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Running up Moonbeams

Running up Moonbeams


Between life and death is a magical space

Where dreams are born, for you to chase

Some begin early and are dashed too soon

Others elusive, like the beams of the moon


Every once in a while as your path you traverse

From swaddled in a cot, to laid out in a hearse

Two souls will converge in a blending of time

As two become one, and in silent mime


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lost loved onememories from pastresurrectionsweet dreams






There must be a death
if there is to be a resurrection;
The demise of something
in part or the whole of:
that portion of one's being...
Only then shall we see
with eyes new as morning's first light.
Only then shall we have
reinvented ourselves:
allow ourselves to take the first steps
laden with amnesia
of the former, forgotten self.
Come and cease...

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In Poetry

entry picture


In poetry, autumn is approaching death.

The mists of receding memory

part briefly in the shortening days

to feed the fruits of wisdom

to admiring young.

The dark night of winter

is a short blight

before life springs forth

again in proud perfection.

Floral beauty and rich crops

have spread their radiance,

fed their progeny, sown their seeds.

Done their job, returned to earth

to ...

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