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Adventure by Ollie

A Search for Purpose in a Random World

Month

September 2015

The Gray in your Hair

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always “tomorrow”

as if leaves would wait for us

staying fast

onto branches unmoved by the wind

but the wind

will always blow and leaves fall

their courses shifting

like ripples in a fast moving river

here now

and then gone

this season is passing and soon

winter

marches in without a thought for our

tomorrow

have you not noticed

the gray in your hair

 

as willful dust

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But, I have set free from this prison

all these little birds.

This prison is not cruel,

only fatiguing, as willful dust can be.

One may sweep it from here to there;

it does not obey.

It falls where it wishes

onto the newly cleansed

marble floors.

This spirit does not yet fly –

only imagines,

only sees in fleeting glimpses;

as in those moments

of contemplating garden walls.

But, I have set free from this prison,

all these little birds.

Sheltering Place

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This shade of green

defends its roots,

setting a boundary

between light and dark,

creating a sheltering place

for the breeze.

The rising wave sings long,

making music with the wind; laughter,

and what is unseen

is felt, though lightly.

(But these are not ghosts.)

They are that which

seconds are made of –

heartbeats,

little breath beats

of living.

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