Tracks of a Wandering Mind

Poetry, stories and random thoughts from a wandering mind.

Endless days

(Written in a bleak moment.)

These are the endless days of life,
Summer unending time unremarked.
Faith unrelenting walking a knife
Whose sharp edge shoves back the dark.

Cares and worries and things to come,
Cache of time endlessly borrowed,
Youth so blind sees not the autumn,
Spent quick seeing not the morrow.

Now have all those endless days gone,
Those riches squandered without heed.
That endless cache of time withdrawn,
Summer’s ending sun now wearied.

The knife’s edge soon dulled by time,
Bankrupt of endless tomorrows.
No more the endless days of time,
But soon time for the winter’s sorrows.

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October 26, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | | Leave a comment

A moment in time

I used to help my older brother dig graves in a local cemetery when I was a teenager.  He would buy a fifth of whiskey and we would get drunk while we dug a new grave in the rocky soil.

I watched him walking slowly across the green grass,
Moving past the rows of gray headstones side by side;
Silent, small islands of bleak reminder
The same color as the clouded sky above.

I stopped my digging, leaned on my shovel and
Watched the old man for a moment as he stopped
In front of a stone, weathered and stained
With the intractable passage of time.

His hair was white and fine and flowed with the breeze
As his pale blue eyes cast back and forth, back and forth.
He leaned heavily on a plain black cane as he made way
Across the new mown grass that smelled of summer.

Carefully, painfully he knelt down in the grass,
A little at a time as if his joints were slowly rusting.
“I don’t want to get that old,” I thought to myself
As I watched him reach silently into his worn coat.

The old man turned and laid something down across
The grass in front of the stone, then slowly stood up.
“Happy anniversary sweetheart,” I heard him whisper.
The rumpled red rose by the headstone fluttered in the breeze.

October 26, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | | Leave a comment

Dancing with my demons

I often dream about ambulance calls that I have run, particularly some of the worst ones.  This was born out of a very rocky night’s sleep.

It’s too late to be quiet now and they’re all awake you see
And time has come once again for the trip they take with me.
I cannot stand this very often and my soul can’t take the strain,
For it’s feeding time again and my demons feed on pain.

Back and forth they wander through the boxes in my mind
And shuffle through the memories I’ve gathered over time.
They take one out and look at it and hold it to the light
And demand that I dance with them to the music of the night.

From this first box a boy not ten has come to take his turn
And yet once again I see the fire all around him burn.
Again I watch and listen as a father cries in pain,
He tells me he can’t see and says the small boy’s name again.

This first dance now is over as the dancer fades from sight
And another takes his place as time marches through the night.
All the ones I could not save no matter that I tried so hard
Once again they all dance with me these demons of the dark.

October 26, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | , , | Leave a comment

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