RAISED CLOUDS.

 

 

She sits by the open window with eyes aware,

Her heart touched just by the dark night air,

A flamingo sails upon the crest of rippling waves,

Without a sound to muffle the beating of a heart enslaved,

She is in ordinary white like falling snow,

Closes her lips with a finger, her breathe is low,

She lets two apple pieces fall and sway,

Then bends to taste and melt away,

Another night has past without a word,

She begins to doubt the music that she heard,

The music of a golden case with a ballerina's dance,

She breaks down and her face is covered by her hands,

But she will rise again, for the music plays on,

Nothing is heard of the crying of another in desolation,

She must try to shade the Earth, shade the Sun,

And all shall be revealed when all tears are done.

 

II

A wooden fence invites the dusty road,

The night traveller cowers to his load,

He fears that no-one watches him,

Through half-closed eyes his sight is dim,

But embroidered upon his aching heart,

Are the memories of poet's words and painter's art,

These are the gifts that suffering brings,

To the aged; for through the mother's pain life begins,

And so he hobbles along with bare fingers torn,

Hunched over yet patient through every morn,

The road bows and applauds his steps along,

For the bard above him in his mind is composing a quiet song,

He falls to the grass to sleep,

Into his mind his enemies creep,

The darkened trees cry out come, come, come,

And sway and speak and offer false wisdom.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

III

Sleeping within a mist covered choir of blades of green,

They sing a melody to quieten the loudest tempest scene,

Without a warning a silver butterfly brushes his face,

And he awakes stretching to greet this mysterious place,

To where he had been the night before he returns,

And still the fire in his heart and the sky burns,

To show and be shown, to teach and to be taught,

The day is broken, the battle is fought,

Within the closed field he opens in passing pain,

And stands straight and smiles to entertain,

He shakes himself, looks into the Sun and walks slowly forward,

He knows the rules of the road will be hard,

But still where he lay the grasses rise,

To watch a bowed head close it's eyes,

And to the sky and to the sunlight pray,

The day has been revealed for it is the Way.

 

IV

The road meanders through trees tall and fields that hug the soil,

The skies above tell him it's worth the toil,

And whispers to him of new dreams ahead,

Tells him of rebirth and the passing of the dead,

But Spring blankets the traveller and all in trees are alive,

While on Earth without harmony two foot-steps strive,

He strives to forget his wondrous lady and floats in memory,

Memory of days in hours and hours in mystery,

He remembers the gift, a music case that made her cry,

And made her see, in love , banish misery,

The fragrance of fresh love in his memory is sweet,

He rests to write within a daisy flowered seat,

He writes of a lady who sits at the window,

The lady in his memory, in his dream,in his shadow,

His mind questions Light and it's ways,

The Moon disappears slowly into grey haze.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

V

" The lady that my words dare hope design,

Was without me around me and yet still mine,

And it is that like the kiss none can destroy,

She is with me whenever I feel joy,

For its purpose is to bend my life to move,

But I am moved by oceans of her love.

Her name is pain her name is forever,

Her name is warm like the touch of a feather,

And as the seagull touches the swaying sea,

I felt my mind gliding joyfully,

For I have been to high mountains and laid in soft grass,

Yet I would let them fade and let them pass,

For I have seen the form of love,

And the wind has blessed the leaves above,

And let them fall to gather in the air,

I shall see it all for she will be there,"

 

VI

The traveller had been with the lady of the moon,

And now they'd be together again in his dreams tune,

And his dreams would be visions of the night,

Visions of the world between world's delight,

And in the waking of the morning dew,

He'd return like winter-lost sparrows do,

To the warmth of his thoughts he is hurled,

Like the falling of a star that lights the world,

He will live eternally as the wind of peace,

For the wind, once moved can never cease,

The wind wild and almost without form,

Possesses the feelings of snow and warm,

The wind is love and the eyes see not,

Foe love is of the soul like birth forgot,

It is a real possession yet cannot be seen,

For the traveller passed by unseen.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

VII

When water trickles down the bushy mountain side,

Through glistening branches of leaves with life inside,

A traveller will blend into colour without shame,

A memory of the passer by- the man with no name,

No song will ease his ever sorrowed mind,

For all songs in one have been left behind,

His ears have grown deaf to love,

His eyes have gone blind to love,

His fingers cannot feel,

The Truth is to real,

Music, music,music,music...

A choir singing greets him at the door.