Canvas

Paint me a pastoral solace,
Snake a path ’round emerald hills,
Roam newborn calves and lambs,
Red brush me a barn atop the hill
Dab in shady oaks, string my swaying bed
Where I may slow breathe my sunset days
Unbound, free to farm new memories.

~ ~ ~

Dwindling

Withdrawn,
For stead
old promises
vows of yesterday dimmed,
Foreclosed.
Directed by the wind
and destiny’s hand?
~ ~ ~

Enduring

I am not forever
I am now
bare bereft
of yesterday
surviving yet
an old Tomorrow.

~ ~ ~

Seasoned

I am a sojourner
having thinned my soles
’tween the youthful vigor of the warm Pacific
and the cold awakening of the Atlantic,
and I am weathered, fit of wear,
sufficiently rounded to 
ply my strides where now I walk
amidst the soothing souls.
 

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