Autumn on Beaver Pond

Autumn on Beaver Pond
10/31/01

Take me to that place

Where still waters are the parchment
on which a blue moon inks her love songs,
and a quiet pond is the down
upon which red and gold leaves are quilted;
where twin white swans slide across the watery silk,
like my lovers breasts, seeking to be embraced.

Take me to that place

Where violins weep sad songs across hallowed breath
to fine refuge within vacant ears,
evicting the squatter of fear, with tears
from the dwelling of the soul.
Where the scent of fallen death begets life
within the mind long dormant, denying
that which should have been.

Take me to that place

Where the insanity of knowing the end of all things
has set with the last sun
on this ever present misery;
where a bend in time around the finger of God
no longer stalks my memory
with the fall of innocence.

Take me to that place

Where life and death’s mélange finds reason,
wrapped with loves gold pursuit
and tied in arms of white;
where the quiet symphony of a candle
flickers away the madness,
and slowly combs the soft of your face.

Take me to that place

And I shall be whole.