Blog Archives
Brotherhood
This poem is from Autumn Leaves:
I’ll never be a big star, shining on millions where they roam,
But I can be a small candlelight in the darkness,
Helping to guide one solitary figure home.
This is the idea behind why I write, for there is always some good idea that is transmitted. Enjoy!
Continuation
This poem is from Autumn Leaves:
To each is given his portion of elixir
Or ambrosia of life,
And, like high-test rocket fuel,
Propels us in all endeavors, happiness and strife.
Changing tides bring flotsam and driftwood
Up from ocean’s deep measure,
Casting them on beaches to bleach white
And await nature’s further pleasure.
Thistle puffballs, blown by winds of change,
Are swirled and elevated,
Waiting patiently for sun and rain,
Settling quietly to earth, tempest’s flight abated.
Earthquake, flood and blizzard are
Simply nature’s greater forces,
Instilling awe, humbling man to an unknown source,
And given time, purges all from her chosen course.
Death ends all life, choosing no sides,
As force of nature erupts and collides.
Time is the unrelenting referee
In command of sun, moon, seasons and tides.
Flowers bloom, birds nest, and fish spawn.
Sunrise heralds another dawn.
Earth, streams, and ocean relinquish their bounty twain.
By His grace, the cycle starts once again.
Happiness
This poem is in Autumn Leaves:
The orchid can pale
Beside the rose.
Blue jeans look poor
Beside fine clothes.
Mercedes will win
Each status symbol race.
Homely old Ford sure
Looks out of place.
If money could buy it,
The rich would aspire
In all their surroundings,
Cars and attire.
The poor man’s left standing,
His feet in the soil,
Indulging in dreams,
Engrossed in his toil.
Whose life is the fullest?
Which philosopher can say?
Which path is best to follow,
Or who knows the right way?
Taking a Chance
This poem is from Autumn Leaves:
Life is like a flower garland,
Held close by those who dare
To flow in kindred spirit
With the risk to share.
Listening to life’s sweet music
Inside, on the inner ear,
Flowing with a greater force
That trumpets ever clear.
Words can’t and don’t
Ever hold them bound.
Deep inside, where Love abides,
They hear only spiritual sound.
Lucky those who grasp this thought,
Its essence foremost in mind.
Through their days of treadmill race,
They conquer each daily grind.
The Veils
This poem is from Autumn Leaves:
Layers of veils
Drawn over the mind,
Shut out light of knowledge,
Shielding hope from mankind.
The first one blots out charity,
It’s called the veil of “Greed.”
The second is called “Suspicion,”
And curtails doing good deeds.
The third one is “Jealousy and Envy,”
Stops our hearts from being kind.
The fourth is “Indifference and Falsehood,”
Makes people follow along blind.
The fifth is the darkest–
It’s simply known as “Hate,”
Yet the shining light
Of Love can penetrate.
Regardless of how tightly
These veils are drawn,
They can be opened by Knowledge
As night surrenders to dawn.
Ever so slowly now,
The veils begin to part.
Understanding rushes in, beginning to win,
Over the mind and into the heart.
At last they’re completely open,
Not able to stand Love’s bright decree.
The harsh light of Truth assisted,
And together they set you free.
Prime Time
This poem is from Autumn Leaves:
Does watching a clear, fast mountain stream
While inhaling sweet, spruce-laden air
Or enjoying quiet serenity of beautiful aspens,
Gazing up at rough-cut grandeur of towering mountains
Cast a therapeutic spell?
The answer is freely available to anyone
Willing to venture out and sample
This boundless treasure.
Worries flow away merrily with the water’s rush.
Troubles vanish like smoke
In the crisp, cool air
Which teases the mountaintops.
Thoughts are free to wander aimlessly
While consuming enormous quantities
Of rich subject matter.
An all-elusive peace enters the dark,
Twisted inner recesses of the subconscious,
Bringing with it freshness and light.
Wild creatures scurry and flit about unconcerned,
As nature spins and weaves,
Displaying her enchanted magic.
An unspeakable sense of joy and well-being prevails,
Engulfing mere mortals,
Sealing the lips to silence,
For to speak might shatter the beautiful, fragile spell.
Feelings
This poem appears in Autumn Leaves:
Feelings are but thought extension
Placed into feeble expression,
Sometimes poured out through touch or deed,
Or even mumbled confession.
Feelings are but emotions and desires,
Surfacing into reality,
Striving to achieve dreamed of destiny
Or to quench love’s raging fires.
Expressing them is often difficult,
Like handling fishhooks wearing gloves.
Overpowering, they sometimes help
With insistent, nudging shoves.
As one’s soul is purged by confession,
We learn a most valued lesson–
Our world would be painted shades of gray
Without our efforts at expression.
wfosterwelborn 