Thursday, August 30, 2012

Sleeping Stone

Gray on gray,
The ever expanding moss,
Creeping with diligence,
Too many sidewalks.

Stone piled on stones,
Reach to the heavens,
Refined the crystal sands,
Transparent on the skyline.

Do we need these ever present?
Green rare appears,
Has fear to lose been quelled,
Beneath the sleeping stone?


How quick the days,
Another bending of the hands,
Whirl the clocks of time,
Another cog grows weak.

Somewhere it ticks away,
The sands it measured few,
One moment wound to spring,
A second, and a stop.

Where was the ticking spent,
When evening fades away?
If I have to run the hours,
A few minutes to play.


A commentary,
The ever present critic,
A judge declared,
Informed the lesser.

Does the unteachable teach?
Where do the blind lead?
Wisdom perhaps in that,
If corrupted not indeed.

A waste of time and breath,
Answer a fool in his folly,
Why the gifts if not the use?
Destined to squander what he has.


Candle glow on pages dim,
Line for line read again,
The slightest hint I see,
A passage fit to read indeed.

What thoughts were born,
To a man as he?
So far apart we are,
Yet I still see.

Old and frail he thought it through,
A last telling for his end he knew,
Seven decades taught him wisdom,
Would that I would see that day.


Past the zenith of the moon,
One by one they call,
A glitter in the night,
How wide is the sky?

Wash the currents of the path,
Swath of starry ways,
Silvered dress you wear,
Why call you milky?

Where is the center?
Is it brighter there?
If I must stare and wonder,
Wonder I that I am here.


Crisp and cool you come,
Beginnings again for me,
The smell of drying leaves.

Crack the text books,
Sheets of new paper,
Pen or pencil?
Get the eraser.

Runners in the mists,
Early morning muse,
The geese have called,
Farewell to summer’s June.