reality

I, Firefly

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The rain and cruel night wind have stilled

And sleep on dreary darkling clouds.

Weeping leaves shed heavy tears,

That strike the pond’s still black water

Like clock ticks of drunken Time,

And floating withered autumn leaves

Scurry from the watery craters.

 

There beyond in wet woodlands

Sodden birds tremble in the night

And unseen voles flee starving shrews

‘Til frighted darkness flees the light.

The chorus of the night sounds clear

Yet each voice sings a solo song

in a different tongue but all proclaim

 

That to listen is not to hear;

And what’s unseen is not unreal;

In a bright flashlight beam,

As thick drops strike black still water

They  fire off a flash to declare

With prideful human vanity

“My reflected light’s eternal.”

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Stone’s Child

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 Dust from the graves of time-dead stars

congeals within the magma of a planetary core,

Is delivered of  a  molten womb

against the will of   jealous gravity,

devolved from star-dust to  stone.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

The child of stone is born blind, dumb,

and helpless as star-dust, yet asks why

we sing and weep, find and lose  one another

on a rock whirling between the poles of infinity.

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The sculptor seeks whatever hides within the stone,

aware that  only what’s  unseen is real.

Stone’s child knows that nothing  real

can be confined within our universe and  time.