ON GOLDEN POND
“The golden moments in the stream of life rush past us, and we see nothing but sand; the angels come to visit us, and we only know them when they are gone.”
- George Eliot
Soundtrack : www.youtube.com/watch?v=KLVq0IAzh1A
FIELDS OF GOLD - STING
I stand on an Art Deco whitewashed bridge
cold to touch; white as snow
ahead of me the long canal
stretches far beyond I know
I stand here sometimes; make a wish
here I believe in dreams come true
and looking now I see a vision
a grey heron walking on water through
the lens of my camera and the lens of my eyes
he is calm; he is at once graceful and elegant
he knows I'm there even from this distance
aware of everything he has a talent
for spotting those who belong here now
who blend in seamlessly
like me with my golden cloud of hair
shrouded face; steeped in unsolved mysteries
we see each other; we are aware
the golden light abounds
he is contemplating life like me
he hears a pin drop; every sound
the miniscule little nuances
the tiny echoes of my mortal mind
he hears them all but does not react
he is zen; he is calm; he is beyond mankind
and yet he embraces every little thing
including me I know
the ice is impenetrable; yet the fish beneath
still swim so freely just below
fields of gold springs to my mind
I gently hum the tune
on golden pond he seeks his fortune
home-spun Rumpelstiltskin legs; the runes
are cast for him and I
my time is short; amid the sighs
I know the truth; feel the heavy weight of my own mortality
yet still I linger for awhile beneath these clear blue skies
time will tell but never waits
no man can outrun himself or life
we take these moments these precious traits
like precious jewels sewn into pockets rife
with newly found treasures bound in amber
the golden webs we weave in dreams
trickle softly through our fingers
as the sands of time seep through our seams.
- AP - Copyright © remains with and is the intellectual property of the author
Copyright © protected image please do not reproduce without permission
ON GOLDEN POND
“The golden moments in the stream of life rush past us, and we see nothing but sand; the angels come to visit us, and we only know them when they are gone.”
- George Eliot
Soundtrack : www.youtube.com/watch?v=KLVq0IAzh1A
FIELDS OF GOLD - STING
I stand on an Art Deco whitewashed bridge
cold to touch; white as snow
ahead of me the long canal
stretches far beyond I know
I stand here sometimes; make a wish
here I believe in dreams come true
and looking now I see a vision
a grey heron walking on water through
the lens of my camera and the lens of my eyes
he is calm; he is at once graceful and elegant
he knows I'm there even from this distance
aware of everything he has a talent
for spotting those who belong here now
who blend in seamlessly
like me with my golden cloud of hair
shrouded face; steeped in unsolved mysteries
we see each other; we are aware
the golden light abounds
he is contemplating life like me
he hears a pin drop; every sound
the miniscule little nuances
the tiny echoes of my mortal mind
he hears them all but does not react
he is zen; he is calm; he is beyond mankind
and yet he embraces every little thing
including me I know
the ice is impenetrable; yet the fish beneath
still swim so freely just below
fields of gold springs to my mind
I gently hum the tune
on golden pond he seeks his fortune
home-spun Rumpelstiltskin legs; the runes
are cast for him and I
my time is short; amid the sighs
I know the truth; feel the heavy weight of my own mortality
yet still I linger for awhile beneath these clear blue skies
time will tell but never waits
no man can outrun himself or life
we take these moments these precious traits
like precious jewels sewn into pockets rife
with newly found treasures bound in amber
the golden webs we weave in dreams
trickle softly through our fingers
as the sands of time seep through our seams.
- AP - Copyright © remains with and is the intellectual property of the author
Copyright © protected image please do not reproduce without permission