Bolivar and San Martin: Guayaquil, Ecuador

Wednesday, January 18, 2006

It falls away in morning,
When intimations of orange
Creep up on far horizon;
When wistfully we guide
The last dying strands
Of a beautiful dream.

Mourning in winter,
When we become aware of our chimera,
Delicate and desperate though it may be.
Sunrise comes bringing light to the world,
Yet covers the landscape of the soul in darkness.

Another minute could be a lifetime,
But alas, the sunrise is calling my name.
"Awaken, young dreamer!" it's rays seem to shout,
"The day is before you, away with those purified
images from starry dreamland"

Morning in winter,
And the last visions of joy neverending
Fizzle drearily
As I wipe the sleep from my eyes

Medidation on another year passing

the final tumult
of the year's cascade
leaves me with the knowledge
that nothing ever happens.

we go nowhere,
and we see no one.
Our years creep past
Draped in silence,
and masked by illusory sirens
of contentment or success.

only as children could we hear the music,
only as adults we realize
that music is the way.

We huddle sleepily in the prelude to dawn,
Wondering if we'll ever find the time we've lost
As the last breath of night
expels across the star-spattered sky.