Traces

A tuft by the trail,
A broken egg shell,
An empty nest up in a tree.
A wing in a web,
Driftwood in the ebb
That widens the shore by the sea.
A track in the mud,
A spot of dried blood,
A tire mark that once was a toad.
A pile of old bones,
Some moss covered stones
Once laid in a square by the road.

As life melts away,
Surroundings decay,
I can't stop the crumbling alone.
But time will erase what once was a trace;
A piece of my memory, soon gone.

Homecoming

I went back home the other day
To see what did remain.
Could sense the place from far away
As I got off the train.
A mile away, but as a child
I still could hear that sound.
That wailing whistle, long and wild;
The trembling in the ground.

So off I walked down dusty road.
So long since I had been.
Returning to that old abode
To see my folks again.

The road went past the Simpson place.
I loved that girl of his!
I won't forget her smiling face.
I wonder where she is.
Beneath that tree in their front yard,
Her hand, I used to hold.
It seemed I held the winning card.
Somehow... I had to fold.
There's not much left; a stony wall
Right where the house once stood.
How did it look? I can't recall.
Right now... I wish I could.

When soon the house came into view
I almost turned and ran!
So scared of being overdue.
So scared to be a man.

Could almost see the neighbor's boys,
Who gave me my first pup.
I thought I heard my mother's voice,
"Come on child, hurry up"!
I listened long, but heard no sound,
Except the gentle breeze.
The old swing lay there on the ground
To rot beneath the trees.
The doors were locked, and windows too.
I'd seen enough today.
But one more thing I had to do
Before I went away.

I walked on out into the field,
Under a lone shade tree,
And saw the graves that death had sealed,
Yet time had set me free.
Then I recalled what Daddy said
The day he breathed his last.
"Son, carry on when I am dead,
And put me in the past".
I said a useless last goodbye
And left them both in peace.
My mind had let them finally die;
A bittersweet release.

My past was left around the bend
To die in rot and rust.
Then gently blew the summer wind
To fill my tracks with dust.

I, Driftwood

Driftwood, Driftwood, where have you been?
I've circled the world, and I've started again.
Driftwood, Driftwood, where will you go?
I drift with the tide. Please don't ask. I don't know.

"Something's in the water dad.
Out there beyond the bar"!
"You might as well forget it lad.
Tis passing by too far.
It's just a piece of drifting wood
That's washed away from shore.
It soon will sink, and that for good,
To never rise no more".

While floating in a moonless sea
With darkness for my sight,
So suddenly, it came to be,
I saw a distant light!
A growing flicker on a beach.
There's laughter, then a shout.
The waves once kept me out of reach,
But now, they'd turned about.

I'd been adrift for many days,
But that was in the past.
The shilhouettes around the blaze
Would be my hope at last!
I finally washed upon the sand
And caught two watchful eyes.
And even in the stranger's hand
My heart began to rise.

To have a space all for myself,
Was all I could desire.
To just be placed upon a shelf,
...Not cast into the fire!


Dawn creeps from the East.
The drifting has ceased.
And no one remembers
The smouldering embers.

Butterfly

Wings to fly,
For soaring high
Above the lowly ground.
Farewell to nigh.
Go touch the sky;
Horizons to be found!

A thirst to whet,
The course is set
Just through a narrow gap.
Beware, a net!
The end is met
Within the spider's trap.

Scratches

I walked the same pathway almost every day,
And passed the same dead Hickory tree.
It's cover of bark had all rotted away.
The trunk was as smooth as could be.
The tree had more scratches than all in the valley,
Being wrought by a squirrel's little claws.
It seemed to be counting, likes marks on a tally,
The passage of so many paws.

I passed it in summer, and on into fall,
And swiftly the winter drew near.
These traces of life on a dead wooden wall
Had somehow become something dear.
Then one day I realized, while there in the park
The shadow of life will soon fail.
It turns in a circle with decreasing arc.
What's left is a tuft by the trail.

Flowers and Weeds

A garden of flowers
Infested by weeds;
Their tender has now grown too old.
The green slender towers
Have scattered their seeds
And threaten to take back their hold.

The passing of spring,
The coming of showers;
The fate of the garden is sealed.
But summer will bring
A place for new flowers
Out there on the grave in the field.

The Well

There is a place,
The edge of Hell,
That's not so hard to find.
A luring space
Within the well
Of darkness in my mind.

The winding stair
That marks the course
Is steep, to say the least.
A mortal tear
Within the force
That keeps at bay the beast.

The quick descent
Needs no intent;
The will is just released.
A slight consent
To false content;
Restraint is now decreased.

I near the well,
I dread the sight,
There is no turning back.
I feel the spell,
Choose not to fight,
My conscience growing slack.

The wall is thick
And draped with mold;
It draws with deadly power.
The shaft is slick,
Without a hold;
A deep inverted tower.

Then on the edge
I sit and look
Into that gaping maw.
Begin to dredge
With mental hook
In wonderment and awe.

The pull's too great.
I make a lunge
Into the sinful deep.
I feel the weight.
I take the plunge.
The consequence I'll reap.

The thrill is gone,
But not the mistake.
I know I must repent.
But later on
I'm doomed to make
That spiraling descent.