Pieces of Time

I wonder about what might remain,

the pieces of me throughout a memory,

is it my own, someone I knew,

I know,

a circumstance I cannot return.

 

If I were to wander far enough into the forest,

might I be sure to follow

some path

a traveling analogy

holding promise for tomorrow.

 

Forever is the time we remember,

when everything else we know

falls victim to promise,

our lives amidst the mix

of the masses.

 

Who might ever recall a sadness,

when a happy moment awaits,

shoring up the energy

to celebrate

the human condition.

 

Cast away the doubt of recall,

for there might be some journey

ahead

we could never predict,

yet plod on forward with a smile.

 

If asked what it is I might be listening

now in the twilight of winter

beckon the cool winds of a sky

waiting to descend

sweet air of a crystal midnight.

 

Oh if I might seek such is time,

would discovery ease a life strain.


© Thom Amundsen 2019

Ground Breaking Rules

When in childhood,

I once stood in the forest,

friends having descended the trail,

a night of surreal

exploration of the wood,

a morning fire,

a quiet reckoning.

 

Having forgotten a knife,

knowing it to be on a rock,

the rings of stone,

suddenly erupted

while coming upon,

the late night stories.

 

There is a blessing,

in the revisit,

perhaps a spiritual

guide,

a sense of

realizing Nature

needs such attention,

as my barely covered

feet stamped out

a reality of tragedy.

 

The reception of my friends,

a fatigue of waiting,

I recalled the story,

their laughter infectious,

imagining

if we had all been part of

an innocent scheme

to wipe out wood,

kept the lives of

eyes that met our silence

in the quiet of night.

 

We all do face our demons

in vivid flames of abandon.


© Thom Amundsen 2019

Shaded Tone

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Amid a shelter sun glances my natural setting,

I do imagine only the lightest of notion,

the beauty of the day, the ease in time,

to know our lives were meant to live this way.

 

When the eyes forever see the forest blend,

Is it not a remarkable reality to breathe in,

such beauty in a horizon filled by love,

allows desire, passion, wanton hope evolve.

 

For I am a single soul in the grip of natural light,

expectant only to travel in peace tonight,

watching the world through leaves of July,

knowing the august of my life is near by.

 

Feel the breeze, cool dew lays ground,

coming alive, sweet Nature’s bound.

Isolated Storm Clouds

See them and imagine the future,

an ominous purple haze of opportunity,

for it is the chaos of our lives,

allows change to overcome the static.

 

Seek a society of forgiveness,

the travels of pain sometime hidden,

yet the exposure to the elements

often a truly ominous test resilient.

 

When washed ashore in crude oil,

stains did seem to be eternal,

with each soaking, the mind,

nearly gave up on finding shelter.

 

It is in the addict’s eye

the storm will always remain,

it depends only upon a realization

that life contains sweet horizons.

 

We would only give attention

to the happiness we dwell upon,

a city scape, an ocean view,

a soft breeze in a given milieu.

 

The deep and threatening wall

of circumstance that will prevail

is only Nature’s manner of suggestion

we all would know to typically fall.

Summer’s Wonder

In simple minutes I was drawn to you,

a walk, a stroll – complimentary blue.

If told to find the cloud in this sweet sky,

One might imagine naysayers do cry.

Soak in an energy drives home our soul

Believe in the elegance in a summer whole.

I do dance in the steaming heat of victory,

to know that Grace offers my humanity.

Oh to wonder the how and why of a universal

atmosphere we could stand to embrace all