The Loss of Innocence

Playing

Frolicking

Jumping climbing

Barefoot

Meandering

Through leafy splendour

Careening through pillowy piles

Newly fallen

Leaves

Running about foot in front of foot

Suddenly to find a rake

With its tines in your sole

Its haft in your face

A Mortal’s Immortality

Now we come so soon to die

And we become nothing more

Than piled, osseous rubble

Long buried and forgotten

In a sandy loamy realm

Our joints upset and backwards

As worms writhe within our eyes

And our graves turn to pebbles

And our bones return to earth

And our souls, those massless things

Of which no one knows a titch

Float above and without us

In the form of misty wisps

And so we simply lie there

With our bones and souls undone,

Our remains sunken deeply

To a place beneath the sand

With nothing more to utter

But only this will be the

Ever-lasting face of man

Windrider’s Song

Have you ever been a sail, child?

Have you ever felt yourself

filled by the wind,

carried by the whim

of an ambling breeze?

Ever abandoned yourself

to fly

recklessly

to whatever place it is

where the waiting zephyr sleeps?

Have you ever been

unhindered

by the locks of forethought—

ever felt truly free?

Have you ever been a sail, child?

Ever given yourself

to the angry gale?

Ever been thrown about

by the screaming

hurricane

or tossed

upon the rocks

by the howling fury

of a none-to-gentle storm?

Have you ever found yourself

on the calmest sea

only to realize it was no more than the eye

of Armageddon?

Have you ever been a sail, child?

Ever been subjected

to the twists and turns

of mercurial fate?

Ever placed yourself

at the mercy

of the abrasive cold,

the gentle warmth

of the mindless

winds of change?