silver tears

when day is done and light fades,
when silence hides behind the moon.
when silver tears trace the garden path
into the wooded realm.

into the dark of soaring menace,
into the enchanting choir
of soaring watchmen, ancient and wild.
their branches reach for me.

beneath the canopy of needles,
within the tangle of ferns,
inquiring eyes look on in stealth.
they watch and wait.

walking on the curving mud path
with switchbacks and steep inclines,
direction loses meaning.
ahead I push into the unknown

until I reach the overlook,
the vista at the cliff-face,
spanning the gorge beyond
with meandering river below.

red and blue kiss in an orange embrace
as the clouds halo the moon.
silver tears meet mine
as I cry out to God.

15 May 2010 by Glen Alan Woods

Paradox

In the quiet I reside
Yearning for something.
I know not what; alone.

The road seems ever
Long, yet terminally
Short; paradox of grief.

Memories of what is
To come conflict with
What might have been.

Absurd abstractions;
Certainty cast in doubt
By tendrils of curiosity.

Chants of lyrics never
Uttered fill the secret
Places of doubt. Cry.

6 December 2008 by Glen Alan Woods

where do dreams go

when night abides on the corners of the wind;
when whispers stride the heights of the stars;
when even silence abandons the broken heart,
I wonder

where do dreams go

to die?

when pain resounds as with gnashing teeth and fire;
when hollow echoes reply with mockery;
when all the world turns away in disdain,
I wonder

where do dreams go

to die?

when morning dawns after endless hours of pain;
when sunlight enters and greets the new day;
when birdsong filters into the hurting heart,
I wonder

where do dreams go

when they want to live?

9 September 2008 by Glen Alan Woods

Silent Pain

When night falls and hushed whispers sleep,
Twilight hides beyond the horizon's claim.
Quickened dreams pry into the heart's domain,
A choreography of conflict and pain.

When tears fall and faint voices weep,
Dawn brushes the brow of silent pain.
Memories of a mother's comforting refrain
Bring awareness of cheeks now tear stained.

8 September 2007 by Glen Alan Woods

The Broken Leaf

The broken leaf,
With red and yellow hues,
Remembers former days
Of newly birthed greenery.

But now at last,
In twilight's clarity,
Understanding dawns
In the palette of Autumn's muse.

The breathless scope
Of life lived beautifully
Calls for songs of joy
Among the windblown falling leaves.

The broken leaf,
With red and yellow hues,
Gently heeds the call,
Tumbling to the blanket below.

In fading light,
With one last glimpse above,
The radiant canopy
Dances to the robin's final tune.

7 September 2007 by Glen Alan Woods

I Met With Sadness Yesterday

I met with Sadness yesterday, after some time apart.
He was not looking well due to the recent encounter
with his nemesis, Depression; it was a painful start
to an ongoing struggle, visited yet again in the late hour.

Sadness sat quietly as I opened the door and entered.
Depression was nearby, yet unseen. "What's wrong?"
I asked in lyrical query as into the eyes of Sadness I peered.
With his eyes looking into mine he replied, "Song...."

His voice caught and his eyes lowered, welling within
and he said, "Everything and nothing and all things between."
Choosing instead a lyric of silence, I refrained from replying.
Together we sat, quietly aware of the peace one song could bring.

Finally, Sadness asked, "Could you sing one of your tunes?"
Naturally I agreed, lifting up my voice in a joyful melody
while also adding harmonies and lyrics that filled the room
with laughter which caused Depression to hastily flee.

Sadness smiled for the first time in days, not yet ready to be alone,
but gladly free from Depression for at least a little while,
and perhaps longer too, if he chooses to give Joy a home.
Sadness welcomed Joy tentatively, and when she grinned, he smiled.

29 May 2007 by Glen Alan Woods

Sonnet (14 lines) Attempt 1

Distant shores whisper unseen from the horizon;
Mariners bear tidings of incoming gloom;
Broiling clouds lay claim the foreshadowed doom;
Incoming tides bring forth gifts from the nations,
Appreciated as artifacts of nautical sojourn,
Tumbled with flotsam, polished by solemnity,
Their petrified textures hewn by antiquity;
Out of the depths of cavernous tides they adjourn;
Why do the white gulls call in the elemental rush?
Why do they hover as harbingers of grief?
Conceived from the soulful ancient plea for relief,
Wistful calm watches the violent hush;
Distant shores whisper unseen from the horizon;
Why do the white gulls call in the elemental rush?

21 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods

Despair

in the final aging memory
of an era past its prime
all the things I once pursued
are forgotten out of time.

like a fleeting shadow piercing,
then retreating to its lair,
are the selfish thoughts I cherished
when I lurked in dark despair.

12 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods

Pantoum (Malay): The Dream

whispering swaths of phantom mist--
the wakened dreamer grasps at fading wisps;
so silently caressing tearful memories
as an artist tracing a masterpiece.

the wakened dreamer grasps at fading wisps
while through the window fresh wind flows on the breeze.
as an artist tracing a masterpiece,
eloquent details imprint their signature.

while through the window fresh wind flows on the breeze,
so silently caressing tearful memories,
eloquent details imprint their signature--
whispering swaths of phantom mist.

5 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods

Broken Heart

where has the laughter
gone? I hear echoes
fading....
come back. don't cry.
embrace the ones you love.

4 March 2007 By Glen Alan Woods

Weary Muse

Mundane.
Feeling tired.
Wondering if my
Thoughts

Matter,
Or are they
Something less than
That,

Although
My heart knows
The Lord thinks
Differently.

13 February 2007 by Glen Alan Woods