rainbow1I was going through some of my stuff on my computer and came across this poem.  It was written in August of 2005 during a rather traumatic period in my life, and I have very little memory of having written it.  I had to read it completely, in fact, before I could even be sure that the poem was mine.

I’ve never considered myself a poet, and I still don’t.  Still, I kind of like this particular work of semi-structured prose.  It’s based on a song.  Which song should be obvious by the time you reach the poems end.



Summer leaves; summer trees

Black shadows

Beneath the murk and mist

And mud

And blood

Where madness tries to fill the world

With its emptiness

A distant song

Where does the bird fly?

Above the mist

Where the sun always shines

And in the mist

When it shines too bright

Paradise on high

Paradise is not perfection

Paradise is peace

Peace within our souls

Peace with the murk and mist and mud and blood and madness and the emptiness

Peace changes nothing

Except for everything

Murk and mud become rich soil

Blood is life

Madness becomes inspiration

And emptiness becomes potential

And the mist

Gives the rainbow

Over the rainbow

Is but under the rainbow

With peace

Bluebirds fly in peace

Our souls can fly in peace

Over the rainbow

Which is under the rainbow

With peace

And the summer leaves

And the summer trees

Cast cooling shadows

The rainbow is my lens

I will look through it

And see what the bluebird sees


One thought on “Lens

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