The dawn comes, oozing into sluggish consciousness
Thoughts, rustling mice scurrying in the walls of a once grand manor
Settled into the dust and cobwebs of long disuse and decay
Silence strains inward, cloying and palpable
The windows of the soul stare vacantly on the gardens of youthful
innocence
Where once madness strode striving to mount the ramparts and throw down
the defences
Laughter, still hanging in the distant echoing stillness.
Youth, not yet gone but beleaguered, and flagging
Looks longingly to the future and the possibilities of things not yet
come to pass.
The sons of man, may in time, work miracles
Though they know it not, they bestow immortality
And in their presence, pride and love reign justly.
C. Reid
Carry Her Dreams
How does the mother want?
She desires the wind
To carry her dreams,
The clouds to embrace
The desires and pleas.
She longs for the fields
Filled with Astors;
The tiny white buds calling out
Asking for her warmth.
She craves the days
Filled with the sound of the bees.
The work they do
Oblivious, focused, driven.
J. Reid
Be
Create Little One
Make the world you desire
Draw your experiences
Mold it as you want it to be
Play in the world you sculpt
Create Little One
Use the days as they move
Slowly for you in your time
Share yourself with us
In the way that you do so well
Create Little One
Not for others in awe
Fashion in your way
Grow as you would
Be as you are
J. Reid
Untitled
The oceans of society hold many wonders.
Tides of fellowship and acceptance are driven inexorably by the waxing
and waning lunar cycle of popularity
Currents of needs and desires carry the flotsam and jetsam of lives
through the boundless waters
A vigilant awareness must always be kept, for in the deep there lie
monsters, waiting to pull you into the yawning abyss.
Sharks trawl the waters seeking any weakness, sniffing endlessly for the
blood that will lead to frenzied attack and the destruction that fuels
them for another day.
Is each man an island? Or is he instead but a drop in the ocean; one of
countless others all dancing to the tune which our nature has chosen?
C. Reid
