Where Gleams Our Sun

Scotland – Western Isles … Watercolour WHB 2025 . .

What we once had before we split
I never will regret one bit.
It was a joy I can’t repeat;
It was my fault, I do admit.

Regrets do not a prison make
But time will ever keep awake
That spark of love, which, withered now,
I watched with horror envy take.

Your gain, my loss, I can agree;
Despite your vow to cherish me,
I lost you when I gave you space;
I knew I had to set you free.

It helps to keep my life on track,
To plaster over that cruel crack;
To be with you in dreamland now
I’d give up all to have you back.

You fill so many of my dreams
And memory runs amok it seems.
Tonight I take you with me, there,
Where gleam our sun and our moonbeams.

Embers of my Dreams

Photo by Maddog 229 on Pexels.com

My lockdown life has fuelled a fire
a fire of the imagination
It burns the strongest in my dreams
its brightest light at night
an ever flickering conflagration
half hidden from my sight

For when I wake
I feel its kick
I tremble with the loss
of leaving that other clouded world
left picking through its embers

There where strangers meet as friends
where lovers lose their once-held power
where every tree meant more to me
with every passing hour

But why when shrouded in dreamland’s mists
do such recovered images
disappear with wakefulness
refuse to linger
rush away
leaving only a taste
a memory risked
asecond chance missed
a taste of what could have been
lost in that fleeting insubstantial dream

Time Has Been Called

Photo by Kristina Paukshtite on Pexels.com

Oh, yes I’ve seen
Those fields of green, 
And I have kissed down Lovers’ Lane. 
And to my cost
I’ve loved and lost;
On oceans tossed I’ve  bled in pain. 

My heart’s been wrenched, 
My spirit quenched, 
As I have striven a soul to win. 
But to what end
Did I offend, 
What cause had I to sin? 

And now at last
All chance has passed;
No future can I see. 
For time is up, 
Life’s bitter cup
Has passed from you to me.

 

The Meaning Of Life

 

Author Unknown

LIFE MEANS WHATEVER YOU MAKE IT MEAN . . .

I must determine for myself what my life means and must seek to bring it to fruition

The friend I lost today,
the ant I trod on yesterday,
both no longer quick
but now sharing death.

How similar
yet how different.
‘How sad the world without them’
says God
‘How disparate’, say I,
if I care to say anything at all.

God and Nature, merge their significance,
their world view equalising loss,
while I, bereft, forlorn,
am led to grieve for one
but not the other.

Significance holds prominence,
for Nature must consider all loss notable
but necessary,
whereas,
living in different time scales,
our individual lives
serve only our own time frame,
our personal connections
pointing to meaning
and giving resonance
and substance
to each separate life.

As the axe I take to the log,
the knife to my steak,
my boot to the beetle’s innocence,
and as I pluck yet another rose,
so ends my hold on life,
for ever compromised.

So I am left with
how, in nature’s sight,
meaning lies only with
the recurring cycle,

but in my heart
my hurt is not diminished,
my mourning
is just mine to feel.