Categories
Poetry

Tomorrow’s Rose

How delicate it is, the garden of eternity.

Interwoven; the past, present, future

of our sleepy meadow, dear.

One cannot possibly know how

or what

the wind of today will drift to the valley

of tomorrow.

One can only hope to gather roses in arms

and lay them down, admired.

But what of tomorrow?

A dried rose is surely a beauty.

A delight preserved from time gone by.

Take these roses, fine.

Take this heart

and scatter my soul freely

into the arms of the dreamers, next.

Tomorrow’s rose.

Today’s quiet and careful sun.

Photo by Irina Iriser on Pexels.com
Categories
Poetry

Somewhere

Somewhere between the quiet

and the haze, I go

to sit for a while.

Somewhere

between the quiet

and the haze.

And you might ask me

what I hope to find there.

You might ask me if it’s true.

That the haze shimmers like a thousand suns,

and the quiet melts like vanilla cream

on apple pie, oh, sweet love.

I would tell you

you must seek for yourself

the whispers, true.

Somewhere between the quiet and the haze

you must go.

Categories
Poetry

The Sun, The Moon, The Mind

There is no day.

There is the rise and fall of the sun.

There is the opening and closing of eyes.

But there is no day.

Only a rolling eternity

split by the sun

and the moon,

and the mind.