Double Rainbow at Sunset-St Aug Florida

Every season has its own glory (James Watkins)

 

Every season has its own glory,

Every purpose has its own time,

Every moment has its own story,

Every story has its own line.

 

I have walked deep into cities,

Shining brightly never to fail,

Listened to heart cries,

Lost in the morning,

Standing on corners

Stagnant and stale.

 

Where is the hope

That brought forth the laughter?

Where is the song?

The music unveiled?

Why are the choices so

Wasted and bitter?

Gathered in hatred,

Broken and pale.

 

There are the voices lost in confusion,

Crushed in the thriving, deepening swale-

Calloused and cold the circling convenience,

Crippled commotion emotions prevail

 

Severed connections, squandered projections-

Revered reflections, stammering tongues-

Coined by controlling contriving convections,

In different directions now written in stone.

 

I have seen new stars on the mountains,

Fed on the movement of heaven and earth-

Filled up by frameworks

In perfect perspective,

Fueled by the turning of terrible truth.

 

Come now and sing of mists in the forest,

Sensual sonnets of songs in the dirt-

Come and behold the delicate balance

Of seasons and reasons and rhythms

And birth.

 

Beacons of quiet in last true performance,

Heralded nature in singular cause-

Ancient and pure dreams

Shattered and twisted

Arrayed in transitional

Smoldering awe.

 

Now is the time to look to the heavens,

Now is the moment to take up the cause,

Now is the voice of blazing amazement,

Borne on the winds of the gathering storm.

 

Listen to stream, listen to forest,

Listen to flower, and staggering fawn-

Listen to voices rolling like thunder,

Drink of the waters

And dance with the dawn.

 

Wrapped in the garments of natural beauty,

Facing the force of burgeoning call-

Strong in the seasons of life and creation,

Firm on foundations that will never fall.

 

James Watkins 09-01-08

Done