Little Power

 

 

Awake each morn on purpose

Resolve if you should but know it within-

This day is yours, this hour yours to keep;

Let into each moment a little joy, a little spirit,

Let little moments sweep off the ground beneath your feet,

Let little hopes embolden you when the soul is weak,

Let a little love in when someone calls to you,

Let a little love out when you gaze into a human soul.

 

Let little hugs of cool air set your heart free,

Let little kisses of moist rain caress your face,

Let little songs of joy lend your heart warmth,

Let little turns as the winding roads waltz with you.

 

For these little moments are yours to keep,

And hold for long beyond all else.

No peaks of tomorrow or conquests big,

Will ever find fit in your heart inside,

Little moments will those small gaps fill,

Little joys in life will show you meaning.

...

Glow

 

 

This morn I wake with a strength supreme,

Catching in a tea cup God's spirit; his beam,

She lies by my side, her face is aglow,

A dimple on the wake side did slowly show.

 

A cuppa of morning awaits her, alongside

Beaming in joys, restraint can't hide,

Why would she pick me, this angel of mine?

What fortune does lead one to such a morn sublime?

 

The rays light her back, and an iridescent small,

Heavens bless the moment when in love I did fall,

For a morn of this amazement, I care not the price-

My shed tear, a wry smile or a small sacrifice.

...

Call

 

 

Why do the eyes seek thee across the horde,

And the heart rebels in silent discord

With the mind that reasons, a hundred instead,

The fool has exhausted paths once tread.

 

Why do I recall each smile as if anew,

As the senses smile, in a weak sinew?

Wine has lost its savor,and the ink its zest

For blended in the potions is a violent unrest.

 

Call out to the eyes that seek only to find,

The ones that give sight and will yet blind,

Call out to the arms that yearn to be yours

And lie in silent wait through the hours.

...

Grace

 

 

Hidden in the stream of her flowing hair,

Is a charm that unmistakably stays there,

Over the years, over her jobs and roles,

Over paths that have often hurt insoles.

She walks unfazed, with head held high,

Only a silent prayer; a wishful sigh.

 

Stronger each day, with her quiet will,

Little joys in life she tries to fill,

Doing most with what she has at hand,

Some scheduled, yet some unplanned.

She moves collected, with unmatched grace,

Faltering some; yet with a smiling face.

 

Now as the long day has drawn to an end,

She smiles with the breeze that heavens will send,

Mother, daughter, friend and wife,

She plays them all; our cradle of life.

And in her is a light that calls to the unseen,

For beauty unaware truly is beauty pristine.

 

…

Weak

 

 

Moments in time, when your hand I figured

Would hold mine someday, if fate hath favored,

Were today jolted from their reckless abandon,

And dreams now seem to be more in wanton.

 

As I saw the sight that much to my surprise

Did not only blind; from hurt, from despise,

But hurt was the heart, and jaded the spark,

For how does one see when the world turns dark?

 

I ask not for much, but your hand in mine,

But forgot the suitors that have raced me to the line,

This moment has simply passed me by, still

I stand bereft here, of strength, of will.

 

…

Return

 

 

Eyes shut tight, all I see is a blurred speck

I can still feel your breath, warm, upon my neck.

I need you to cup my eyes with your hands,

Asking me again to guess your name.

Only one pair would ever take that chance,

But now I guess it won’t be the same.

 

I need to feel those eyes smiling back to see,

Like that was the first time they ever saw me.

To look at the lines your eyes will make,

Curling on both ends; two playful nooks

Empower the real in our world, once fake

Return them to me, those rapture looks.

 

And when the night has set upon the day,

Return to me the pain, that tonight will stay

Watching you leave, but in hope of the next

Morn, that only you make in a twilight hour,

Return to me, even if it were just a pretext,

Or just return my dreams, my love, my power.

 

…

War

 

 

Guileless white, pure, they float

Upon the blue canvas that God once wrote,

Morphing with the wind, to scenes of battle

A few smiling faces, and women who tattle.

Hours they can go on, if leisure you will to spend,

From the early morn, till the day calls it an end.

 

Across the white, spread streaks of grey,

Masking the beauty that hath defined the day,

The skies now awash with the cloudy clashes

Of sword fights unseen, yet clear resonant flashes

With the sound of mighty thunder gods at war,

Battles have bled skies onto lands afar.

 

Yet pure the undaunted spirit of the whites,

Colorless - the blood that flows from the fights,

The darkness has won, this battle now rests,

Wounded in form; pride - beam the chests

Of warriors, who await for their turn to get even,

Clouds on battleground; its now the war season.

...