Week Three Poem: Landscape

The inner landscape of this life is
Irrigated by fonts of dreams
Crashing in burns of gem-toned rivers
Come to rest in a still pool
Gathered there, all the paper-doll wistfulness
Of ‘what if’ and ‘when I grow up’

A meadow rims the pool; replete with Life.
A closer look.
It’s shifting surface obliges with what I want to see;
Successful vanquisher of the challenge -
Eternal beauty and poise and strength -
Laughing in the arms of Love -
Alive!

The fair vision is doomed to fade.
Altered, mined and harvested
In mindless pursuit of where I was going.
The burns run dry, tapped by frivolity and vanity.
The cracked mud bottom of that iridescent pool
Reveals forgotten coins tossed by a careless hand
Spent on wishes that were not mine to make.

Buzzards roost in a dead tree whilst
My body turns inevitably toward it’s earthly refuge
And the dreams of youth turn gray
Evaporated on the dry-dust air of age.
And time passing.
A whirligig mocking
On the edge of a gem-toned pool.

Oh, regret!
Most foolish of man’s foibles
Makes a wastrel of a thrifty soul.
For it’s impossible to feed the
Gaping maw of self-reproach
With anything but love.
And yet I try.

Desperate flutterings
To break the laws that bind me here
That I may fly into the Flame of God
I am rewarded only with singed wings
Cast down; broken and empty
Upon the altar my own Idolatry.

This landscape is most beautiful
When I cease to strive
Let Nature build a nest in my hair.
What do I know of meadows and pools and beauty and truth?
Lay down regret and put self-importance to bed
They are a blight upon the simple serenity
Of a watercolor mountain peak
Reflecting the light of dawn.