By Misty Chariot

Drifting souls . . . . .

They "toast" to their dreams

and drink the sun,

floating on fog,

misty chariot

borne aloft

by the wind . . .

here yesterday,

gone today,

and back again,

perhaps,

tomorrow.

Onward!

And the sun triumphs again,

rays beaming,

wind rippling,

nature pulsing

with the heartbeat of life

unconquered.

November Spring

Water dripped in sparkles

as the sun,

cushioned in blue and white,

blazed coolly

through the thawing day.

And the knowing went on,

fluid thoughts

cresting in peaks of melting snow,

glistening moments of love

showing up the flat grays

of indifference;

shady spots sheltering

rare snapshots of silence

in its varied states and meanings,

sun-warmed spots holding

tender vignettes of affection.

The knowing moved forward

with the day,

as the light flickered 

from tall window to wall

and leapt with the joyful

motion 

of life living itself.

Choosing Life

Energy holding back energy,

consuming itself --
reaction sparked long ago
by an adult's mad compulsion
to overwrite a child;
tender buds of truth
cast rudely underfoot
before they could blossom,
spontaneity shamed,
innocence mocked --
theft whose underlying script,
tenacious and annihilating,
continued to plunder the years:

"You, as you are, have no right to be."

But I answer now
(for it is never too late):
I am.