Treasure Island

MacGregor Tagliaferro


The Heart Of The Matter


Often on the mountain, I sit
At sunset, randomly walkin'
My gaze over the plain below,
The changin' tableau at my feet

Over there the flowin' river
Windin' its way into the distance
Where we wove ourselves together
Where dreams wound around reality

At the top of this mountain, crowned
With twilight, stars throw a last light,
And the wispy char of the Queen of shadows
Rises, and the edges of the vision are visible

Dartin' from the dark depths,
A delicate sound spreads in the air,
The Traveler stops, and the words form;
A whisper catches a ride on the wind

Listen, tryin' to understand
What could it be all about?
Somethin' that was once known
Then forgotten and left behind

Hill in hill in vain within sight,
South from dawn to sunset,
Search all points of the immense
And say: nowhere do answers await

In this valley, this place, this ranch,
River, rocks, forests, so dear solitudes,
The presence, or the lack thereof,
Awaits, insists the answer is here

But there is no beginnin' or end
Only an indifferent view from here;
In a sky dark or pure, what's the difference,
Whatever the view, expectin' nothin' of the days

When I followed the Traveler,
My eyes could see across the void;
But of what was illuminated,
I had not the strength to believe

Yet perhaps, beyond this terminal fear,
In a place where other skies shine,
If only temporary, for awhile
Would appear what I have dreamed

There, I envision the source of aspiration,
There, I find myself and redemption,
And this ideal truth that every soul desires,
That has no name in the land of exile

What can I, focused on the dream of you,
Wave on wave of wishes, wash me up,
In the land of exile why still I?
With the will, can the way be found?

Weary now, the sun sets on the prairie,
The night wind rises in the valley;
My dreams, similar to the fallin' snow:
Carried away by the stormy north wind

And the whispered words as well,
Carried away but not before
Finally, their meaning, clear now
As I stare over the craggy cliff

That which was once known long ago,
Like a half remembered dream
The heart of the matter: Forgiveness:
If only the will can be summoned

Submitted: Tuesday, April 09, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, October 09, 2013

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

For my Muse April 2013 Out West

-


Copyright 2013 Cowboy Coleridge All rights reserved.

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