For all the consideration of tomorrow's fortune, when the dust
has settled we will be bereaved beyond hope.
The green grass of eternity wells up under a swollen hill of
Fortune has struck.
Too many times we've seen the river in the mind's eye as the trail
winds into the snaking abyss.
...or is it the future?
Celestial vision transposes to hope away from the present...
When the sun descends and we count the seconds of orange behind
trees, we are reminded of the cool red mud in the forest.
...where we can walk forever.
The paths still curve through the past to the clearing where a
towering blue sky removes the sense of peace.
Predators shake our forward motion...give one pause.
Who is to blame when the clock changes pulse and presses down
There are those who drive forward, oblivious to obvious obstacles.
There are those who cannot find their own presence in the machinery
of time's eclipse.
There are those who must pause upon the tolling of each startling
Forward motion diminishes and windows open on several sides.
The implications leads to the summary, spells the weave of the
shock of beauty's rose.