The Leaving Time

" The Leaving Time"




Through the tangled branches,
I see the hues of scottish tartan hills...
i see the hints of sunlit fingers reaching
this dark forest floor,
to stroke my cold body,
warming me...
deliberate and steadfast,
the darkness becomes less so...
i am leaving this place now...
where i hid from myself...and from you.
walking, but not running...
glancing back,
but once.

I leave.

Introspect (dazed and left wondering)

I wish you could analyse me...
I wish you would.

Write a chapter for me.

Tell what you see,
what you hear me saying...
because i can't seem to see myself anymore...
i can't hear my voice.

it reverberates the abode of a strange place,
a foreign land...

I don't recognise my face...
i don't see the newness in mine eye,
just confusion...and a tear.
racing in parallels,
questioning every fear.

I wish you could analyse me...
tell me what i see is worthy of sight.

I wish you would analyse me...
and tell me what i hear is beauteous,
and not discordant and brash.

I am weak now,
but i will be strong again...
Humpty Dumpty has fallen...
where there are no "King's Men"...
there is Self.

G.

When Blue was Green (Thanks Miles)

Before the fall...
when blue was green,
i could see the exception to every rule,
the Light would shine through every seam.

When blue was green -
your face captured me...
your eyes downward turning,
the smile that saved me from my own
tempest...my own darkness...my silly plea.

Green they were,
the hills...the valley to the east,
your eyes.

Blue now hides the rainbows,
blue now covers mine eyes...
glimpses of green
still  swipe the landscape...
oils the painter left behind.

When Blue was Green.

(Gregory)

My last breath...

The days ahead of us are never written in stone,
only the impressions of the past are due their memories.

As I look to the future I wonder when I will  take
my last breath,
where will It be?
will I be alone or will someone be holding my hand,
attending to my last glance?

Silly thoughts such as these ensnare my attentions from
time to time...
and yet they bring my focus to bear upon the
ultimate reality..
So as these last days hurry by and run swiftly away to
another place and another time,
I will allow the tea leaves cast the lots of the unassuming;


I pray that in my hearts-mind....to have tasted your lips,
to  have touched your face...
to have held you in soft embrace...

....

Song of the Multitudes

Song of the multitudes"




I serve the order, the kings, the wealthy,

until mine fingers swell and numb...

I roll the wheels,

when the night watch beats the drum.

....to this fate i am forever bound i ask?



....she paints her face to lure their attentions...

to sweep the night alleys,

with her long dress of red...

tis' this life she has grown accustomed to,

and each breath she draws with solemn dread.

......to this fate is she forever bound she asks?



...a trick for a pound,

...a broken hand for a pence...

nar' enough for crumbs and a drink,

not this night,

no...not this night...



Gregory.

Que hora es ya?

Time is sometimes unforgiving...


a silent witness to each breath and the convolutions

of our lives.

Spellbound I am...

by the chants of crickets and tree frogs outside my window...

somehow making light of this strange meloncholy that blows

across the windowpane from time to time...

Ultimately, I am becoming more amd more each

day the person I recognize from eons ago.

.....and this reflection is somehow still incomplete...

without you.
 
Gregory

The Crucible and the Flame

They said you walked through these very streets...
now as I close my eyes  -  I can almost hear the sounds ...
the children playing, the dogs barking...the muffled voices in the marketplace.

A dusty blanket seems to cover the village,  like a light-brown cellophane,
riding the breeze from one end of town to the other.
I seem to leave no footprints behind as I walk up the hill...
...the hill where they say you still hang from a tree.

I find myself following a small crowd as they appear to know where they go,
it is then that I see you...
still hanging from the cross...
motionless...still...
and yet....

The old lady whispers to me that he was the son of Mary and Joseph,
she is quick to follow that he is the Promised One..
I stare upon His Face once again....
only this time,
something is different...

Like a Flame that has harnessed my Heart...
burning... the pride, the hatred...the selfish lusts...the fears born of ignorance...
removing the dross to expose the priceless ore...
this crucible,
this all consuming Flame that devours my doubt -
as I watch your Face...

I hear cries and weeping all around me...
the soldiers begin to scream and shout ,
chasing the crowds away for another day.

I hear a soldier say aloud to his comrade,
"is He truly the Savior of the World"?

Walking with the small crowd to the village,
I pause and glance back up the hill...
expecting that you may not still be there...
no...hopeful notions are put to rest...you are still there...

...and yet I know that you will not tarry long there...
as your work is just beginning to bear fruit...

Here....here amongst this very crowd....this town...these cities...
Yes...you have shared the Flame of Love with all that will hear...

and to us,
let us bear your message in our hearts...
for eternity.