Mariella Hunt's Blog, page 25

Lament

Leaves will change

From green to gold,

Like they do every year—

But I cannot

Watch them crisp

Without shedding a tear.

The cricket-chorus

Will be gone,

Our bushes will be still.

When frost sets in,

Ice-cold like death,

I will absorb the chill.

Even lovely things

Need sleep

To flourish in the day.

Flowers bow

Their graceful heads,

And I wish they would stay.

Unraveled

Two broken souls met

On the road less traveled.

One longed to forget

That he’d come unraveled.

The other soul, aching,

Cursed up at the sky.

Her every step shaking,

She cried out, “Why?”

Their paths met at last,

And the silence was loud.

Their breath came out fast

In the frost, forming cloud.

Walk alone in your pain,

And you might think it fair.

Meet a soul, and it’s plain:

You were going nowhere.

Timepieces

Old watches of silver

In glass cases, ticking.

How many days have

These timepieces seen?

How many gloved hands

Went to them for guidance?

How many places

Have these treasures been?

Their desperate ticking

Is making you itch

To run paths forgotten

And times far away.

Gears are still turning,

Memories burning.

Go check the time

Before it goes astray.

[image error]Photo Credit Mariella Hunt

Wood of Unrest

Stars above flash in their envy;

The Stream below’s crying out loud.

Even the Lady Moon turns away,

Concealing her face in a shroud.

A body of crimson Trees shiver.

Cricket-song rises, protest!

An ancient Wood full of enchantment

Knows no spell to give it rest.

Are these the days of Beginning–

Or is it the start of the End?

We could not comprehend the green,

But let us now pretend.

Why would a Firefly flicker,

Or a Vining-plant tangle in plight?

Were they not made in perfection?

Wouldn’t their burden be light?

What has a Flower to pine for?

What makes Stars fall from above?

Perhaps the answer is simple:

In their beauty, they want Love.

Seasonchange

Carpets of starlight

Roll over our lands,

Gardens we tilled

With our own hands.

A dark, silken ocean

Flutters beyond;

Her song is sweet,

Her reach is long.

Fireflies twinkling

Pay us no mind.

Their faint lights

Leave us behind.

Summer has ended,

Autumn is come.

The flowers know

Their work is done.

True Love

“May I have this dance?”

Said the ancient oak

To the pine-tree grand,

She who never spoke.

“Won’t you move with me?

For our roots are strong,

And we both have seen

Moments far too long.”

Then he held his breath,

Hoping she’d agree.

O! the wait was death

To this wizened tree!

Pine-tree trembled, shy;

Oak resolved to wait.

Let the years go by,

For their love was fate.

Stargazing Again

Better watch your step,

Stargazing again!

Pay attention to the sign.

Don’t focus so much on rhyme.

You’ll wake up—but when?

Stuck in your own head,

You’ll soon fall behind.

There’s a trap you can’t escape

When your thoughts are not in shape.

Seek, but you won’t find.

Soon the Moon will turn.

Stars, they come and go.

Better look down at your map;

It’s forgotten on your lap.

Perhaps then you’ll know.

Madness

With the proper Madness,

I will gather all the stars

In a wicker basket, for

The Universe is ours.

Let me live in Wonder of

The things they cannot see:

I have tried the safer path.

It had no room for me.

Why are you not dreaming?

Don’t you feel a spark inside?

Who has said you’re living life,

If Madness you must hide?

The Sleep

Autumn’s chill caressed the Wood,

And coaxed her into Sleep.

Leaves then fluttered from the Boughs

Into a towering heap.

Man admires the Wild-flower,

Gem-like on the ground;

But what of the slumbering Tree

That cannot make a sound?

Are not all things in this Wood

Reflecting how, in Life,

Living things can’t set their roots

Without enduring strife?

Can’t Life be admired

Without silken cloaks of red?

Don’t trees possess beauty

In their bones once Leaves are shed?

Summer’s Quilt

Nature peeled back Summer’s quilt

Of flower-beds and all things green.

Soon the plants began to wilt;

Windows took a frosty sheen.

In place of grass, the lawn turned pale

Beneath a sheet of fresh, white snow.

The pond became a crystal frail;

Frigid water lurked below.

Picture now that Mother fair,

Deciding that our land should sleep.

She tossed her Snow into the air,

Shrouding hills in blankets deep.