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by Britt Author IconMail Icon
Rated: E · Poetry · Romance/Love · #1428861
Continuation of "The Wood of Hayal"
TURN MY BLUE SKIES GRAY


My soul so warm helps this cold soil thrive, in this place that I call hayal.
These trees are a maze that only I can decide just where to start the trail.

Hard footsteps arouse the leaves to life and vent before me in lustful fashion.
Earth's seduction through the wooded canopy, whispers winds of passion. 

The rain clouds are jealous of my autumn love and turn my blue skies gray.
Foggy rain drops whipping down, calling it's thunderous chorus to say:

"Autumnal Winds you know she is mine! Yet I have watched you making love!"
The Wind rebuked: "Foolish tears won't make her choose your burning anger from above."

The tears of rain are now a flowing stream, clapping the rocks for me to come.
I'll applaud you too, O blood of earth, because you believe it's me you've won.

It wasn't a fight, but a tug-of-war; though my victory is just as grand.
My love for you is still ablaze, but I won't stop my love with the land.

Don't ask me to choose and I won't ask you. It's not about loyalty.
No more tears of rain or putting the earth to shame. This authority belongs to me.

The autumn leaves or the summer's wild weeds haven't asked me to make my choice.
They keep alive and listen, and with your help they glisten, and never fail to hear my voice.

Just rain strong for me and steal my love, you can caress me everyday.
Let storm clouds roll in and dim the lights...Turn my blue skies gray.



Rain Song

The clouds assemble quietly
and turn the blue sky gray.
"To the people who forsake their dignity,
You are cordially invited to stay.

You may recall the rhythmic song
this rain has composed so finely.
For when the parched earth asks for this song
it is provided in abundance so kindly.

I have no voice, but my message is clear.
No legs to run but I do.
No eyes to see but I know when I'm here.
No mind, but have more purpose than you.

Your love is shown by a script and an act
awarding those lies with grace.
Your hatred so real is an everyday fact,
and in your heart is awarded first place.

I, too, have a gift and lend my song
when my sister, your earth, calls out.
No need to call twice, I won't take long;
she is unfamiliar with your practice of doubt.

I cleanse the face you put buildings on
and give rivers and oceans their strength.
I grow all the colors. Yes, I and the dawn,
and never once have I demanded a 'thanks'.

Although each pebble of rain is small,
they are part of an army's force.
When the earth sounds her distress call,
this army is willing to go forth.

This your earth has a fight it seems
with a race cold-blooded and ruthless.
A few want change, and place their dreams
on organizations who prove useless.

From this people dangerously degraded
I'll save you with my song of rain.
Like an old photograph, torn and faded,
they don't know how much you contain.



2010

I pray to Jehovah for relief,
as the summer has made my heart fade.
He said to me, "I remember your grief,
And I will turn the blue skies gray.

"Your expectations have fallen away
like the leaves of the autumn trees.
One by one the leaves must let go
to find a new home with the breeze.

"Look at the tree, it's bare now I know,
waiting for the next season to arrive.
Until then, it must wait and grow
and keep rooted in me to survive.

"The winter must come; trees have their tests too.
Will it turn as cold as your heart?
The snow can be a blanket, or it can destroy;
but the tree must do it's own part.

"It may wish for the spring, but still it must wait.
It's endurance has not proven complete.
Will it remember that spring won't be late,
and not beg for this trial to retreat?"

I asked Jehovah, "Do I understand?
Is this tree what I have become?"
Jehovah said, "Yes that may be true,
but my answer has only just begun."

"...Forgive me Jehovah, but my sky is still blue.
I thought you would turn it gray."
Jehovah said, "Yes MY sky is still blue.
Please have faith that I hear what you pray."

The sky that was blue was fading away
into the promise of rain.
"I told you I'd turn the blue sky gray.
You still have much faith to gain."

Dark clouds intensified away from the sun.
The rain fell just as it should.
"These are your tears. I've kept every one,
Just like I said I would.

"After the rain, the season will change.
Spring brings new promise of life.
Away with the saplings foreign and strange
that were planted with tears and strife.

"Back in my skin bottle your tears will go.
The sky must go back to blue.
Look up high, just one more show:
The colored arch is dancing for you."

-Dedicated to my spiritual journey, during the learning curve where Jehovah showed me like a real friend how to have faith.




This is inspired by a prayer I had earlier this year. The dialogue is between me and Jehovah. I felt as though Jehovah was distant from me, but later saw that he was letting me accomplish things on my own for a reason. It is also a continuation of my last poem 2010.


Diary of a pawn

The hour of mourning in the morning hour:
A diary of the 'rest'.
Tall grasses bow to the lilies of the field
who bring silence as a guest.

"I saw a wild stampede toward me.
A laughing storm was encroaching.
I called for you, but..."
"...I was there. I saw what was approaching."

"You made me fight alone so long,
my muscles tore and strained."
"That's what makes your body strong.
Look at the faith you've gained!"

"I traded rest with all it's cost,
for places I had never been.
To search for you...."
"...I was never lost. It was you we had to find again."

"How do I find myself again?
I don't know who I used to be."
"I remember all that you were.
Why don't you just ask me?

I'll always help you in trials you know,
you've come to the end of the test.
Remember the leaves that had to let go*
but soon after they found their rest.

Watch the path move forward and lean
beyond the trees that cover its way.
The path does not stop when the way is unseen.-
A new perspective for you everyday.

Awakening a deeper kind of faith,
My thunderous clouds play their drums.
With the heart of a squaw you've found your strength:
A diary of the pawn."

*From the previous poem


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