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Shattered Glass

Glass people are made in a

Factory faraway

They come out perfect,

Each and every one

Born beneath the Sun

And from the moment they are made

With the factories aide,

Their hollow insides begin to fill.

The glass people are filling,

Although sometimes unwilling,

With what makes them alive

And wiggle and Jive

And they begin to dance and shout

Singing as they run about

Soon they forget they are made of glass,

Just a fragile piece of delicate mass

And they fill and they fill

Filling until

They realize that they cannot hold it all

Once removed this innocent caul,

They begin to despair

And they realize that nobody is there

Nobody to care

And they remember that they

Are only glass

And they continue to fill until

They crack

And spill.

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Wanderer

In a Great Wood that is mysterious and old, and unfathomably large, There is a stream that wanders through It’s heart into the very Deepest, most gloomy part Where the air is still and the trees are ancient And the sunlight sifts through the mossy boughs and the Water seems to twinkle and glow As it softly washes the stones in the stream and runs gently over the Forest floor, and in this Archaic Wood of untold lore, deep within it’s mystic core The moss grows thick and Wild beasts live in the dense Labyrinth and almost a sense of Enchantment is conjured in this secret place where time is never wasted, never hastened but the passage of Time is difficult to measure in this Otherworldly treasure, a timeless and Beautiful Wood of forgetfulness. In these Woods there is a Wanderer who is seldom seen and he drinks from the stream that wind down the Forest floor, and he is a friend to the flora and Fauna and carries with him a Supernatural aura And knows not where he is going. He appears in the gloom beside a tree and disappears in the shade without a trace but the sounds of the Forest echo with his laughter and where he goes Nobody knows, the sounds of the stream become his voice, gaily singing to the Beasts and the Trees And he is not Lost but has found his way In the maze of the Pathless Wood and there he spends his days in the eternal twilit, eerie haze, Dancing into the ageless Forest. He cannot be seen by those who look to find him, Appearing at twilight as a shadowy sight humming softly in the firefly lit night, and fading away quietly and gay out of sight, Into the still Forest air until the Sun is set and he does not Let the Darkness scare him, For He is at Peace with the fiercest Beast and the Creatures of Fear. To Him the Black is clear as day, For the Wanderer has found his way. In this Ancient Wood where the stream flows Pure and Bubbles and gleams and the Forest seems an Indescribably beautiful, Vivified dream, I walked alone, and I was Lost. The Spirits of the Woodland Trees beckoning and calling me but I could not see, for it was dark and they were hidden by Leaves and Bark, and I was all alone and No light shone to show me the way, and I was Afraid. Sitting upon the massive roots among luscious moss and fork-tongued newts of a living wooden Giant, I closed my Eyes and there I lay at the feet of a Tree and I realized that although I could not see, my ears could discern from the voices of the Swallow and the Turn, the sound of Lighthearted laughter. Beside the stream, so pure and clean, There was a Wandering figure in a Dimly lit grove nestled among a fresh grassy clove of herbs and sweet flowers and the Forests patient, deliberate powers Drew me towards him. He was not afraid and he showed me the Way past Beast and Shadow and through the Dark places and the sad, Worn faces of forgotten memories, and he was my Guide, and by his side There was no longer any need to Hide, For the Blackness was emptied of Hate and filled with a Peace that Transcends the least significant of Worries And the Night was a place where Souls take flight and Soar above the forest Floor and alight among the starlit stream High Above the sleeping World.


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