Thoughts

Like fire-flies, shooting stars, snow flakes

And faces on the moon, 

They pass easily beneath

Thin veils of underworlds

So are often mistaken for fairy dust.

Sometimes they are left behind by reindeer and sleighs

Then blown in through open windows

Drawn especially to wind chimes and sleeping faces

Where if encouraged can ward off

All manner of ills.

They are angels' wings

And beyond imagination

Every child's playthings.

And later they are brooding reminders

Which if ignored will hunch shoulders

And drag feet their way.

They wake us at night

Greet us wide-eyed, but leave us in a cold sweat

With trembling hands that forget how to touch.

They are restless demons

Impatient for release

And must be channelled, given purpose

Given hope

If not peace.