The Graveyard
I sit here at the edge of a graveyard
and look out upon vast unnumbered rows of tombstones
each marking the birth and death of a solitary life
and I ask what kind of people where these?
Were they white or black, foreign or native born?
Friend or foe to mankind?
Can someone tell me?
Were they rich or poor?
Each felt the trials and tribulations
Of the lives which they led
but now they all have become members
of the place known as infinity.
Dedication to Vance Packard
Are we known for the riches we possess
or are we known for voyages of the mind?
Is our purpose to know the truth
or to pray to the dollar sign?
Introspection 66
Some look at me and question
whether God so strange a creature could have made
or strike a startled pose
and wonder if their eyes deceive them.
For here, in all unmajestied splendor
stands before them a stranger to their land
their ways of life and minds
And lives not in their world.
I am a creature bent on a life
of death, and lack misgiving.
For what I do is foretold by fate
and the minds of men.
I am a creature unto myself
an alien form of death and mystery
whose very existence challenges man
and forces him to look upon himself
and ask what hath God wrought?
But men are slaves of their time and actions
and I am free to tread the long
untrespassed sanctity of space
and fly through endless corridors of time
and live unto myself and never die.
For those who see, and fewer still
for those who know some part
of my myriad existence,
let them guess to what my purpose is
I am, but yet I cannot be
A thing born out of time and space
A creature who is doomed to live
To die only by his own hand
But yet I wander wondrously free
Unfettered by man or time or space
a challenge to the ancient gods
lost in some distant space.
I walk my darkened path alone
and know that no others dare walk with me
and dance to the music of the stars
for the way is quick, the dangers many
the walker strange, the land unending.
But I shall walk these empty ways
and live beyond eternity.
The Cat
A cat
quietly, silently
sleeping peacefully
on the master's couch.
dreams of mice and cream
and of all good things
Disturb not its rest
it is one with God.
The Dewdrop
A dewdrop
waiting along in morning time
passing its existence
and serving the beauty of nature.
God's waking gift to flowers
A shimmering cup
brought them from above.
Their thanks is given in the color and beauty
of their lives.
Poetry Pages
(1)--(2)--(3)--(4)--(5)
