ANOTHER WORLD ANOTHER REALM
Imagination so alive, dies not,
within those realms of sleep,
where each phantasmagoric, fantasy dwells,
within this land of dreams.
Where those angels resonate,
sweet delights, upon the ear,
charming, with each feathery dove,
bringing, such deep peace,
while soft, white feathers float, layering, the air
sifting filaments, of heaven’s light,
that descends, from above.
Where you may waltz, within a purple maze,
of tinkling bluebells, that wisp and ruffle, loose,
making a violet sea,
where this hostile world remains, far away,
from those merry, elves and gnomes,
that dance around, each toadstool
and those leaf – strewn, homes
where those paradise, clouds can be seen,
as white, as the thrill, to espy,
the small, round house, at yuletide
attired, in linen snow.
Where no grey or gloom exists,
amidst the azure skies, so bright
and little children smile and laugh,
kissing a gentle doe,
frolicking, in the fields, upon a fairy trail,
with each tiny, robin ringing out,
its velvet song, to hail –
while slowly the mind will alert,
to the sound of church chimes,
that toll those dawn hours,
of yet, another morning's light –
awaking, bleary – eyed,
from this nirvana, upon the breath,
of wonder and miracles, baffled,
by why you left,
this place of bliss, so far away,
from this worldly earth, we call today,
to know, as this life, so be each death,
returning to this Elysium, at last
to eternal dwell, where the light will blaze
and lost secrets by angels and demons,
will reveal all, will tell
of all that lies, in truth, to be at rest -
each vice and virtue,
'twixt heaven and hell,
so lost, by this oasis, painting,
this fanfare spell,
where your heart, with joy,
will endless, swell.
GATEWAY TO THE PEARLY DRAY
Heart beats and swells, in bliss,
to know of this ardour alone, where the butterflies, flit
where fairies kiss, to entrance the child
and bluebirds soar, with plaintive tone,
across the clear skies.
Where the soul rests, cocooned
where dreams swoon, in love’s bower,
where the roses and lilies, bloom.
The mind rests, in the apple grove,
espying each caress, from sweethearts’ love,
to be, as a song, that floats, upon the starry air,
in a freedom, as the dove -
no more captive, but in tune, with each music, note
each resonance, from all song birds,
exuding rhymes, from each throat.
Little pixies dance, in a haze,
chanting tales, with the elves and gnomes,
under each toadstool,
where bluebells parade, in an embroidered maze,
trailing about those tree, trunks
where little sprites picnic,
at the noon day sun, aflame,
while a huge, kite flies off, to paradise,
as tiny imps frolic, by the brooks and willowy, grass
looking for leprechauns,
with the coming, shadows of the night,
when all will quiver, at the cold,
though nothing dies and no - one, grows old,
shivering in fear, of each legend ghost,
where infants fret, within
your very mind so young, once more,
to know of love, before this door,
this entrance, to another world,
a place, before a little girl’s birth –
finding, as heaven, the child, within
where nirvana, lives –
an oasis, though fading still,
as a vision gone, into the distant, dim.
ONE JOURNEY
Standing before those immense seas,
by the lonesome bay,
to be, as an island, devoid,
of human voice, full of noise,
save only, with those wild seagulls, that wail –
the heart thus, questions, old traditions, here
of piety and belief, of legend Gods,
even the pagans, of ancient times
lighting, their mystic, fires of night.
To adhere, to these fabricated deities,
seems futile, feeling, this magnetic, sun
outpour, its gleaming rays,
espy the lustre, of the enigmatic, moon
to sing, with those yearning, waves
perceive, the lavish host,
with this matriarch, of stately, trees
the rich verdure, of earthy green,
sweeping its panorama,
across the heather – topped, prairie meads,
the huge, wide plains, of the lonely bleak,
while the heart beat pounds,
with those hurling winds, that resound
and weary feet dance, once again,
through those sheets, of wintry rain.
Alone, at last, amidst this solitude,
this inner solace, that nurtures, each instance -
from each stir, to wake,
till each night, of silent sleep,
bringing such emotions close, to the soul,
leaving the mind in a wonder,
at this constant flux, with all, in motion,
this ebb and flow, that alerts the brain,
as to where, to go.
But only, yet, upon this road travelled, within,
where this inner realm, will send, at last
this intrinsic peace,
that intoxicates, your very breath,
that holds, your dreams –
peace with this, for sure,
rests sweet, amidst the soul,
where affections need no other,
but only this calm enduring,
as those white crests, beat and roll.
At last, finding the self, to no more, be,
as an angel’s voice, that speaks of bliss,
with every verse, to read –
to be dead, yet still, espy
all of Nature’s wild -
the flowery grass,
where you will one day, lie.
SOUL’S SILENT PLACE
Dreamer’s heart’s abode,
musing alone, within this mystic home,
that projects amidst this essence of peace,
one, that longs for the distant remote,
what lies, so obscure and so far,
beyond, amidst the deep, amidst this dream,
like the winds that moan, each haunting song,
like this pining, for the end,
when each voice threads and weaves, its resonance
collecting, amidst an inner, realm of grace,
to flow, at last, as a stream, unto death.
Yet to create, to outburst, with each thought,
still, only this, floats, as ethereal, as the spirit of the soul,
as each melodic, refrain of lonely birds,
that reveal, this secret pathos,
this endless, sorrow embedded, within the crux of life,
with each plaintive, call.
So, remains this vision, pictured,
in such mysterious beauty,
only to dispel, as dust, as filaments of cool light,
that drifts, into the faintest dim –
yet permeating, as the gentle breeze,
as unreal, as illusory,
this empty space, betwixt, each other
that swells, with each nuance of wonder,
with all that resounds.
Demanding only, for this solace, profound
that abounds, amidst Nature’s realms,
to emulate, but only, what the very Gods, ordain
amidst this world, of paradise sounds.
Colouring eternal, all seasons, lain
where the heart stays, close,
as each sense that thrills,
as the songbird warbling, shrill
and the sun that bursts, aflame.
VELVET SOFT HUSH OF WORDS
Aspire to love, yet only, from within,
as the lullaby of night, that sends its melancholic tale,
that is carried upon the winds
heard, in distant towns,
as music, from each warm – lit, room
where the lamplight will gleam,
at all, that is heard and seen,
while the stars glimmer, their bejewelled light, above
so glows, the lustrous moon.
Listening still, to this echo and resonance,
floating sweet, upon the ear,
like the serenades of birdsong, by day,
that ripple their velvet tones,
in each shaded, woody clear -
all calling, harmony, breathing
each knell and chime soft, upon the air,
while the church bell tolls, every hour
and voices exalt, in glee, to host with joy
those times of mirth.
Yet the mind yearns, though all, be, as bliss
to be, as the dead, with nothing, to miss,
to let these sounds, pound nevertheless, their beats,
yet longing still, for all drawn, as hushed
straining faint, into the obscure –
to be unseen, invisible, finding this point of nothing,
yet made up and enriched, by all that fulfils, from this,
as these fading melodies, that send their dream
into the distant dim,
like a child, who strums, the golden harp
only, to rest in a sleep, from all, that is plucked,
from this carousel left, to hear, that whirls -
the heart trembling, the quivering nerve.
But to rest, at last, amidst the still quiet, unheard
by a single soul, save, in this silent world, to know
this place of peace, where dwells eternal,
the heart’s dream,
where all, thus created, ebbs and flows.
The realm of silence, that rules,
over each word, each phrase, that ensues
with this eternal, knowledge resting, within
as the endless song, as those haunting, winds.
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