From This Heart of Gratitude
Walk slowly upon this earth, my friend;
Life is not to be driven through
Like a tradesman on the g0.
It is not a wrapper to be tossed aside,
While you chew your favourite Oreo.
Don’t follow your shadow back
Into the dark inside, instead know
Life is a poem being written by your deeds.
Each moment releasing its soul,
Each day its seed,
Each thought, each act,
its place upon the page.
It is the perfume of lavender,
The passing of the sage,
And the unspoken smile you gave today.
Tread gently upon this mystery my friend,
And walk with the heart of gratitude.
Winter Has Come
I can still remember what love felt like,
When winter became a warm spring day
And the streets were filled with
Children twirling parasols,
When everything was as delicate
As a butterfly in my hand,
Launching into the summer breeze,
And crisp autumn leaves
Cha cha’ed beneath our feet.
Those are no longer mine.
Winter’s cold embrace
Has torn through my heart and soul
Like a butcher’s hacking blade.
And I can never taste love again.
Reborn
They have asked me to high tea,
To feast on plots and emotion and showing,
To join a company of midwives.
Though each pregnant with muse,
They’re helping one other’s labour
Of wants and obstacles and fitting resolutions.
We talk at length about unfinished threads
And getting published.
They croon while this mother-to-be moans
The worst of his fears.
I have been reborn in Wellington,
And taken into her bosom
That I too may give life.
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