This is a poem that I dedicate to my fellow writer and friend Dan Sanders. I was moved to pen these words after seeing the above photo of him on Facebook. It stirred my soul deeply, not only reflecting my own shadows from it, but the stillness and calm I feel when walking through a forest or woods. The calmness it echoes, the silence and whispers of bending branches, the gray of the lone wolf. Dan is very much a kindred soul to me and he reflects much of who I am and what I feel. Thank you Dan for allowing me to honor you sir. Peace and blessings I send to you with this work. Namaste my friend.
Haunting Shades of Transparency
Leaning together branches wrap and twist,
while dried voices whisper from the hollow,
faint whisper’s that cling without meaning,
voices from his past.
Shapes and forms swirl in shades of gray,
paralyzed in time and space, without any
motion, just being present through his image.
Eyes that penetrate the darkness, searching for
those who have crossed over, his friend, lover and
twin in life, remembering yet never lost. This man
holds so true to his heart and every breath he takes.
Eyes that meet in dreams as the forest draws
circles around his form, like sunlight’s reflection
from a moonbeam or fading star, a tree swings
silently and lonely in the evenings broken dreams.
This is his dead land, a forest speaking from the
night, stone images hidden between broken lines,
a dead man’s hand, glowing like a rising phoenix
walking alone, bold and strong.
Eyes are hiding among the trees, yet there is no
eyes in this picture, simply his own lost through
the searching centuries, kingdoms, turned to dust,
gathered like tombs meeting places, sightless as
perpetual stars and dying twilight perched there.
He feels her lips that search his, trembling with
embracing tenderness, like statues, carved from
purity, not broken stone, never crushed, they are
one frozen in another world, their world.
This is not an empty man, falling between the
shadows and dark lines, drawn by ghosts, only
his desires filled with emotions, lingering like
a spasm of existence and strength. He is strength
and life itself.
A world within a world, he has the knowledge
like a sad man on a winter’s frosty night, this man
crosses all dimensions, seeing through the forest’s
earthly colors and moss and folded hills behind him,
Valleys and streams bustling with froth from the
mist, birds and wolves on their prowl for the kill,
holding back to let this man walk proudly among
them, master over his own fate, blossoms wreathing
about him, like these branches that constellate and
break at will.
This man of mystery and solitude, shading from
the darkness beneath the sun, walks proud and tall
with his shining long hair blowing from the cool
nights summer breeze. He looks to heaven, smiling
knowing she is there, waiting for his presence,
smiling from his peacefulness below, knowing
he is only a mortal in the presence of his god.
He rests awhile looking into the hills, awaiting a
sign from the misty mystery of life and death,
branches reach out to his soul and bend him to
bow before them, forehead to the ground. Looking
up he sees Heaven’s golden throne, he slowly slips
back into the forest awaiting his call again, not
yet ready, the wolves circle him and guide him
back through his lonely valley, never alone, he
feels her presence always. She awaits her truest
© Copyright 2016 by Vincent Moore. All rights reserved