Reflections from a bridge.

 Do you have a minute to sit and listen to all of the good things in my life?

Yes, a minute of your time is I fear all that would be needed, no need to fear boredom, as like a leaf caught in a backwater while the mainstream drifts by, I must dance to the repetitive tune of the swirling current that takes me along, yet takes me nowhere.

All I can do is watch life at work all around me, bees fervently gathering from plants at the waters edge in an abstract hover while crows provide backing vocals for a soprano thrush perched on a branch reaching far out above the water.

All are mindful of the inky blue cloud which has appeared on the horizon casting doubt on all this fine day had promised. Later will come the rain and then the flood that will carry me away, but not too far, just downstream until I am trapped in the next slow moving whirlpool, the prisoner who earns remission by doing time for the crime he did not commit.

The future frowns on me with murky features indistinct, or is that a trick of the shimmering water? wish now I could stop the imminent  onslaught from the heavens, perhaps a rainbow?..

No, just a dream from the man seeing reflections from a bridge.

 

Passing Moment

Storm bird fly away,

Rise up and circle, seek a fresh terrain

And I think not of you as friend nor foe,

for like outstretched arms our bond is broke.

A passing moment was all the time we had,

and we ran and we chased and we both learned how to be sad,

but a passing moment is a time that's already been,

like two ships of light that pass in the night unseen.

Now we're headed away from each other 

and life's choppy seas are getting rougher,

but there's no help for a helpless cause,

nor words in a silent pause.

Fate has claimed two more hearts,

like an actor playing both parts.

So storm bird won't you fly away

and don't you look back in yearning,

for there's nothing at all here to be gained

as a passing moment is a moment in time not returning.

Angel of our time.

 

Angel of our time, can you hear me?

Angel of our life, you're very dear to me.

An open book is read from, a story that's well known, and the frown that is on your face the only emotion that is shown.

For deep your illness like the night and surely now this has to be the last fight.

Her grip on my hand is fading fast, as I recall all the many things and places from the past.

We would live, we would love, we would run.

We would walk hand in hand into the setting sun.

I hoped we might run again but I guess we never will, for now her eyelids flicker open once and then they rest quite still.

And so she crept into darkness in a shimmering silver gown and a face of great beauty that had lost its furrowed frown, and my friend, he of sadness did pass the book around, so we clutched it tight between our hands and whispered a prayer our tears did drown.

Perhaps we will meet again someday, perhaps we should not believe. 

For sorrow has filled our minds with haze, sent forward to deceive.

Angel of our time, can you hear me? Angel of our life, you were very dear to me.

Although time has claimed you, live you on always, on that island of sun where we both shall run...called memory.

When I happened by the pond.

 Twas twilight when I happened by the pond.

The sun had lost its sheen and the dusk was coming on,

so the bank I sat upon, with my feet suspended close
to still water.

A reflected face stared back at me with the same confusion, casting doubt on reality,

And so I looked away.

Please mister boatman won't you teach me?

to skim cross the surface like a pebble thrown, that I, like it may seek the other bank and all that is beyond.

Please mister Crane fly won't you tell me?

how it is you can duck so low and yet jump so high, for I might high-fly tonight and evermore soar out of sight.

A gentle breeze now caresses my eyes. A playful tease calls from a darkening sky. 

But as I lift my eyes so the day finally dies and the look of this creature says it all, for this is not a hunter after nightfall.

Please mister Kingfisher won't you show me? how to see through this mirror so that I may live, I've got so much to give, much more to learn.

Please mister Bullrush won't you whisper?

how it is you can stand so straight, not yours some others fate in a storm, protected by life's uniform, live you on always!

Twas night when I sat by the pond, Dark had broke lights loving bond,

And so I walked away.