The Peak no longer grasps for the Sun
It’s shoulders huddled and drawn
Beaten down by time
It’s hands
Centurions
Marching towards distant conquests
Beating footpaths on it’s once proud crest

It settles unto itself
Taking council with memory
Past dreams of glory and vibrancy

Dims
Flickers
A candle which no longer battles darkness

The Mountain falls
yet
Remembers…

And the incandescent greens of sweet Silvan

Fade to brown

Silvan retreats



The trees yawn

Preparing for sleep

Release their children

Mother breeze envelopes them

In sighing heartache

And caress them in majestic dance

To the forest floor

“Hush my children

Sleep the sleep of death”



The winter of my life approaches

The chill of approaching mortality

Grips my Soul

I no longer hold on to yesterday

I dismiss it fondly

Telling memories to roam free

And seek succor from dreams



The Soul fights

But years never lie

“But what of Love?

Was it only the Poet’s song?

Was it only a dream?”



Lady Death approaches

And embraces me

In cold warmth

“Hush Child”

“Time to take another journey”

“Your wars are over”

“Hush now”

“Hush”

Winter doth grips my heart so
The tears and the sadness from my soul flow.
But the beauty and promise.
That soon… my sweet butterfly will show…

I am not given to speaking words that are sweet
I am blacker than madness from the demons I meet.
The battles that rage alone that I fight,
There is no moon in the darkness of my night.
It is beauty and love that I do indeed seek…
Where is my butterfly? So humble…so meek.

Winter unclenches its furious grip
It is sweet spring from whose cup I now sip
Fervently I wish from the seeds that I sow,
Soon…yes soon my sweet butterfly will show.

I patiently wait alone in my chair
My garden has grown at which now I do stare
The flowers they bloom, through love and my care
But where is my butterfly? so pretty so fair.

Her gossamer wings alight on my plants,
My heart races to a beat that enchants.
I am stricken by madness, with a heart that so yearns
My beautiful Butterfly indeed has returned.

You can not touch beauty; it is but a wisp of smoke
Clutch as you may tis but a dream you invoke
It can only be seen and loved from afar
Alas…..if I could… share the words that we spoke.

I watch in sweet bliss as she does her dance
Hopping from flower, from flower to plant
I smile and nod as her beauty unfolds
Ahhh the story of love that she told.

The trees cry leaves which tumble to the ground
With a wistful, wishful, whispering sound.
Autumn has come it cannot be denied
The green of the grass cries as it dies

The seasons impose their will upon all.

My eyes which do tear
And a heart that does yearn
That my sweet, sweet, butterfly will someday return.