THROUGH THE SWAMPS OF TIME – A COLLECTION

DREAMS

Harsh, gentle, soft, pulling, pushing,
masters of the heart.
Staunch haunting secrets.
Where do they come from?
How are they nurtured?
Is sharing possible?

RVM REQUIEM

The crucible is hot and white, its contents vaporized in light.
Our souls sense and seek the night, we close and dream of winning the fight.
How and when can we have those glorious moments of peace?
Will warm sun rays heal headaches as flights increase?
Has laughter ceased to swell the cabin as twilight stills the movement of the day?
How long must we labor with bills and expenses we cannot pay?
I’m tired and yet fulfilled, the objective is within sight.
There is but one last effort and then one last flight.
Whose schedule was the exercise on?
I never really knew.
Only faith in The Source, and in people, gave us hope and carried us through.
Will the prize when won give birth to moments lost and left undone, as meetings consumed the hours and left so little time for fun?
What was it that we shared in the crucible along the way?
It could only have been the being of the self as it exists day by day.
I wonder if the anger of absence will wane with time spent seeking squirrels in the sight, or as games are played and tickling extends late into the night?

When does resentment begin?