love

Little Leaves

Hold me fast
As little leaves
Tell time, tell lies, tell me
Tell tales of old, wise dragons gold
Nights days,
Fill fantoms face.

Breathe my body
Feed my fire
Soften me, my sweet
Tempests taste
Soul embrace
Little leaves, lament.

IW

Sing To Us Still

We face ourselves to illiminate our woes, but what if we are trying to save ourselves from what ensures the picture of our own existence and that of Humanity?

The reason for which we abide is not always to confront, nor escape our trial or discomfort. The meaning and purpose of our lives and our place here is not only about us.

We may find ourselves doing things that we, or others, can make little sense of at times and I have found:

If I cannot escape perhaps I am not meant to, or just not at the time I think I should. If I cannot ‘break free’ from ‘my cross’ perhaps I am meant to pick it up and carry it to my end.

It is sacrifice, not always chosen. A thorn in our side – which keeps us human and maybe humble.

The reason and purpose are not always, even seldom, known.

I come to you with a word.
I come to you in this life.
The Universe is.

Apart and a part of all we hear.

She speaks, we speak

Sing to us still.

I.W.

The Neighbours Lights.

When the lights had all gone out, my neighbour called.

I looked around my home and found two lightbulbs left. One was bright like the morning star, the other just a dim little one.

I took a candle and the bright one over with me, it would give the needed light into the modernly designed home. The little one would do for this small old cottage I dwelt in. For now.

We lit the candle as I entered, held hands to support each other and fumbling along we reached the place we thought was best to place it.

It lit up as expected and the light filtered well into other rooms if you kept the doors open.

In the new dawn just rising, I watched from my window as the incandescent light could now be replaced with mornings rays streaming down from heaven.

When night would come once more, my neighbour, now a friend, would be able to trace back along our steps and flick a switch to illuminate the dark should they miss the sign of nightfalls arrival. Occasionally they ask if I have another candle.

Sometimes I sit under the dim light, the little one, happy in my ramshackle space and yet desire too, to feel the familiar radiance I see now shining from my friends home.

They said I must come around one day. I see silhouettes cast by the bright light, moving about a lot and I don’t like to intrude.

So I wait; I know my friend is busy, seeing clearer now and filling rooms with even brighter lights! I also know they look out the window too sometimes when the moon is out late, and see the light of the little one, still shining.

IW