Wringing Stones

wandering through drought and salt
finding some shade and resolve
wondering what it’s called
staring at open palms

it’s not a double tree
it’s a stand with no banner
what they couldn’t see
a test with no answers

fruit from a field unsown
neighbors have left from cold
a tree that bore only stones
squeeze them till we find gold

inspire the attendance
lead them with conviction
the toil seems endless
context breeds recognition

too tight of a grasp
we find blood of the rock
too light of a tap
is an unsculptured block

stand on two feet
in the discourse we listen
in the moment of heat
we strike with precision

a future unseen
with each seed of hope
we are a state in between
the blood and the stone

sanguine sunsets

The world around us seems to change, but the magic lives on in new moments each day.
Faded dreams gone too soon, children sleep walk and dream at noon.
Drifting away deep in a haze, the sun sets as children play.
Riding along golden paths, the world ahead of them they shall have.
Down the boardwalk from pier to pier, memories fade year after year.
The sun still warms us deep inside, only a few us remember the rides.

Calm is the Rock in Rain

Not every day is sunny
Know the rain will pass
Ease the mind and body
Not too slow or fast
Face the cold, dark winds
The storm breaks just ahead
To this point you followed
What’s left must be led

Roars of thunder clamor
Fear had made us hide
Clear streaks of lightning
Blinded by our pride
Under this rock we stand
Ready for what’s to find
Saying this to ourselves
It’s different this time