Better days will come, my friend, at least that's what they say, and we will rejoice at their dawn. The lost along the way are strewn along the petaled path we spy, spirals into the hidden curve behind us. Before us the road well-hidden still bends there in the undergrowth. Moments turn to hours, goodnight turns to morrow... And way has led to way as has been told, and years and years from now, we - We will tell tales of a time when better days lay ahead. cc: Chagall 2021
Tag Archive: time
as a pointillist I dabble in implication, you infer sky and water from dots I render the eyes' sweet surrender to that which is not I touch the blue by the sky inside you, provoke the memory of dappled green whorls of afternoon sun diffract lazily off the pond reflecting nearby reindeer lichen you the viewer are yourself once again twice stippled cc: Carlos 2021
the balloon from your party still holds its helium long after you're gone it bobs there yet in the ceiling corner its long rainbow tassel a curlicue of color in time it will slide down the wall without promise of rising anymore all the best wishes of the day flattened and peeling inert cc: Chagall 2021
Come with me! I know a place where there are updrafts still You can catch your wings and soar Icy blue winds near the edge of horizons Very thin air so easy to breathe So little remaining cc: Chagall 2021
there it is, that distinct aroma a wind of the past a breeze of the gone a flash of laughter once, now lost somewhere in the deluge, somewhere in the design supine on the detritus a back-float on time ethereal buoyant, I fall from a rooftop farewell, receding sky welcome home whispers the blue cc: Chagall 2021
I am cold tall pine
Terns bank away in echelon
God braces mid-air
Chagall 2019
sometimes I re-read things i once wrote and at first
thought they are grammatically wrong until i realize what it was i meant
Chagall 2017
The birds around my home are slower than norm
There is less urgency because of the love and abundance of riches here
Chagall 2017
I sometimes forget
who I am
supposed to be
until a prized wind
raises the scent of rain
off of mossy rock to me
©∞Chagall 2017
Please know that every cherita I will ever write
will be inspired by Celestine @ Reading Pleasure
Alas, so very few of my cheritae will ever be as good as hers. 🙂
Love & Peace —CC
What is there
after you’ve flown?
Where are you
once you touched down?
Careful there on the ledge,
perhaps you’ll not fly again.
How sad to have flown
for the last time.
When up is down
to fall is to fly.
How joyous to have
flown at all.
I’d have thought
clouds to be harder.
I invert when I fly
for I am the sky.
So inwardly
I fall.
Alight on soft pockets
of air.
Dust
on air.
I pray while
I fall.
The whole planet
is falling.
We spin and we turn and
we tilt and we yaw.
The earth rushes to us
once befallen.
© Chagall ∞
