C.A. Morrow

Twisting roads through green speckled hills
Red barns that dot a summer long gone
Skiers seeking perennial winter thrills
In woodlands deep and silently strong
...

Resting on the slope of a summer field
A youth gazes upwardly at nomadic clouds
The sun's almond light to them must yield
As a westerly breeze eases away mental clouds
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Short grey days usher in darker nights
Trees long since give up their plight
As dying leaves float when they fall.
Angry wild geese cry as they call
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Rain drips icicily on Paris's April quay
As blossoms of cherry stir the misty air
The left bank ponders over cafe' au lait
While the whiff of tobacco releases the day's care
...

The glorious East wind howls through the trees
It brings man's nature to its knees
The spirits of fortune ride through the air
offering childhood adventure to those who dare
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If life is a fox, are we the howling hound?
Forever chasing toward the greener hills
Down on the moors searching firmer ground
Hunting forward for those distant thrills
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From the hammer to the anvil
From the sheath to the sword
From the eyes to the tears
From the blood to the rage
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To be alone but not lonely
To be strong but not merciless
To be content but not envious
To be away but not apart
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The boy runs hard to be a man
He fights as he acts to hurry time
His whole life is too slow for his plan
Never seeing the hills he must climb
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Chasing the spirit in the flesh
Regrets the fool who blows the horn
Keep pushing the button to refresh
Youthful bliss submits to times forlorn
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As she looked into his eyes of steely blue
Of minted ice that beckons winter's rain
Tracks in pine forests, the grey wolf knew
Are solitary tears over scars of love's pain
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The autumn leaves crunch close to a spark
As I turn my cover up against the east wind
Making my weary way through the city park
My mind is set for yet another midlife freeze
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An old man stumbles along a rocky shore
Thoughts of happiness are his no more
For him the bitter race of life is done
Sorrow and loneliness seem to have won
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Mr. Dickens drew the fog in Bleak House
Where now I stand in musty shadows
I see the millions trudge around as Faust
In a constant haze of rainbow shadows
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When did he first see the great LIE?
A mission only a lifetime could employ
Entering the chapters of the mind's book
Fearing to take yet another closer look
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She speaks in tones of whispered yesteryears
And raises spirits of emotions so long dead
Out of the past come those mystical rabbit ears
How the mind shuts a door to a heart that fled!
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There is a lonely place towards the bray of the hill
Where the wind whispers silently and time stalls
A pause ensues to recheck the lost soul's will
The marathon runner calls it 'hitting life's walls'
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Pensively our heads slumped towards the gates of woe
Inside that chamber of bleak wooden grey we shivered
Sunless windows overshadowed creaky floorboards below
As innocent fingers through the crumpled jotters quivered
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Slashing rain slices the thick monsoon air
Greenery bows their heads in receptive awe
We stand apart and each outwardly stare
The mourning wind whistles an uneven thaw
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She sailed around the corner's cove
A dim lighthouse in eyes so distant from me
We spoke but briefly, and I saw a salty strife
As time's tide drifted us out on a tranquil sea
...