Corridors

so accustomed to hospital corridors,
the creams, gentle blue, pale greens
that define and encompass my days,
the outside world, full of colour, no longer seems real
am i even here?
nothing is clear
the light and the cold and the roads I pass through
are only ways and directions to you
where you lay in your bed speaking strangely
muttering in distant places, one hand in another world

you passed through a door and don’t know it
I watched your determined and turbulent ride
you returned to this other side
i feel sorrow but never show it
you are not really here any more
my heart is an empty void
the well is too deep
i sit here beside you
not who I want to be
not hidden
but partially dead inside
– this waiting is killing me

Balancing

such shadows come and fall on me
from joy to sorrow, like a switch
i fight to turn the light back on
i don’t know where the joy has gone

a single note in some old song
a word not said
a thought unwise
i try to see where i went wrong

the tender sweetness
on a breeze
can turn my heart
and make me freeze

and then i go and sit a while
and lean against a steady tree
and wait to smile again
and see

like the earth we reach for warmth
and the thirsty kiss of rain
all things in nature
are the same

it’s all a mirror of ourselves
dimmed and scratched
things unclear
and things not seen

this constant flow
of dark and light
is just the deep souls day and night
and the turning of the year

Snowflakes

the summer,
always beautiful,
does not survive the storms
that winter brings

pierced with bitter icicles,
shattered hearts,
when lover part
with dreams they cannot mend

I see it every day,
a blizzard of bitter sorrow
snowflakes whirl and fly away
as lovers often do

snow drifts hide the paths we knew
banked around, too close, they hide the longer view

Hidden Weeds

with this sorrow comes the sorrow
of every loss I ever had
it’s a pool of hidden depths
full of hidden weeds, obscured

is this the same for those occasions
when I’m glad? do i recall a well of joy?
gladness seems to stand alone
no predictions and no source

I know too well the ebb and flow
joy transcends all of itself
that moment like a rising wave
that bubbles up with light and air

today I cannot turn the tide
I sleep the sleep of constant loss
I’m sick with sad complexities
and all the tears I ever cried

if love were simple, as I think,
this stream would never lead
another sorry sigh away
but would swim me back again

Changes

the seasons keep on turning
i gather wood for flame

i think i see you leaving
this time last year you came

the time for winter fires
is never twice the same

this time it may be sorrow
where it was joy before

all the things I had last year
i see i have no more

i remind myself again
to fill the winters store

we must live to journey on
together or apart

i gather all that i may need
before the dark days start

there’s safety in the cellar
and in the hollowed heart

Sorrow

the dark is full of shining stars
the moon will fade tomorrow

the morning sun is coming up
these things are sure as turning fate
but i can only sit and wait
the night will surely follow

the house is there but we are not
no fire burns within the grate
now the hour is growing late
home and my heart are hollow

no matter how the birds may sing
I sit here full of sorrow

People Passing By

sitting in a summer street beneath a sunlit tree
people passing by
fleeting thoughts showing in their eyes,
eyes that hold delight, dismay, disbelief
this moment, in this day,
memories flooding in, fading, flying, dying
the growing gravitas of this ones frown
shuffling feet, passing through the shadows
children running, laughing, shouting
a shoal of flashing fish, sparkling,
crowds parting,
flowing and repeating

i see her passing
she is thinking
can i buy that dress today,
what will I wear tonight
is my hair alright,
she sighs
i see her sorrow
does all love fade and die

a man stands alone an hour
gravity weighs him down
his feet deep rooted
i could go and greet him
a simple walk across the street
a meeting
the moment passes

i stay beneath my sunlit tree
watching how a leaf falls
the summer hours are fleeting

No Answers

what makes the sun hot and ice cold?
what makes the glow in the embers of fire?
why does the river twinkle and dazzle?
where does time come from that
turns slowly, yet passes so quickly?
how does sunset and beauty bring peace?

wood smoke contents me, raindrops refresh,
moonlight entrances, the stars make me dream.
Though I’m so small in the great scheme of things
a change in the wind from the south can inspire me,
a wind from the north stiffens resolve,
sunlight dancing through branches
lifts my heart like a bird in the morning,
the daisy that shines in the grass makes me smile
but when will I learn to be more aware?
What is the source, the centre, the fount?
Why do scientists and priests think they know
when all of their answers belittle the truth?
How does the world so touch my heart
that I can be lifted from sadness and sorrow
to joy in a moment? What makes life?

The essence, the glory, the blessing is
that I feel and see all these astonishing things,
yet will never know the answers at all.