Poetry in Narrative.

Spirits.

Spirits.

Energy.

We feel it all about us.

We sense it as it streaks on by.

Inside of us all lies that force.

Concealed behind eyes that decide.

You cannot see this air as it moves;

cloudiness steers, then claps the day.

Glaciers move boulders by shearing

its way through, marking the desired way.

While arch' stretch far over to the other side.

Mountains continually rise and you wonder Why?

Diving further into the unknown is who we are.

This is why we dream so and can cry.

Anger resides within our own mistrust.

It tangles restraint and still it guides.

Once again we fear that energy inside;

but love holds us back in check. Why?

Spirits recall the truth in our deeds.

Death rearranges the courses we take.

Startled at the current scope of words;

a leap of faith is never be a mistake.

Sorrow grips towards every being.

Hold fast to what is felt for convenience.

A rude awakening is always in order;

for today is the essence of that subservience.

We all strive to learn more, be more.

Argue your case, feel the score.

What is coming? What is next?

Shall we choose forevermore?

Retaining strength, regaining fear.

Struggle if you must but,

hold on to what was sown.

Be it in prayers, unanswered,

or so eagerly thought of,

the unknown.

Dead, dying, living;

calling it the end is for the young.

Ask for forgiveness again if you must;

It is all you will become.

Sooner or later we all wake up.

To live, to run, to give another day.

To move forward, to breath;

Who were you anyway?

Should it help to know?

Could it?

Would it matter if you did?

Awake again for the next move;

silliness is for kids.

Coming down from a lifetime of dreams

and for a time you could see it well.

Did you recall the amounts of energy?

Great and powerful for a spell.

Why must we dream away to be?

Why does a river flow on downhill?

Give praise to the storehouses of life.

Penned is a story about goodwill.

The great Mother has no side.

The Father however listens, confides.

Life is way to fragile to hold itself,

it is not to be a battle of sighs.

Fall hard.

Remember the charge!

We are the makers, doers,

the fore-bearers of this air.

Spirits in grief, we have become.

In anger, we fight ourselves

over and over; one shot,

one punch at nothing still,

it is to be known.

Had this bout' been ever learned;

the expedience was to be misplaced.

Stand within a vision balanced.

Dance within its very sight.

In the beginning you thought the end.

You knew what was going to come.

Who you were cannot end!

Only a child shall lead this rule.

Others fail in their own delight.

Some great, some small, to all who hear;

a vision is a choice thought out clear.

There are no answers to what has happened.

There are no clues to look for and Why?

It becomes clearer as you grow older;

so in the face of the end, smile.

This I can give, even share...

Give back what you've received!

Make that which you can, Grow;

or misunderstand this choice

in being.

A.o.R.