Natural Treasure

. . .memories of the last Memorial day camping trip

Natural Treasure

unbridled memories 

ascend vertically 

well beyond 

the Newberry Crater ‘s

vast azure 

where the snow melts away

and

the creek starts to sing 

~ Paulina Peak ~

falls

tall

in stillness

emotive roars

burst into song

now breathless

with a magnificent 

icy chill

melting snowflakes cling 

to pine cones 

then helplessly relent

cascading from

Ponderosa pine brows

may ancient  ashes

hallowed heritage 

rest peacefully amongst 

high earthly treasures . . .

 Aouthors notes:

Getting lost in a moment as I sometimes do,  I found myself drifting back to the last trip I made with my Dad camping...when we got home he discovered he had terminal cancer and was gone in less than 3 months, as a very young man.

With this being Memorial day weekend and with father’s day right around the corner it is both emotional and difficult not to go there...RIP all those who have gone before us...you will never be forgotten as we are all eternally connected...

I cherish the roots of my Native American blood... Thanks for reading a moment not ever shared before this "now"

" What Am I to You? "

An unanswered question ruminated for a lifetime ...

What am I to you?

Neglect is a form of abuse... a spoken word narrative...

“ What Am I to You ? ”

 

So many miles of roads and skies have passed
into the rear view mirror ,
since an innocent child became a man .
I can’t help but wonder how you felt as a mother ?
That moment you saw my dark brown eyes
open for the first time ...

Did you love me at that moment in time ?
When you peered deeply into virgin eyes ,
innocent as a lamb ; wondering who this gift would become ?
Did you ever wish all my dreams would come true ?

Now that so much life has passed, what am I to you?
Do you still think of me as time rushes by ?
As if there was still enough left
to retrace those ill taken steps ?
Arriving at the beginning anew, to upright
that tipped over toy box of broken dreams .

Emotional distance cannot be measured by humans .
Self-anointed experts proclaiming profound
concepts of mathematical calculation ;
nor hypothetical philosophical consequences
by renowned scholars or theoretical thinkers .
The power of love is infinitely beyond measure .
The recognition of feeling unloved as a child
is immeasurably daunting .

Matters of the heart and soul
can be an unfathomable enigma .
Ambiguous to the blamelessness of youth ,
at the prime of childhood innocence ,
exploring the threshold of unbridled dreams .

It’s been a long and lonely journey
with an abandoned lamb
An everlasting quest to understand
the misunderstood meanings of love ;
tirelessly searching to find illusive understanding
bearing the weight of a baffling void
from the cradle to the grave ...

One lonesome dove's  heart ,
drifting without guidance ,
in a search to unveil the end of rainbows .
There should be plenty of time for hatchlings
to find the strength to fly
before they strengthen their wings to soar .

Somehow the baby Robin returns to the nest .
Touched by human hands, then pushed out ,
rejected and abandoned .
Orphaned with a misunderstood cruel kindness ,
only to plummet into the arms of mother earth ,
running before its wings are strong enough to fly .

Naïve innocence is a child of the wind
Every time paper wings were blown away ;
up into my tree top’s solitude I flew .
until I slowly, reluctantly, climbed back down .

Meekly crawling , still unable to fly back into the nest ,
only to be cast out by an iron handed storm .
Extracted from the nest like a fragile bubble
blowing away in the wind .
Bursting as it touched your thorny rose .
 

On this lazy sunny afternoon ,
the gentle breeze moves the lavender Lilacs’ fragrance
through the tall wild flowered fields .
Bowing gracefully, yielding to the gust's beginning and end

The Robins sing blissfully from the treetops .
As this journey’s pathway twists along,
that final moment will come
when the circle will be complete .

What am I to you ?

A long since forgotten child with sighs too deep for words ;
one left loathing an insoluble hole too big to fill .
A broken heart , never understanding why
the innocence of an unconditional love was never enough
Accepting the unlovable life sentence of a black sheep banished from the fold for my perceived indelible imperfections .

 Am I ?

A humble survivor of your perversions secrets
They shall remain safely hidden within your soul’s dichotomy
Entwined within the buried secrets
seen only in my eyes . . .

  © 2012, 2013 ...  Harlon Rivers