Lost in the Flow, or, Perhaps the Wind

Days spin by,
fast,
slow.
Nights drag on,
forgotten though
Dreams can lie
of days spun on
and on the fly
they too are Gone.

Lost where your path
drifted away
the rocks moved
by floods they say
And yet the swath
cut through that day
grows clearer still
the things we Say
draw them this way–
Lost and Alone
parted in twain
the nestlings flown
a tree in pain
Yet much to gain
in the branches sway
from sorrows known
grows Hope again

Lost in the Flow
of time
of  you and I
Who knows what may grow
in the muck and grime
where Truth may Lie
and Hope Despair
if one may dare
to try and spy
beyond Reason or rhyme
beyond all Time
the lands ebb and flow

Carried on Dreams and breath
the seeds under foot
we find
blooming behind
the layers of sorrow, and soot
and death.
Brought forth by the light
nourished in blight
perhaps the flowers
show beneath
the dreadful fight
even life has its Powers
Against what have the flowers bid
made War and failed
a broken wreath
shattered hearts hid
lying beneath

Yet those who sinned
new paths might make
and hearts might heal
washed clean by the Lady’s Lake
Or Perhaps the Wind

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