Walls surround me,
but I see past them.
Concrete blocks me,
but I tunnel through.
The stars sparkle.
The moon shines.
I raise my arm.
Walls disappear.
I walk into the night.
WALK INTO THE NIGHT
hope
A DEAFENING SILENCE
Desolate.
Alone.
Empty.
No neighbors.
The wind rattles my walls.
Snow layers my roof.
No peace.
Cold.
Icicles hang low.
A deafening silence.
Will winter end?
Will the horses return?
I wait and hope.
THE FALLEN
Sherbrooke Forest | By Penny Whetton
THE FALLEN
Tree branches bend,
scarred by age.
Beaten by the storm,
many hit the ground
amid piles of leaves.
Without a proper burial,
no one mourns their loss.
The fallen won’t be forgotten
as replacements take root
in the shade of the tall trees.
Sunshine filters through the forest,
lighting the way for the future.
BUDS OF HOPE
BUDS OF HOPE
In midst of despair and sorrow
rise buds of hope for the morrow.
Still standing upright and strong
against all that can go wrong.
These are extreme times of confusion and change,
media expanding over a broader range.
We are attacked by sounds in each direction,
leaving no time for thinking and reflection.
These flowers know what’s real,
they go by what they feel.
Away from the hustle and bustle,
they grow wild without any tussle.
A day to clear my cluttered mind is all I need,
to recharge my battery is what I should heed.
I’ll recharge in a quiet place like this,
a zest for life is what I dearly miss.
WE WAIT FOR THE NIGHT
We wait for the night,
dry from the sun,
weak to our roots.
We yearn for moisture,
petals limp,
stems drooping.
We wait for the night,
for the moonlight
to ease our pain.
We wait for the dew
to quench our thirst,
to replenish our souls.
We wait for the sun
to lift its fiery head
and begin its daily ritual.
We are ready
to face the new day
with arms lifted.
REFLECTIONS
Reflections from above
surround me like a glove.
Hues of purple and pink
make me ponder and think.
I lift my face high
to the starry sky.
What is the reason I am here?
Why do I live my life in fear?
Questions in my mind
seek what I can’t find.
A shooting star streaks by.
“Is this my answer?” I sigh.
A bird perches near my arm.
I jump in fear and alarm.
Its black eyes stare back at me
and with a wink, it flies free.
I am alone with the night
with the moon at its full height.
My fear falls away like a cloak.
I begin to cry with a choke.
The bird has shown me a place
where I can reveal my face.
ILLUSION
A place of illusion.
Windswept nights.
Are your eyes deceiving you?
Has a waterfall appeared
where once stood a beach?
A river to replace an ocean.
Anything is possible.
If you believe in it.
