Bolivar and San Martin: Guayaquil, Ecuador

Wednesday, August 24, 2005

To -

She vanquishes my sorrow with her smile,
and with that same light could illuminate the world-
rolling back the dark covers of night as she opens her eyes,
appearing once more as the incarnation of beauty.

What beauty lies still beaneath the surface,
in the sacred vault of her soul?
what thoughts and feelings lie hidden,
awaiting the One who will
teach them the manner of the their expression?

Each time I see her is the first time.
We meet, we part, and I am left pondering the perfection
I have witnessed-debating its reality,
almost certain that one so fair could not walk the earth with me
here and now.

And still she smiles brightly,
and still the sun must hide behind the clouds in shame.
Still I long for my time or my calling,
Awaiting the will of she who may command me anything.

Random Time

Random time.
False hours tick on the clock
in this or that man's memory of reality.
reality is our impression of what is real,
for the things we call by name
are not contained in words on the page
or in syllables enunciated from the mouth.

we are- in effect - sliding through time,
stopping here or there,
desperately holding on to this moment or that
and vainly seeking our own sense of what is real, what is true.
our thoughts are hindered by a day-to-day world
which distracts us with false problems,
and which scorns the sentimentality that is paramount to our being.

we are indeed creatures of light.

compassion and understanding are our supreme endeavors-
yet our time is fading, and my words are failing,
and a sinking wasteland lies
where our Eden was meant to bloom.

sweet memory of change!
sweet silence that erases my words from the page.
and as hope drowns in the clouds of the oncoming storm,
I stand watch alone in the sweet air of twilight.