A Relative Stranger's View

To watch a sun linger

against ponderosa pines, birch and its bark

and reflective shadows

only showing us the true nature

of how your day will always pass

and always another day awaits,

black and there

It's a strange violent orange

clouds stooped low to keep

a circling, keen eye on all that bellow

simple hovering of white over an ocean of color

and all this just there

to deny us that extra hour

where we once could define our wishes

and maybe savor our dreams

Bark and moss all hanging

not one tree parallel to it's roots

but somehow swayed 

by either the illusionistic language of wind

or the time it takes for sorrow to drown in sun,

as seasons fade

Passing withering light

the size of a penny

to the size of the moon

deep creaks among the forest

and the sound of a bird, cuckoo or magpie,

slow and calculating, hovering overhead

drain all these emotions

that the sun brings out of me

And now night will find

a new home for some hours

but not the normal night

that I wait to make my day

It's solace, uncompromised

in truth and pity and untold white skies, 

to the turn of grey

A transition of the times

we someday hoped would come

to linger on old existences

always leads one to the bitter

yet, when the abysm sinks low

and the chilly breeze carries a howl

from far across the canyon

the thoughts always slip in the cracks of the mind

and find their way to shape the question

"Humans were not made for solidarity, pack animals, ferocious kings.

We're always destined to be together, youthful vigor is youthful vigor

and it always fades. Ask any man with any time left on his hands. These

thoughts become real."

Oh well.

I guess I'll give it one more try,


The End

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