On Life's Way

Ever the dim melancholy cry,
Ever the moon pursues the sun,
Crepuscule, aurora, but glimpse
Each other, as but one light,
Ascends to the apex of the sky.

Pining, like the Dane to his Regine,
Knowing the searing heat of love,
Knowing the dark angels within,
This longing, ever lost in longing,
Unable to leap the dark ravine.

In setting free the broken sparrow,
Authenticity carried such a weight,
Lives broken, and lives reformed,
And bounded mind in leap of faith,
Lover lilts,  pierced by his own arrow.

Sometimes the road less traveled,
Is a sadness, is a sorrow of solitude.
Not every love though  forged in vow,
Grows old and deep in lasting bonds.
So Kierkegaard whose very self unraveled.

Yet was found in the arms,
That caught his perilous leap,
Catching each perilous leap,
Along life's way.

Unswaddled

Ghost mists expand and swallow sky,
In coal, then sallow, and back-lit white,
And beasts, and birds, and you and I,
From the eye of God are hid from sight.

And below nebulous, vaporous forms,
Time slipping incognito into the day,
Shadowless shadowlands of pending storms,
A still-life canvas — a stilted portrait.

Nimbus shades cocoon over nascent corona,
But edges fray from a mass restlessness,
Creamy ribbons flow from azural persona,
'Til all sigh the air of celestial undress.

And light, and drops, and bracing breeze,
Summons flight from flightless flesh,
And below my toes roll vale and trees,
Unswaddled ecstasy in auroral enmesh.

Alive.