Poem

Words hung on paper Like thoughts in the wind Some flitter to and fro But the good ones always seem to blow Away and away, Again and again. Go down to the river of exile Where the sad ones cry, Go out to the catacombs Where the old ones die... Like a leaf in the fall It's all such a temporary thing, So put a little music with it And hope it'll make someone's soul sing. Slumbering forth with sadness A mingled mixture of madness This sobriquet symphony Of mellow deep; Heart felt longings, Vagabond thoughts, And lack of sleep - Every bit of being blends As awe and imagination together Never end. Mighty words in waves Churn man's deep, With wild wonders to reap. Where mystery and majesty are born, The poetic possibilities of translation Range from sage to scorn. In a million ways arriving Within each new day The great gift given, If only wise enough words can be found To say. These are the forms and foundations of poem, Read or written, loved or smitten, Gathered together, or alone, If one will only listen to hear The faint whispers of Eternity speak, Ever drawing nearer, and nearer...