Somewhere deep inside the soul of a man a poet died, someplace where colors swirl and words flow is now forgotten, a mystic lore to call upon only in remembrance.
There are no rivers and streams, no smell of jasmine, no lovers walking hand in hand along the shore.
Somewhere deep in the depths of the forest a candle burns dimly; the sand no longer flows from the hourglass where once there was a song now there is only silence.
There are no pilgrims upon the path only the swirling desert sand; there are no hopes and dreams except the ones that are man-made.
There are no tears to shed at his passing, only hope for a rebirth. Pain has no sound, it is cold, frozen; a void without light or sound.
A man walks toward a future leaving something behind, to lay untended, proud words upon a dusty shelf. In the still of the night a dim flame flickers then there is darkness.
Point Of View:
Life can sometimes be cold and lifeless. I remember the winters on the farm. There is no color on the dark and gray landscape. The ground was hard and crunched under my feet. Those winter days I could feel so empty often sitting by the fire looking into the flames my dog asleep on the floor.
The nights would be freezing, the wind would howl and the rafters would creak and pop. My dreams would be filled with dark figures in the distance and crows filling the limbs of a leafless tree.
Then one morning I awaken to the sound of a bluebird outside my window and could see water flowing in the creek the ice melting. I knew I had survived the night and the spring was awakening the land. Soon there would be leaves on the trees and flowers would bloom. There would be things to do, stories to write and roads to travel.
I came to this place after years on the road playing music. I was tired and burnt out. The solute of the farm gave me back my song telling me I had not yet arrived and had more to do.
That’s awesome what music did you play? I imagine that woukd be tiring. Glad you found your piece of Heaven on earth.
Thank you for reading my story. I played drums. My kit was large, wrapped around in a simi circle. We played blues influenced rock. It was kind of trying on the soul but I got past it. I also did oil paintings and now I just write.
“The rebirth of a poet” ~ “A Winter Song” reply
The moment when winter becomes spring
When light shines into dark, to LIFE bring
What seems dead … will once again SING
What seems FROZEN … will thaw & grow
Colors will blossom and WORDS will flow
~ Fay Vietmeier
“The time will come when temporal shall cease.
This time-revolving wheel … shall rest in peace:
No summer then shall glow … nor winter freeze;
Everything shall be to come. All that’s past is past,
A New Age, an Eternal now shall ever last,” ~ Petrarch
Thank you Larry … I loved “A Winter Song” … shared this same comment on LI post
Beautiful prose Larry! You take us on a journey about life’s ups and downs. Thank you!?
It has been an interesting life my friend
We cannot lose the one thing that keeps us alive: hope.
Despair is the absence of hope, the inability to see ahead to a future that is worth to meet. To hope means just believe in a future of joy promised, is like receiving an advance of that joy and want to continue to get its fullness. It should be possible to leverage our own resources, and to find other ways to tell our own story to ourselves, enlarging it, finding explanations and alternative viewpoints. If we change our story, change ourselves and also our vision of the future, we can make room for hope.
I understand it’s not always easy to do it by ourselves!
Thank you Aldo
Loved this. Merry Christmas
Back to you my friend