I watched the years slip away
As words flow forth to meet the page.
Newsprint and man’s relentless journey
Across frontiers of nothingness to reach the other side,
But instilled in the winter’s recurring breeze
And purple-maroon landscape sighs
Of lovers holding tight, there is a brief silence.
They say it’s just a recurrence,
And I watch it slip away.

Across barren landscapes, rivers bed for the night
As men hurry in flight; the sun awaits the morn;
And clouds await the storm.
The lovers hold on tight
To feelings not so forlorn.
Meditation comes in any form.
And the clouds await the storm.

In gentle whispers to the ground,
As though not to let the sun hear,
Shadows speak words of chaotic meter.
Candles dancing on the walls of endless chambers,
Thoughts revolve just down the hall,
But stray not to the rear
Where fear lets loose without bound.
Hold a love, let there be no fear