With Angels Wings

With Angels Wings

The Whispering Winds, A song they sing
A song of sorrow and of a heart so big
Your loves reaches as far as the eye can see
I believe in dreams because in my beat
Just as a gentle breeze shimmers every leaf
Your love, in every heart, plants a seed
Elegance, love and hope is what grows beneath
....This is your gift to us...
For safekeeping
So, if you ever wonder why heaven sings
Its because now you fly....

With Angels Wings

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is a poem I wrote for my aunt who we just found out is losing her battle to Pancreatic Cancer and i want to read this when the time comes.  I figured I'd share.

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Half Remembered


At the frontier the border guards lined up facing The Horde
wondering where the train delivering magick was

2 hours late already,
the Horde leader, knew something but knew nothing,

At the Capital Station, the Custom's sergeant knew something
but not what...
"In the name of the Regiment, I commandeer these provisions..."
Signed the scrip, crossed out the 1 and replaced it with a 4...

At the shore, the King's Agent knows and is racing back to report
hoping it is not too late.
Riding his troika, pulled by elephants, he and his companions
plunged down the waterfall...

when they reach the beach, the elephants are now hummingbirds,
and they pull the troika to a watery catapult which flings them even faster
towards the Capital.

In the Castle, they have convinced the Winds that they are old.
Slowly they dance them around, englamoured, Widdershins: deliberately and imperceivably
They've convinced us all that we old and senile.

Then the enemy wizard's Girl Friday, a lover from another dream,
calls me to gloat. Even senile, I can still get her goat.
She loses it and speak the words that free me:
"You're not THAT old."

THAT old.
It is true, I am not THAT old.

Suddenly awake, I repeat the words to the King.
"You're not THAT old."
Freed, he in turn frees others, and so on and so on...

When the Winds are freed their revenge upon their dance partners is not pretty.

No aftermath can be remembered.

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breathing now
breathing in & out of time –
breathing fast
slowly as the hour winds
down –
breathing deep
into the soulless corridor
where the quiet reigns –
breathing still
in the aftermath of pain, the delusion of tragedy –
breathing out, then in
and out again as the minutes chime
and the day is ending –
breathe now
as you enter the light
& the mystical journey of life
begins. . .
then breathe
as you in enter in

Author's Notes/Comments: 

From my unpublished collection called 'A Place Called Time.'