The Narrowing
Glowing days that were once red-cheeked and ripe with promise,
Are narrowing like tall candles in a church window,
Tapering from the golden stand and the sturdy base,
To the glorious flame and the ever fading light.
The final birth of dreams that was once distant and cold,
Is now close, closer, ever closer.
The imminent darkened clouds of doubt, that haunt the wise,
Are now gathering close to form a ghostly shadow,
That will create a vast tempest, in a quiet place,
And a mighty torrent that will quench the firelight.
Unyielding waves of fear that are rising in the old,
Are now near, nearer, ever nearer.
To have once coveted the blue from the autumn sky,
Embraced the fallen leaves of a giant maple tree,
To have jumped into water without wondering why,
Leaped joyfully in the warm sand near the emerald sea.
Having playfully chased off the petulant sea gulls,
Broken twigs to build a fire against night’s attack,
Held tight in your strong hands the soft feathers of eagles,
And kissed a beautiful girl on the nape of the neck.
To have laughed at the tetchy clock ticking in the hall,
And smoked each distressing regret like a cigarette,
Knowing it would certainly give cancer of the soul,
The narrowing compels the pining heart to forget.
When forced to consent to the lessoning of a day,
And to accept the waning of a moonlit heaven,
To wonder if the path taken was the only way,
Is to live in mortal fear inside a peaceful den.
To be ordered to find gratitude in the calming,
And to find a moments peace in the resignation,
Is not the purpose of the dancing and singing,
This game is but a trial of the imagination,
God has left the beautiful forest unattended,
There is no lesson, design or celestial rule,
To search for meaning is to invite eternal dread,
It takes a saddened, embittered mind to be that cruel.
Could love's joyous light, shine and never fade.
Or the closing at sunset be delayed.
An elegance can be found in the narrowing,
As memories line together like a pearl necklace,
And clouded moments vanish and amount to nothing,
And all are gently buried with red velvet and lace.
Love the narrowing, set in a purposeless blue sky,
Not because winter nights have become less frightening,
Or the smoldering summer days have now lost their sting,
But as there is no truth in the trumpet or the drum,
It is just a walk among the flowers of freedom.
And a laughing stroll through the narrowing of wisdom.
Copyright © David Wakeling | Year Posted 2021
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