Bigness of Existance . . .

Vers River

Crystal Springs

Some songs were meant to be unsung;
some dreams have faded long ago;
some clouds never pour . .  but float away
across the endless sound . . .
Once the sea covered the world
in a mantle of glowing amber,
an unblinking eye in the universe,
seeking that which is yet unblemished
by fear
or frozen forever into time long gone . . .
There is endless energy locked
into the hearts of the stars . ..  the Universe
is not to be despised .  . . for like a box of treasure,
a single atom revealed . . . expands forever within the
hands of the gods;
the pathway is long and curved . . .
the trees stand sentry, dark and still . . .
one wonders about the corners,
seeking and expecting a violent thrill,
yet all is familiar sameness
the trail goes on and on . . .
even the shadows are empty
and the day is ever so long . . .
If you think of love or hatred
and find both on that twisted strip .. ..
breathing the air of its partner .. .
the relief of the one is the other . . .
Longing to be defined and believed . . .
an emptiness in my soul is filled with song . .
and color .  .
vistas . . . and wonder . . .
newness and oldness . ..  courage and wisdom . . .
found in the most surprising corners . ..
along that twisted trail  . . 


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Pacific Ocean

Do not Despair . . .

           I question my reflection
           as the balloon of many colors
           lifts up into the ozone . . .
          There is a silent melody of the heart,
          where, nudged by warm exhalations
          of angels,
          all the people glide by
          on wings of gossamer,
          wistful dreams drift over their heads . . .
          some to slip away forever,
          and little tears of crystal emptiness
          evaporate into a heartless desert . . .

                    There is no answer to your endless question
                    There is no hope beyond the moment
                    There is no dream beneath the whispering winds

          There is no love but that defined
          by gods who carry all the pain . . .

          You stand sentry
          Oh raven,
          ebony upon my winter's breast,
          your inner light,
          an array of un-shed colors . . .
          dancing sun-like on closely knitted feathers,
          golden as the summer storms
          that cloud your visionary orbs
          where flocks of birds seethe
          across sighing skies;
          and a deep heartbeat throbs, somewhere,
          pulsating with an undefined empathy,
          reflected in the eyes of the mirror.

Time Through the Window

....Time....

I look through the pane,
and find a way out
     of my angst . . .
through the window
    . . .  I fly to the top of the pine
putting on the wings
               . . . of it's cones
and there I tumble from bough
  to bough,
catching my sharp edges
. . . on green needles,
                           gathering
the soft dew. . .
   as I flow
like thunder . . . 

                 

That which we capture in our hearts
is safe from loss
bound by an endlessness which
engulfs the stars,
the blue
and a dreaming pine-cone
with wings . . .

So confess:  the lily's bloom
extracts a certain lightness
                                    in our being,
as beauty,
                 . . . effervescent
of heaven . . .
where is our loss,
our final destination                     
                           . . .  where bleak the dark
or bright the light . . .                   
we yet have wings . .
    and know
 . . the dream released . .
Explain:  the empty shell,
its tender clasp of breath
is sunset's glory . . .
 

 . . . a rim of pink
a reflection of blood             
the crimson of life
                                let go.

The Angel of Death
 has wings
of beating hearts,
 a voice of tears . . .
falling,

grasping hands
of time's relentless
                        . . . sands

eyes of infinity's
                                darkness 

        and endless
pain turns a corner . . . 

A light drips
slowly into pools
of golden
              love . . .

Stand beneath the
                               tree
where she drops her
. . . leaves
and sunlight filters           
through
her ever reaching
 . . .  branches
raindrops disclose
molten silver,
reflecting endless
 . . . colors
of thought                         
the rough edges
                  of black clouds
eclipse the watery
. . . sun
floating themselves                                    
into oblivion
until evaporation                          
. . . charms                                                
an upturned land,                                                                      
the shape of all                             
. . .  things                                                      
. . . eroded                                                  
by the feather light
grip
of time . . .

All pictures taken at St. Cirq Lapopie, France

Where Tears Gather . . .

The clouds, with shifting patterns,
                                       form and reform over the arch of the hill . .
mutilating the view of the mountains,                       
                     yet painting in shades of gray the flight
of the winged . . .
the glow of sunlight veiled                                                  
beyond the ceiling of the sky . .                          
finds its way to the sea beneath
                                                  where gather the teardrops
                                                                                        of the multitudes . . .
. . . hearts encased in hurt . .
          yet . .  somehow the souls
of the living and the dead connect . . .                                            
                                          through time's secret  river
as it flows into the sea with our dreams . . .
                                                                          for once we rose
on wings that shined like rainbows;                       
                                                          each soul a vision of love and joy . . .
the being of each a treasure,                           
                        always a reflection
                                                                       of the beauty of the earth,
the cosmos . . . the universe, and
heaven . . .
                      the place where waters gather . . .
where now the golden ripples                          
                             of sunbeams unite to dance
upon 

a trembling sea . ..                 

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This music, by GingerTom, is enjoyable to listen for anytime . . . yet it's more fun to go to his pages and read the story that is entwined with each track and enables the listener to see his vision (which is stage worthy) . . .  I have written several reviews for each track as they were published so I will not write another . .  just want people to enjoy this great listen . . . (My favorite track is "Tea Time" . .  but others have their unique value also):

Royalty-free music for professional licensing