Still Water

Still Water
Tonight the trees look into a dark gray mirror.
I want to stand over water
and see myself without color,
to no longer know in part

But to know fully as I am fully known.

 
That is, color is complicated.
Different shades confuse
reality from originality.
There's a shade for
winter, summer, night and day.
 
Tonight the trees grasp every season.
I want to stare into a lake
and see pale eyes, black hair and a gray smile.
Discover my original nature
before the sun brought red and tan.
 
When did the buds
spring from the earth?
Did the winter form stubbornness;
summer grow carelessness
or did autumn bring character?
 
My dreams are filled
with the hues of autumn.
Changing each time I breathe.
My eyes are a desert
of tan sand and red sun.
 
I cannot dream in black and white.
Nor can I drudge through
sand or stare into the sun.
My eyes burn for the water
as I glare into a mere reflection.
 
I close my burning eyes.

For He leads me by still water.

And somewhere in an oasis
I found my originality,
as the sun set beyond sand and over water.

Rain In January

Rain In January

Oh . . .cold water,

Falls from heaven as

a pale month

begins the New Year.

I digress to days

when the sunshine

seemed so abundant

I could store it inside

and never be cold again.

When light has come

into the world,

But I loved darkness instead.

So, I digress to nights

when lighter shades of gray grass

bleed into unending black trees

covering fear and deeds.

Oh . . . rain water,

Solitary and cold

like the night.

Sound accompanied only by fear

void of touch.

I awake, alone to

the mourning of the trees

lamenting for an unseen enemy

ripped away their green prize

leaving them bare and cold.

But even bare trees

lift their branches

towards heaven.

Reaching for the rain,

to cleanse the sickness

since the sun's too far

from the earth.

Still, with faith in restoration.

Faith can be found

in darkness as well as light.

For faith is to touch,

and touch is to heal.

I found progression in acceptance.

And faith in the cold rain;  

that overwhelming touch.

For I know

virtue has gone out of me.