The Wall

A man sits on a wall

facing East

(every Day and every Night)

watching the sun rise

and always searching for a few special

shooting stars

his daily view involves a street in front of the wall

as he watches everything that passes by

(including Time)

and although most everything does not stop

(including Time)

something eventually does

causing a laugh and a tear

or a memory and a thought

to travel with the blowing leaves

instead of being trapped within the wall

on some Nights

the waves crash with a pounding force

a force unseen through the darkest of mists

hiding the moon

yet the water rarely touches the straight and narrow line

he has followed and forged among the waving grasses

which line and protect the shore

on other Days

the rain falls with a drenching force

a force unseen thought the darkest of clouds

hiding the sun

although the waves and the rain boast similar thunderous noises

the man’s travelled line remains straight and narrow

he has seen his view covered by

leaves and snow

yet he still remains

and as Time moves on

(as it forever does)

he becomes the wall

for he has...

    

Shook the hands of invisible superstars,

before they became super or stars.

Heard the gunshot of a misfired bullet of anger or ignorance,

whose scar remains faded yet noticeable.

Planted trees and nurtured their growth,

until they have transformed into lonely buildings.

Smelled roasted peanuts of an innocent small-town circus parade,

although the shells (and smells) have been long-forgotten.

Felt the sun on the day it was four inches from the ground,

but somehow it was not as close as the moon that night.

He has seen floods and droughts,

weddings and fights

diseases and cures

newborns and funerals

nothing and nothing

experiences years of boredom

filled with weeks of excitement

hours of tragedy

and minutes of routine

yet Tonight

as the sun sets for the first Time ever

and what would be the last Time as well

he spots (finally) his first (and only)

shooting star

as he reaches stardom himself

and the blowing wind carries away a small piece of the now-crumbling-ivy-covered-but-still-standing wall

Sailing

Sailing

along the open sea

with nothing around me but water.

The wind is blowing at my back,

because I chose to have it that way.

It really isn’t the direction I want to go,

but I’d rather not fight against the wind.

I tried to fight it once,

but I wasn’t successful.

Well, I had succeeded for a little while,

but it became too powerful for me to handle.

Besides, it never blows in the same direction anyhow.

So, I’m, just rolling along,

just some waves and I,

floating on to someplace unknown to me.

And I’m still sailing

along the open sea

with nothing around me but...water.

I didn’t choose to make this journey,

but something tells me I’m not alone out here.

At least I hope I’m not alone out here.

I just haven’t found anyone else.

I yelled out loud to see if anyone could hear me.

But no one heard my message,

Or at least no one chose to respond.

And my voice lost it’s fight against the wind as well.

Besides, I found some dolphins who have kept me company.

So, I’m still just rolling along

just these waves (and some dolphins) and I

floating on to someplace still unknown to me.

And I’m quietly sailing

along the open sea

with nothing around me but......water.

I have no one to share my sunsets with

nor my sunrises, except myself and my mind,

which are both riding with me, even though at times it seems like one or the other or even both have jumped overboard.

I tried to convince them to stay,

but they sometimes do whatever they please.

They always eventually come back, though,

and I have yet to figure out their pattern.

besides, sometimes it’s peaceful when they’re not around.

So, I’m still just silently rolling along

just the waves (and some dolphins and my mind and myself) and I

floating on to someplace still quietly unknown to me.

And I’m anxiously sailing

along the open sea

with nothing around me but.........water.

I have no one to help me hang on in the storms

yet I have survived them all so far.

No two storms have held the same plight

although each one has stolen both my silence and my sunrises.

And so now I’m fighting a much stronger wind this time

coming at me from all directions at once.

And amongst the sudden rush of hectic noise,

I’m also trying to keep track of some dolphins, myself and my mind,

And in the end, the storms somehow have created a sense of hesitant relief.

And I’m still just silently and anxiously rolling along.

just the waves

(and some dolphins

and my mind and myself

and my sense of hesitant relief)

and I,

floating on to someplace still tensely and quietly unknown to me.

In Search Of The Perfect Sunset

“The free bird leaps on the back of the wind

And floats downstream ‘til the currents end

And dips his wings in the orange sunrays

And dares to claim the sky”

- Maya Angelou

“I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings”

“Freer than a sunbeam – shining though my soul . . .

Free – like the river – flowing freely through infinity”

- Stevie Wonder

“Free”

___________________________________________________________________

One morning

a man woke up

and as he looked outside his window

he witnessed the perfect sunrise . . .

At first all he could see was a dark glow from somewhere behind the last hill . . .

and as it got brighter the whole world seemed to wake up . . .

As birds started chirping and roosters started crowing

in preparation for the arrival of a new day

and the end of a cold and indecipherable night

and then the sun peeked over that hill first

to see if the world was ready for his arrival . . .

. . . and then he appeared . . .

. . . showing his entire face . . . throwing blues and reds and oranges and greens . . . replacing what previously was black and white and grey the night before.

And it was that morning

as the man woke up

looking outside his window

that he vowed to witness the perfect sunset . . .

he would witness countless sunrises and sunsets though none quite as perfect as that first one for there would be days where one or two or infinite clouds would block his view as he would sit through rainy evenings and snowy nights waking up and falling asleep and some days he would see the sun setting but he could not find the perfect hill to view it from and once he found that perfect hill he could not get there at the perfect time because the sun never sets at the same time each day and he spent many days scrambling up the hill furiously tripping and stumbling only to miss it by a few seconds and other days when he had given up on finding the perfect sunset he would just happen to turn his head and see the sun drop and as it caught him off guard he would drive himself crazy blaming himself for not being prepared thinking he had missed his moment . . .

Yet one morning

the man woke up

and as he looked outside his window

he realized that today would be the day

So he went to the perfect hill

and calmly walked up it

and just as he arrived at the top

he turned and saw . . .

The perfect sunset . . .

The sun took pinks and reds and oranges and purples with him . . . leaving only the blacks and whites and grays for the night . . . and as it got darker the whole world seemed to fall asleep . . .

As birds stopped chirping and wolves started howling

in preparation for the end of a long and meaningful day

and the beginning of a cool and meaningful night

and then the sun peeked over that hill one last time

to see if the world was ready for his departure . . .

. . . and then he disappeared . . .

...leaving a dark glow from somewhere over the next hill . . .

And that night

the man fell asleep

and as he looked into the world’s window

he witnessed the perfect moon rise . . .