Days
Days
From images, from messages,
from reflections, from representations
from the shady land of dreams,
- each morning my ass is kicked into the light –
reality strikes me each and every morning
whether it is 8:30, 9:55 or eleven thirty.
On my four walled room - pictured with history –
comes light to brighten up my four cornered room
with emerald greens from pines, ferns. maple hues,
colours that fill the empty spaces between their taller,
larger cousins as they reach up, crawl towards the light.
From them and from the jungles of my dreams
comes a multi coloured blanket covering up the brown,
the graves of their off springs, their forefathers
that for seasons, for eons, have laid upon the ground.
The past that lays decaying beneath the tears of gray skies .
There are days- few it seems – that the sun’s rays
do break through, furthering growth, accelerating
the process of decay – the future, to become –
in another day – nourishment for another generation
of shades of green that will shroud the browns of the past,
that throughout winter’s cover, covered the ground
all around the land scape and the landscape of my dreams,
( B. J. “A ” 2 )
March 31st 2006
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