CIRCLES OF ETERNITY
By Graywolf / 2004
As the mobius strip has no end,
Time circular always shall wend,
Eras can come and eras can go,
Back into it’s self, the time line will flow,
Eons repeating, as night follows day,
Pass the progression of the stars away,
Like the Yin and the Yang, unevenly divided,
Where light becomes strong, the dark has subsided,
Wobbling, wavering, but standing still never,
All things in cycles, flow to forever,
From atomic particles to Denebian suns,
Through time and space, the pattern runs,
Now passing to darkness, then passing to light,
As time cycles from the day into night,
Time is a circle, you shall pass through a door,
And return to the place where you started before.
WHITE LIES
By Graywolf / 2005
Words floating on the winds of speech,
Are visions of truth just out of reach,
Beneath words which float on the air,
May be found truer meanings there,
The exchange of words must be discrete,
Confined by manners or laced with deceit,
Tongues form words for ear to hear,
But eyes may speak just as clear,
The words to be least believed,
Are from those who have themselves deceived,
Look more than once into a flowing brook,
Seeing different water each time you look,
Gaze deeply into each person's mind,
But conceal well the things you find,
For if a heart finds its mask gone,
It may harden and turn to stone.
And intellects containing deeper pools,
Are set with traps for drowning fools.
OKEFENOKEE
By Graywolf / 2004
Silent, green canoe,
Quietly slipping through,
Cattails and cypress knees,
Spanish moss in the breeze,
Morning dew, drifting fog,
Turtles lined up on a log,
Blue and green dragonflies,
Shining ripples catch the sunrise,
Little heron stalks his prey,
Come too close, he flies away,
Swamp magic in the air,
Lily pads everywhere,
Place of the river’s birth,
Land of the trembling earth.
REBIRTH
By Graywolf / 2003
Cypress knees and drowned trees, black water tinted green,
Mist hangs low over the early morning marshy scene,
The first rays of the rising sun drive the chill away,
Sparkling on dark water at the beginning of the day,
A flock of ducks taking to the wing,
Frozen in memory, like the cover of a magazine,
Yellow flames, small but hot,
Lick the bottom of a smutty coffeepot,
Smoke hangs in the air, from the wet wood,
Hot coffee, tin cup, steaming and good,
Sparkling dew drop jewels on every grassy blade,
Glitter as the scattered rays infiltrate the glade,
At the beginning of the day, the world is new again,
With promises of tomorrows, free of pain and sin.
