THE HERON'S REST
Page Six
...please scroll through this next to last page
with just three pictures and eight writings... Then,
please visit page nine, "Cedar Art 1".
( 6a )
Page Six
...please scroll through this next to last page
with just three pictures and eight writings... Then,
please visit page nine, "Cedar Art 1".
( 6a )
He offers, "Come here my little, injured sparrows.
Lay in the safety of my palms.
Feel the balm of Love surround you.
Be healed as new of heart and wing
With faith and strength to soar and sing"
By m.l. farahay September 14, 2001
One woman picked a city's sickly up.
The other bore two Princes for a Prince.
The first shunned all worldly things for others.
The second used all worldly things and sought
The secrets of the other out for naught.
( 6b )
The Serb swept down on the fold like a wolf
While shepherds united with slings attack
The lair of the wolf, all lines of retreat,
Then the wolf devoured the rams in their sleep
Driving the ewes and lambs to shepherd's feet
The wolf ripped wool from the hide of his prey
Covered his own with their faces of gray
Then fled with the sheep like one of their own
Till they with the flock were all behind rocks
In shadows cast by the backs of shepherds...
( 6c )
The dawn drapes bold, pink halos
on morning flowers' green shocks of leaves
bearing golden buds to blossom
ill-shielded from the chill of night...
Tiny, helpless, infant budlings
born to be blessed with warmth and love
and nourished with all tenderness
to grow with hope, and faith, and grace.
Such grace was never spent or seen,
for these were weaned at birth from joy
and mirthful, innocent laughter
to compete in streets of meanness...
With pieces to complete mean feats
for colors, turf, and chemistry,
and light their nights with arms of fire
to take what is to want to whet
" I's " insatiable appetites...
green, twisted stalks of poison'd flow'rs
carpeting all grades of cowards,
till there's no rose dares stand alone.
Blossoms bearing ill-will's vengeance,
jealousies for the wants of things,
instant pleasure's painful reignings
gaining sorrowful momentum...
Gratuitous acquiescence
for behaviors unaccepted,
tumultuous revolution,
potential blossoms' bid for peace.
Who anticipates pure color,
or even neutral shades of gray,
from youthful flowers consuming
each others' budding majesty ?
A bright bouquet of smiling eyes,
gleaming in the night with laughter
light as pastel petals glowing
in the midnight hours after dark,
Err'd down a dead-end street to find
blossoms, wet with ill-will's vengeance,
explode hate's hail of thorns to snipe
life from baby's breath and roses.
Now, lilies of the valley lay
with daisies, daffodils, and tears
o'er empty vessels, cold and dry,
left crying for the reasons', why ?
While blossoms bathed with autumn's shades,
give birth to leave more suffer in
growing-up without the love of
one... mother, father, God, or self !
Goodbye our Stephanie, Goodbye.
The whole world remembers good-byes...
( 6d )
Here lies a memory of life flying by so fast
that, even the beauty of her reflection
may no longer be caught in mirrored glass;
as her abstract epitaph was carved alone
on a concrete wall along the cold and leveled stone...
homeward bound.
A raven-haired, hazel-eyed angel
from out of the night did sound,
I'm homeward bound.
A lonely, young man, in his heart,
heard the echo pound, homeward bound;
and felt, for an instant,
some soul abound from him to be
half in dream and half
in a laughed reality.
Then, from out of the darkness,
she swung for home
in an iron chariot all alone.
Her soft, white skin, from night,
wrapped tight around,
as out of sight and out of sound,
and on toward home her way unwound
with the monotonous pound
of that iron chariot's passing cry and by.
While the staggered stars
of a still, dark sky,
with the peak of night, crept quietly by,
occasionally, echoing
her impatient sigh, homeward bound.
With the full roundness of it's ironic sound,
it came, in vain, a game upon his soul to pound,
homeward bound.
While she, with patience' ill unrest,
toward home her thoughts superfluously pressed.
Who'll be there to meet me ?
Who'll be there to greet me ?
Who'll be there with a fine, new car, and...
Who'll be there to keep me ?
Ahh, who had you lived for
my fair, young lass, and
who, if you were asked,
would you have had to there stand fast
and light, 'til you arrived,
the morning's darkness
that, from that darkest night,
had, yet, survived ?
No one... no one to meet me,
no one to greet me
when those chariot gates swung wide.
Not even a horse nor a carriage to ride,
nor even a cab set aside to carry me
there... here, just the cold, night air and me,
as heavy and light as the wind
in the darkest woods must be
is, just, how I'd have wanted it to be.
...But there, instead, so deeply drear,
and dark, and disapprovingly alone,
astride the loneliness, was he.
He is no one, now; nor is she anything more
than his cried tears keeping a prodigal lover's vow.
No one, save for a soiled, young soul, was he,
in solitude, to be
uttering a soliloquy by her last side.
Your escort home ??? He tried.
My Father's pity... She, beyond, replied,
in effort, to drive his heart,
from conscious stride,
to memories of her warmer side.
She, with voice grown cold and dried,
In vain and verbal anger tried
to cast aside her last dimension's silent shroud;
but her words, no matter how loud she cried,
were cried, aloud, unheard...
Cried beyond the conscious senses,
heralding the opaque realm of future tenses;
and there, with youth and virginal pureness,
sacrificing the intangible for terminal sureness,
gliding like a leaf on the evening winds' last sighing,
were all her worldly beauties dying.
While he, beside himself,
in weighted dream, remained intangibly replying.
...For not a sound to his ear did break the still.
No, not a sound to his ear did break until...
that familiar echo pyramided in his ear to fill
his dolefully inebriated soul with
the renewed pounding of that rounded, rolling sound,
homeward bound.
Ironically, he laughed
repeating her melancholy tone, home
He laughed again, he laughed alone
in effort to leave that echo wrapped around
some lifeless mound of terminal stone.
He drank from this, and her, and all unknown,
'til her image came reconceived, in dream,
from within each emptied bottle's hollowed womb.
Now, all hail, hail, hail the prince,
for alchemy has taken the advantage of
his uncontrollable experience
to replace his mental reality
with metabolic decadence.
Yes, all hail... Hail the alcoholic prince
He lost the love and life of one most fair,
but to find his own
in the epitaph
of Pat LaPerrier.
Here lies a memory of life flying by, so, fast
that, even the beauty of their reflections,
may no longer be caught in mirrored glass;
as their abstract epitaphs were carved alone
on a concrete wall along the cold and leveled stone,
homeward bound...
( 6e )
Night rains came pelting down on raw earth
Like little meteorites slamming clay sludge -
Casting craters the size of birds' eggs -
Fledgling pools 'tween jagged, scrap-iron mountains.
Unlike piles of broken bones bleach'd white,
These clones glow blood-red growing terminal rust…
A smooth, soft crust covering hard spikes
Like a garish funeral shroud smothering
The strength from what was, once, hard, fine steel -
The spine of tall, gaud' buildings and transport frames -
Of many things that laud men shameless
Gluttons of the earth's rare and finite treasures.
A lone, green sprig of life, wriggling
In windy rain, springs upright through etching death.
This alien, eaglet of hope flies
With green wings dancing defiant in the rain.
Its white, hooded head framed in contrast
To the twisted, tangled mass of rusting steel.
This Glory turns slow to breaking sun -
A lone trumpet heralding life's victory.
( 6f )
( 6g )
No child was there in those eyes
of cold and known premeditation
Just the reflection of Winter skies
calculating Autumn's termination
When a younger soul was I
So free and ever yearning
Hurling pebbles through the sky
I'd send the marsh-birds churning
Being jealous of their flight
a soaring o'er the thistles
Hard I'd hurl with all my might
those smooth, gray, limestone missiles
Now, when sparrows
from these prison rafters fly
So, in some odd sense of heart, do I
While sitting writing, I am in the mark
Where the Lark of dreams descends am I
In "D" cells writer's block...
( 6h )
Empty pages, empty pages…
My life is like a book of empty pages
Since love was turned from me.
Our love was like a storybook.
Each page unfolded something new;
With every line across the page,
The depth of our love grew.
The book was bound in leather wrap,
A very precious thing to hold;
And wrote across the cover strap
Were both our names in gold.
And then one day, another came,
But love to him was just a game.
With fancy clothes and fancy ways,
He fancied love away.
Empty pages, empty pages…
My life is like a book of empty pages
Since love was turned from me.
Now, I am behind these prison bars,
While she's out counting falling stars
And putting flowers on his grave…
Red flowers on his grave.
…If I had known that fateful day,
how far her love had gone astray,
I think, I would have put her down
Beside him in the ground.
…But all that's left for me to see
are four, gray walls and an old, oak tree,
a braided rope across the branch
just hanging there for me.
Empty pages, empty pages…
Oh, God, let me re-write these empty pages,
And take this hate from me.
Oh, God, just once, bring back her love,
Though there's no love left here to save;
And let her put red flowers on…
Red flowers on my grave.
Empty pages, empty pages…
My life is like a book of empty pages
Since love was turned from me…
Please, bring Your love to me…
( 6i )
Oh Lord on High,
Who walks the mountain's top.
Oh Lord on High,
Who knows every step man's took.
I bow before Thee
Worship and adore Thee
And praise the Glory of Thy Name.
Oh Lord on High,
Whose breath precedes the universe.
Oh Lord on High,
Whose zine defines creation.
I pray forgiveness
for my sins, and stay
my repentance to be sincere.
Oh Lord on High,
Whose Love abounds beyond the Blood.
Oh Lord on High,
Whose Will o'er fills the Spirit.
I pray you help me teach,
And bless my wife and children
In their lives' quest…
To know the Joy and Love that,
I have found in You and them.
Amen.
m.l. farahay
( 6j )
.
Copyright Michael Lee Farahay
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