Veiled Inheritance

the raindrop...

slides softly down my nose to touch the ground

It's dreary, gray, not yet the weekend

Waiting...

for I don't know what anymore

or perhaps more accurately...

yearning for a restoration that cannot yet be

the more ideas and theories spin round my brain, the less they enthrall

there was a time when all felt fresh and new,

each day an adventure of endless possibility

perhaps the days still are

but those fleeting joys aren't enough anymore

actually, they never were

an illusion...

a glimpse...

a glimmer...

of something more

but never the thing itself

The thing

is not something to be grasped

or taken

it can only be received

oh, to behold it,

to drink from its founts

but alas, not yet

I dream of green pastures

with no end

A river

whose waters are crystal clear

and sparkle like diamonds

its falls crest atop a precarious peak

but there is no danger

In my mind's eye

friendships that do not fade

old men who never tire

at last the artist can finally depict an image in its full truth

no more masks

no pretenses

no disenchantment

not exactly what one might call sheer bliss

perhaps better put, fullness of being

at last…

to think it's not just an illusion,

the stuff of children's stories,

of whose memory I lament.

it is pulsing

within and without

coursing through the being of the universe

to not want or need the next thing

because you have it all and more

a flicker in the distance

on the matchstick sunset

reminds me it is looming.

like the big dipper

that shows its face on each clear night

it will surely come.

as surely as

the birds fly south in the winter,

the buds resurface in the spring

the very thought is moving me

i am moved for it is there

so many things i doubt, but not this

freedom.

chains unhinged.

a bright morning glow of new tomorrow.

coloured reflection is becoming face to face.