The Flare Amidst The Canopy Poem by Bruce Gashirabake

Deep in that damp alley,
When pathways are yet to valleys,
I slowly tread the way cautiously,
And the silence to me speaks so softly.

As the clouds roll by,
From that oblivion to a-bide,
I die to see nature's beauty,
Beauty yet to be emotionally un-fold.

Not just the clouds but everything,
The air itself is impenetrable in this thick canopy,
And while I crave the sight of the gleaming rays of the sun,
At least a photon to befall this desperate face,
But all have grown so cold to me.

As I stare left and right,
The nothingness I behold,
When the birds' melodies have grown dark,
Maybe awaiting for Mother Nature to unfold hidden blessings.

Upon one weakness yet I fall,
That allows minimal photons to pass through,
Perhaps one tree fell,
Yet upon that death do I obtain joy.

A song of joy I sing in my heart,
I rejoice before it even dawns on me,
Yet all is too astounding for me to comprehend,
But, lo, it still is my silent spring of joy softly flowing.

That mysterious death to me was of joy,
I still ponder!
While the Maker of things ordains,
I am yet in oblivion to understand,
But anticipate when all shall be so crystal.