Post by keith on Nov 2, 2017 8:24:02 GMT -5
Purple and gold intermingled through the setting sun’s evensong,
As cloud tethered grey wrapped around sleeping whispered dreams,
And winter winds carried reds, browns, and still some greens with them
The living and the dead now separated by the breathlessness of life,
While the clouds separated into columns down life’s endless halls
As they separated the light of day from the corridor of velvet dreams,
Where time and rhyme unite into the living breathing poetry of existence
That always seems to make us expect the unexpected, living life’s dream.
Sometimes poetry is written by the wood smoke scribbling on a wall
As we sit beside the open hearth where firelight dissipates the gloom,
Where it made sense of the memories that puzzled your mind once
Just like someone turning up a lantern’s light that illuminates a verse,
Another classical reminder of searching for the poet’s unwritten curse
We sense that just around each corner are all the things we need to know
To paint frescos between each colonnade that guides us to the light
Where those crystal hymns of living sound evaporate the night.
And sometimes we write those single sentences that make us seem aware
Of all those unique precious instances that make life matter more,
Like “How are you this morning?” as we open wide our door
And while we watch a lovely sunrise as we walk along a beach,
So many things we could not see are now within our reach
For poetry paints the night to day, and daylight into shade,
And seems to rectify all of those mistakes that we have made
Though the sunsets we call wonderful will still paint us with the shade…
and 
all
time for me 
echoes, hope you all are doing well 
