Endless Leaves . . .

This one was born of frustration.

There are times when I am paid a visit by a phrase, or a sound, or a sentence . . . something that reveals itself slowly, and always when I least expect it. It's as though something unseen walks right up behind me and whispers only what it wants me to have. I was standing outside one cool November afternoon, treading my way through piles and piles of leaves, while thinking about my art, where I was going in my life . . . thinking about my dreams. The leaves were enjoying themselves riding whirlwinds around and around and around while making that crunchy sound that only leaves of late November can . . .when everything suddenly stopped, and it was silent, and I could see.

Endless Leaves

The season's change
called out to me
before it settled
in the trees
and scattered light
upon my dreams
like endless piles
of endless leaves
I try to gather
from the breeze,
collecting colors
no one sees . . .

endless leaves fall
through my hands
my hopes my dreams
I take my stand
through darkened forest,
weathered trees,
to find the path
through endless leaves,
the path my heart does see . . .

there's something about
the light today . . .
the endless leaves
have blown away
revealing colors
here to stay,
leaving whispers on the breeze . . .

I await the colors of my dreams . . .

- The Light Within . . .