from the high point of the hill
in the shadow of a ruined house
I saw with the eyes of the Cherokee
I saw only the past
...
I watch the children
walk the garden wall.
They step too slow,
and then must step too fast
...
we called it the Prehistoric Forest
every nook and cranny of home had a name
it was a dank and mossy glen beside the creek
...
the passages of daydreams carry me
to places long forgot in memory
the sleepy southern shade of summertime
...
I stole a little piece of day
the world was sleeping through
to watch a mist of fog transform
my neighbor's lawn to fantasy.
...
Hiding in the tall grass,
was a thing the children never saw.
We were too young
...
I spent some time today
to read my poetry
I say that some is good
...
It falls on us as seasons often do
when we are unprepared,
a weariness that hope cannot subdue;
and not one soul is spared.
...
dark and cold winds roar
out beyond the prison door
hidden mystery to explore
no matter how we spin it
...
I know I can't hide
from shadows inside
they follow wherever I go
...