We come out of night.
Oh brief delight.
The song of the bird
A loving word
All are heard.
Nature’s scent
Our lives are spent
In joy and pain.
In the end ‘tis all the same.
From the dark womb
We come
For a time dally under the sun
Then to the tomb.
It is over all to soon.
She watches the mountain.
Granite spurts as a fountain
out of control
encompassing the whole.
Lava fills her garden.
The rock it will harden
once more.
Another eruption is in store.
An autumn breeze
Russles ancient trees.
Scented leaves whirl
Fragrant as the girl
Who’s hair flows
As the wind blows.
bare arms reaching for the sky
Desirous to fly
With the birds
Who’s song is on this evening heard.
A slumber did my spirit seal;
I had no human fears:
She seemed a thing that could not feel
The touch of earthly years.
No motion has she now, no force;
She neither hears nor sees;
Rolled round in earth’s diurnal course,
With rocks, and stones, and trees.
The wind blows through the park,
My mood is bleak and dark.
Teenage voices glad,
What hope do they have?
In a world gone mad,
Should not one be sad?
The weather speaks to me,
Why can not man be free,
Flying with the breeze,
Amongst the dancing trees.
Oft he sought the perfect rose,
Enjoyed the flower where it grows.
Soon he found the blooms did pall,,
His dalliances they turn to gall.
Still he after pleasure strove,
Clutched noisome blossoms to his nose.
Thorns they speared him through the heart,
Still his desire did not depart.
They found him lying on a bed cold,
In his hand a fading rose.
As a frightened deer
which fears to come near,
Like a young fawn
its sense of self barely formed.
A hunter yawns
“You will be mine before dawn”.
A blackbird, as dark falls, singing in the park. Each note a dagger thrust into my heart.
His voice carried on the darkening air, still he trills without a care.
Oh tis to profound, cease your song lest I drown.
Sometimes the wind catches me unawares. A gust of pure delight blowing away useless thought. Just the wind and I, old friends together.
On occasions birdsong stills my brain. Simply the birds and I soaring high.
Sometimes …
Perfume once sweet palls.
Nameless faces merge into one.
Mirthless laughter and forced smiles.
Sugar coated words designed to flatter and ensnare echo hollowly down the years.
Escape into nature.
The wind on my face.
Birds sing.
Soon the merry-go-round will begin again.
K Morris - Poet 