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Two rondos from the seventies

I burn the wind that blows inflicted pain.
There can be no tears in clouds with no rain.
In the solitude of my inner worth
I walk, I run, I fall upon the earth
and de novo, yes! I stand up again!

I've tasted the fear God, the hurricane
that takes the very being I profane
on roads where I walk, lost without your mirth;
I burn the wind.

But I seek refuge, I move like a train
across the inner fields of my terrain.
With the power of truth and love's rebirth
I will find my destiny on this earth;
I burn the wind.

***

Watching all moments he lies there naked,
away from all bitter tears that are shed,
observing the movement, the steady flow
towards the fields where winds on no time blow.
He counts his blessings by the fountainhead.

And all the dreams that he has coveted,
and all the nightmares that he has fled,
have lost their meaning as he now lets go,
watching all moments.

Taken by the endless sea that moves ahead
he drifts in liquid thoughts upon the bed,
on waves that sing an oratorio,
filling the frothy air ash he lets go,
watching all moments.

Poetry by Bob
Read 581 times
Written on 2015-06-03 at 21:57