let us cling to joy

 

I am done with weighty words,
that seek to speak to
broken hearts and minds.
I now wish to linger awhile
in the warm memories and
joyful moments that
come with every season.
How tender their loving touch
full of colours that even spring
dares not harbour.
For all its wild promises,
set in bloom, spring has limits,
but joy is a wonder!
It alone can flourish in any season;
being set ablaze by passionate
life, it can shine and rise,
to tower above all else-
If only minds would have it so!
No moment is too shallow
or too short for it to touch.
It is a most precious jewel,
set among changing landscapes,
that like a wondrous dream
can turn a misty moment
into the brightest of stars.

The nature of regrets

If we could but winter forestall,
the many vestiges of haunting regrets
would vanish as night gives way to day,
in an endless stream of renewed hope.
For fed by unfettered opportunities,
with appreciation sharpened by experience,
even the most bitter of memories,
would not dare again speak of squander.

Alas, like the light of a candle, life is brief!
It can but shine attention on what avails.
Only when awakened to this truth,
will each day be as spring
and opportunities that do tarry
be gladly seized without contention,
to banish the fog of disappointment
evermore to emotionless history.

If only it were as easy as words now suggest,
that hearts could beat endlessly or
thoughts grow enlightened!
But we, of mortal dispositions,
with often much vested in tragedy,
are easily blinded by unforeseen loss.
Being ill-equipped to balance loss with gain,
how quickly we bury minds in past.

let fools beware

the depth of wisdom
is like a shallow stream that
plays on wishful minds

The storm we bring

Towards distant skies
eyes wander,
minds ponder,
at storms to come.
Heralded by
ominous clouds
and uncertainties,
unrecognisable seasons
arrive and linger,
to spread veiled threats
that stay to mar
known landscapes.

How I yearn
for the predictability
of years gone by,
when winter
meant blinding
whiteness that
cap mountains
and gentle snow
buffeting cities,
or when summer skies
were left free from
autumns tears

Alas, confusion
now reigns where
trees know not
when to shed
and flowers
when to bloom.
The storms that
come bring
bewilderment
to rewrite
expectations.

Such storms
care not
for our suffering,
nor has time
for ignorance,
or for carelessness.
They come
to spite us,
to remind us
of the change we bring
and the storm
we are.