The flow of . . .

Royalty-free music for professional licensing

All around me . . . the music flows,
sadly calling . . . like a water sprite . . .
stroking the shoreline,
messaging gently at malleable muds,
softly enticing . . .
with a lover's melodic tune,
echoing from the forest trees . . .
all around . . . dark green
like a cavern's maw . . .
stretching around me . ..
I am left to wander naked
and all alone. . .
the frosty air wrapped 'round. . .
as an icy blanket,
leaving me cold, so cold
to the marrow of my bone. . .
I walk along the water's ledge
and listen to the cry
of a sad and lonely owl
questioning humanity
asking who
and wondering why . . .
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Left alone to dream               

                                              I dream of peace       
            flowing like a river beneath
 a brilliant sun                                            
                            and the lights in the periphery
 of my vision                                                                           
                      flash as if about to fly 
like the pelican,                          
                                         regal and unwary,     
  ready to lift the fallen
           and swim with the lost . . .                                              

a brittle leaf . . . 

briefly sways like a hammock,
                        then drops . .  fluttering like a
wayward page                                     
                         from a book half written . . .
the last of his kind . . . he dreams
before he lies buried                                                            
                                beneath layers of time  . . .
and slowly rising again                        
to the mountain top
       where
he rests
                                     until he is finally lifted
in the cradle of the pelican
and taken home                                                   
to his dream . .
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The days go by

go slowly by,
the moon droops low
half warmed by kisses
from a weary sun . . .
I set sail .  .  .  with a wisp
of a breeze . . . and fly
until there are no more
melodies
flowing through my
cold and empty soul . . .
and the dimmest star,
the furthest thing,
reflected on my lonely lake
reach up through tree branches mazed
and scraping against
a raw and frightened sky. . .
in violent breezes
in dark and dreamy
colors dim
and as the dreams begin to disappear . . .
my eyes close
forever,
and without a fear
I slip away . . .  . . .
and flow without the stream of life
I am no more
and yet
I find am . . .


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A poem in three part harmony, a triptych painted for the visionary . . . a flowing tale of grief and ultimate triumph . . . a sadness prevailing along with the music from the spheres . . . reaching the listening and discerning ear . . . who will hear the sorrowing truth . . . and yet witness the hope that flows and carries the heart along  . . who?