to share it.
The light was never quite so bright
nor the fire so strong
until you sat beside me.
And now each night
I sit with you
and count my lucky stars
When we first met she was a bud,
growing on the wayside,
but that was long ago
in days so near forgotten.
I didn’t see her gleaming.
My mind was far away
and she grew out of season.
In trembling ice and snow
her heart was hidden.
I was dreaming.
Now she is a full blown rose
and she exudes a scent so strong
so passionate, so haunting,
no man could e’er resist her.
I’d brave every storm that blows
but, growing in this peaceful place,
this flower could bloom forever.
And yet I had to pluck her.
I took her, my eternal rose,
to make my own, possess her.
I will never crush her.
I look at her and I’m inflamed
My soul, in swoon, soars high above.
She is the heart of my desire.
She will always be to me
a rose that glows in glory.
She is my own sweet sighing love,
the bloom that I will treasure.
Her essence lingers on the breeze,
beside the lake, beneath the trees,
on every path i walk alone
she is my darling, and my own.
She haunts my dreams.
She is my home.
She cherishes the best of me.
She holds me close
and sets me free.
She is my glory and my joy.
She’s made a man of this lost boy.
I’d drag the stars from out the skies
to show her how much light she brings.
There’s heat and warmth to every day.
The love I feel I cannot say.
Words seem weak and faded things.
I give my heart. She gives me wings.
A fire inside me blazes, burns,
as I wait here for her return.
My heart is bursting with such love
it challenges the sun above.
Venus wears a diadem
tangled in her outspread hair.
I saw her rise above the hill
and life was not the same again.
Her hair, the night,
deep and black,
yours the dawn.
the sun on fire.
Venus rules the lovers knot.
We lay entwined beneath her spell
and lingered by her flaming fires
where passion is a sacrament.
Now Pan is here.
He came at dawn.
I scent him on the morning air
as I lay sweating in your arms.
Diamonds are dust compressed,
lust and love are all the same.
What I say I say with touch,
words of love without a sound.
Pan is dancing through our sheets
and Venus shines and smiles above.
The bells were ringing
on silver frosted air.
I heard an angel singing
her voice was sweet and clear.
I was so entranced,
I walked into the night,
far out onto the ice,
where the moon shone bright.
My blades cut swirling patterns,
carving as I danced.
Spirals interweaving,
contained within a circle,
which, viewed from high above,
spread and spread and spread,
and I was filled with love.
I heard an angel singing
her voice was sweet and clear.
An ecstatic moment
That will long endure.
Many gifts I have been given
but none so strong and pure.
The yellow rose,
like sunshine,
stands outside the door
of the founded, waiting church,
having more to give
than the sermon heard within
To see God, see the rose
From bud to bloom
it follows the sun.
It shines.
You saw it as a child,
this light,
and, though it decompose,
it is a prayer,
a perfume on the air,
a symbol of Gods love
in which we share.
In a perfect place,
In a perfect time,
In a perfect world,
Why would we not be perfect?
Why move away from the warmth
When the fires are burning so strong?
Why struggle to fend off the angels of love
When the air is full of their song?
Let heaven come down from above.
Let angels rest on the earth.
The gifts were long ago given
And each new day, rebirth.
Art work by A.Gouedard. 2019.
The Dreaming Path 