Stepping Away

Many times in my life,

have I stepped away,

taken a breather,

had my hand forced …

yet, when does the time come when we can

honestly say,

the choice is my own

for me to decide

in some sort of even way,

not a hostile arrangement,

by any means,

so out of character,

would be defiance and doom and gloom.

 

Stepping away

would ask for only a settlement

in love, in passion, in pursuance

of those pieces of our lives,

our own peace,

our desire to understand

a world beyond

selfish need.

 

Reality is a dream,

we can see deep along a river path,

the blossoming of spring,

the lush imagination

allows us  to draw

our own own

sweet circumstance

the beauty of a fantasy,

the magic of our mind.

 

So we do step away,

on occasion within ourselves,

in other situations,

we ask for a pardon,

and yet,

the road away does seem to

carry the weight

of our own self-proclaimed tragedy,

with far less burdensome angst,

than

if we stay within the course

of simple travesty.

 

Outside, the sun had begun to shine,

an overbearing competition inside.


© Thom Amundsen 3/2020

Two Would Pass Together

(dedicated to the goodness of time, a friend and his family)

When in a moment we might reflect

upon the reason,

we could together share a memory,

the fleeting laughter,

we would do this together,

wouldn’t we create a scene,

a wonderful attribute,

of the years,

oh the many years,

the travels we knew

without ever having to leave our home.

 

In a sort of magical day dream,

we crossed so many paths as one,

and now today,

they celebrate a journey

oh for the love of our children

we do,

we will always,

we did for the span of a lifetime

hope and pray,

we might somehow find His way,

some way decide upon a natural course

of our lives

we would find

sweet serenity,

a mysterious energy,

one with love,

a compassion

we might give freely …

cherish the beauty of time.

 

For it is today,

we now togeteher

cross the sky

with a specacular

sunrise,

a setting moon,

in each adventure,

I might in the arctic

winter

share love as a soul mate

might find again,

discover the truth

was always within our dreams.

 

Peace be with the onlookers

for their journey just begun.

The Moon Spins While Being Human

Just when – a life – began to know,

the world would turn upside down,

up and down,

the roller coaster of living,

that piece of life,

that living peace,

the part of never knowing exactly why,

why not,

why should we begin

to feel there is a real reason,

it would be so easy,

they often say that in the final moments,

don’t they?

don’t they,

didn’t they ever give you any indication.

Did you know,

did you have any idea

at all.

 

It is in life’s conclusion,

we begin to realize,

forced really,

to know the beginning of answering

questions that will forever

be the haunting edge of wondering just how,

when,

why is it so simple to reason now,

when earlier in the day,

weeks ago,

that one time, that sunny afternoon,

where laughter always seemed to bury

the pain.

It was then,

the indicator

suggested we should all plan our lives

around being together,

knowing we would

always understand,

always be around,

be able to answer the …

there is a certain mystique in

recognizing timing and the essential

point

of no return.

 

She was as simply beautiful as

a spectacular morning sun,

his wit,

the ability for him to carry a room,

he’ll never know just how,

he’ll never know,

it is really too bad,

too bad,

when we all fail to realize

the beauty of life is being able

to face the demons head on.

 

Face the demons head on,

the spirit moves you,

to understand the world is

as simple as the day is long,

left in the hands of a complication,

we all have to recognize

there is a moon held in fashion,

for everyone,

for every one,

every

one person that suggests the same,

the people we care about,

care about you as well,

they all do see the same moon …

 

When simply we wonder

we always carry the same

the same familiar response,

we all can be in one,

holding true

to a realization.

 

We are all in some humane form,

responding to the same moon.

 

 

While Winter Whisper

Oh to play with the notion of thought,

to understand the reasoning behind

purpose, attitude, maybe the inspiration,

we all do seek when lost in the shuffling

nature of the season.

 

Oh, when winter will remark upon

a simple morning frost, to make allowance

for concept, to create, maybe instinctive,

our bodies, our selves, intermingle

with the true meaning of life,

when swept inside the tenets of an arctic

breeze, chilling and responsible, ease.

 

Once, while a child, ‘I watched in solemnity,’

his body laid into the cold, dark earth,

forever to be walked upon, glanced nearby,

thought of in the chilly absence of life.

We all stepped tenderly away, him alone,

the music did continue to play,

but I, the child, I never really understood.

 

Walk with me, she said that early evening,

her smile frozen in the iciclic nature of time,

I wondered if when we ever did reach

a destiny, if then, perhaps would be a time,

we might center ourselves and then ask when.

But the winds were fierce, the bridge far too close,

the edge always asking for me, screaming really,

our separate paths become the night pattern.

 

Oh to hear the sounds, the visions do emanate,

for the will of our lives, the anguish we debate.

Sweet Morning Peace

Oh I do wish the world might offer solace

When it is we are all wandering an alone,

A wonder is to recognize any one pace

Could, would offer a shoulder to unknown

 

Soul who cries in the midst of happiness,

For it is the season to seek absolute joy,

Because we were told, and now deploy

Our finest avenues of energy to impress.

 

Yet how might the onlooker really feel

If in the end their yearning find sorrow,

If only in a moment their truth borrow

The Grace in everyone’s eyes they appeal.

 

For when the world begins to understand

Is the time that hardship wears no land.

While Digging

With a mental spade in hand,

I broke ground in a volatile land.

 

It is the sort of tale we often forget,

when suddenly life simply won’t relent.

 

I crossed over into a forgotten meadow,

only to find I’d still carried a shadow.

 

There is a reality in knowing the right word

to help move beyond what we might think absurd.

 

It is a choice,

to dig.

 

While the atmosphere around us seems trite,

there is a powerful settling in dirt contrite.

 

Seems the space may no longer feel quite clean,

once the reality of our lives become serene.

 

Oh stop again,

for the dig.

 

Seems the further inside the realm of disdain,

less easily is the worker’s ability to complain.

 

Seams in the environmental cause will display

while every last item of loss has fallen his way.

 

Though the earth has a forever sort of fallen ground

gives credence to the prison in which we are bound.

 

We cannot ever escape the tone of the suddenly frail,

its competency so built upon retelling a scorching tale.

 

Instead we dig, we do try to compel a story,

written by ourselves to discover just what glory

 

lies in the dig,

where uncovered,

 

we fall victim to knowing time is a circle, a place

whereby all of our insecurities likely keep pace,

 

while digging,

in search of a likely capsule.

 

The ground itself in however it may swell,

always uneven, one might never retell.

 

If In Our Quiet Moments

If not for the power of greed,

Have I been a loose cannon of need.

 

If only while our world crumbles beyond,

We still might use laughter to carry on.

 

If well before the dawn of new civilization,

Would we still use ignorance to define a nation.

 

If while this short time we have to persevere

Could our lives be simpler, to wish less severe.

 

If I might all of my mistakes be solemnly heard,

Maybe then peace of mind seem far less absurd.

 

If by my neighbors hand I reach to embrace,

A lovely reality of knowing His my only Grace.

 

If when every soul around me were to smile,

Could we live and carry on strong a sweet mile.

 

If while I wonder the words my mind does employ

Might have value to the eyes and ears to offer joy.

 

Then might I breathe a smooth discourse in life

All of which lends reprieve to the burden of strife.