Woven Dreams

In my eyes

See generations

Hair:  displays a part of me

Hands:  reveal the work I've done

Feet:  the path I've traveled on

But, listen to my words and you'll hear

The people I've met through the years

Hopes, dreams of what is yet to be

Despair on bent knee

Head:  bowed  in reconciling

Urn of life unclaimed on a shelf

Unmarked graves of the fallen

Longing arms of a child for love

Tears of the homeless

Nomads of the world

Street Poetry unparalleled

Virgin Prose spoken, but few will ever hear

For the streets require a special ear

A beat reporter who's crossed the line

Touched the dark and danced in day

Seen the troubles

Felt the bitter cold

Brethren of the street, the peddler already knows

The dance of angels on desperate wings

Sings the song of solace and of special dreams

Where hearts cling to hope

An illusion of a home, a mansion made of stone

Flight of angels work in unison

To rescue spirits of lonely ones

Temper the madness

A catalyst never dies

Spirit driven soul survives

Despite the winds and torrid skies

To fain not, in spite, of what one sees

To capture the moment

Not to plea

The hour that beckons the night cast her shade

Still the writer plugs away

Voice that resonates deep within

Spell that speaks tis not a sin

Kindred spirits walk the course

Touch time on a divided line

Where the hourglass is the metronome

Of the life we hold so dear

The music of the wind

As we say goodbye