The Old Spot


I’ve been waiting, inside,
counting the hours like days,
watching the strings snap
against the bark of the tree I lie beneath.
It grows endlessly and boundlessly
and I grab for a branch
finding a leave in my hand instead.
“Don’t leave me behind,”
I ask patiently.
But the tree
and the earth and the wind
all move without me,
it seems.

I want to catch the wind in a jar
and keep it for a hot day;
I want the leaves to fall
and make me a warm bed
to sleep the earthly changes away;
I want to wake to the way things should be,
as they were before.
But that can’t happen in this world,
nor the next.
I can’t abandon my place here,
it’s all I know
but, it’s changing around me
and growing;
I must grow with it.
But I pull and pull
till I’ve pulled so hard
it’s al behind me,
and I find myself in a river
drifting
toward the old spot.

Now it is dark,
now the trees have gone,
and the earth has changed
and I let it pass me by.
And, I didn’t even get to say
goodbye.

Simply beautiful..........vivid.

wow, thank you

Your thoughts are so poignant, you have captured them beautifully..
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Are Now

I have been,
where you are, now,
The same spot and again.
Drifting, floating
grabbing on,
pulling, catching wind.
In the night time, dusking, dark,
the fire flies congregate,
waiting for that little child,
to fill a jar,
while swinging on the gate.
Sometimes it feels,
the needing,
just to pull the sway.
Share the spot,
the same one.
And gift each other stay.

Raine Les 5/30/2008