Winds of Change

Quiver the leaves while bathed in orange
breath of the winter dawn and its sun,
quiver for now, then without abhorrence
do fall in the arms of fate, they are done,
while known not to you O wearied child
is yonder thy lattice, weaved by the pane,
are the winds of change, of fate, unmild
embraced yet hither unfelt all the same.
Painting the walls a capricious vermilion
its cadence, time, and its time, this dawn
the hour of change sits upon that pillion
which for a steed has our fate, now drawn.
They shall not return, if left unheeded,
not for our children or theirs when needed
the winds of change once left shall heave
no longer O wearied, O wearied believe.

Arguing With Fate, Conversing With A Reflection.

Tell me wise man if you have ever,
loved someone and for so long,
that thought and reason have to sever
a vein that love has now made wrong.
For loss of purpose is one thing
and burning hate is quite another,
the rhyme of the sages unto me sing,
like a child is lulled on by its mother,
“sleep my angel do not feign,
wakefulness in the midst of dark,
leave these tears, forget the pain,
no matter how hard they may depart”.
Are not these words thyne O wise one
and those you told me long ago,
“love is like an eternal sun,
that waits to set for those who know,
and those that wait for it come,
on them shall this sun never set”.
I waited until I was finally done,
and an empty yesterday is what I regret.
Although my bed she warms today,
just flesh and sounds and nothing more,
I hate her I do regret to say,
for this wait has closed an open door.
Look at me O wise old man,
mirror or not, what have you done,
look at what you made me do
look at what you made me shun,
cry at what you made this fate,
lament at what you made me give,
all this love now turned to hate,
and in this hate we have to live.