Treasure's Writing

Walk with me
Dedicated to the book I'm writing,
Voices from the Shattered Mirror

If you could only look into my soul,
and see life from behind my eyes,
walk with me as I head towards my goals,
and comfort my silent cries.

If you have made it this far into the links, I thank you for taking the time to look around. This is a sample of some of my writing. I've been published in two books from the National Library of Poetry, which I am proud of, and you can click on the word above to see the poem that they published if you like.

Treasure Graphics

How can you lose something, you never had?
How can a stranger make you so sad?
Why does your heart ache just like a bruise,
And feel there is nothing left here to lose. . .

How can a heart yearn for the unknown?
How can it be found, in another heart's home?
I thought it was sensible, thought it was right
But it all fell away, in the darkness of night.

So here I am left, standing out on the ledge,
With nothing to hold, as my feet touch the edge,
I feel like I'm falling, spinning out of control,
And all I can see, is a life still not whole.

Harmony

The sound of rushing water. The feeling of the early morning sun on my skin. Tasting the wind. . . Hummingbirds whir by at great speeds, flying to some unknown destination. Birds sing excitedly. . . All the sounds of nature, calling to one another in a language that man cannot understand, because he has become too rational, cerebral, and separated from the life he was designed to live.

A life in harmony.
In harmony with God, with nature, and earth. Where the spirit and heart rule the mind, where communication is deeper, silent, and on a spiritual level rather than just words. A life where joy is found in simple things like watching the sun rise, experiencing the gradual shift of light and colors from dawn to day - marveling at the beauty that surrounds us every minute of everyday. . . quietly and reverently appreciating the gifts we are given through creation. . .

I fear that this harmony will fade away forever. It must not become something we experience merely once or twice a year, a fleeting sensation discovered on a trip to some far away destination, feelings so foreign that we pause only long enough to acknowledge them as vaguely familiar, vaguely inspirational, before we dismiss them with thoughts of where to go and what to do intruding and blunting the feelings. . .

Have we "evolved" so completely, so separately, that we are unable to experience the awesomeness of nature, throughout the whole day? Looking around, we see the cement, steel and glass, instead of trees, water, rocks, and earth. Instead of being reverent of the earth, we attempt to possess it and reshape it, control it, forgetting the unimaginable power it has, waiting to be freed. We see glimpses of that power, and dismiss them as "freaks of nature", when if we were to really listen to the floods, volcanoes, and earthquakes, would we perhaps hear a cry for help? Have we come so far that it is too late to turn back? Is it too late to remember how to cherish the world we live in, just as we cherish those we love? How much longer can this reckless destruction of our earth continue? What will we have when we reach the pinnacle of "technological advancement"? Will we be so blind, deaf, and dulled of sense that we no longer yearn for the song of nature in our hearts? Forgetting feelings of inspired joy that come from seeing the early morning sun tinge a mountain purple, then pink, and finally shine on it fully, magnifying it's glory? This ability to experience the awesomeness of nature, is it lost to all eternity? Is this something we will have to teach the children of the future, because they won't be able to see it firsthand? Can a few, who are not so fully separated spiritually carry this gift for all mankind?

There are still places in the world, where the people have never strayed from their original calling, their destiny, where God is present in everyday, and nature is the heart of their lives. We should take lessons from these few, learning from them, and finding the spiritual peaceful rest that can only be experienced when our hearts and souls are totally in harmony with God, and with his gift to us, this earth.

Summer Storm

A walk in the park, down by a stream that quietly flows into it’s secret destination. Watching the geese that have gathered for an evening nap. Couples walk hand in hand, against a fire-lit evening sky, as the sun slowly sets over the Rocky Mountains.

To the east, the sky is filled with thunderclouds, towering out of site above a giant storm cell. The darkness is lit up ever so briefly by the sudden bolt of lightening, and the brook is silenced by the long roll of deep thunder. The sky begins to put on a fantastic light and sound show, like being in the amphitheater of the universe, with the most advanced sound system in existence.

A single giant raindrop lands on the ground, slowly followed by its companions of the clouds. Soon, the water is running in miniature rivers down the streets, and miniature lakes dot the park. The rain falls so heavily, that the distance ahead cannot be seen. However, in the west, over the Rocky Mountains, is a growing moon, adorned with gentle wisps of clouds, and nothing more. The storm cell is right above, and yet up ahead, the sky is light, and the grass is dry.

And just as soon as the rain begins to fall, it’s over. The storm rolls slowly south, taking with it God’s light show, but leaving behind the sounds. The low, soft roll of the distant thunder, is the reminder of an all too brief time spent appreciating nature’s power.

Reflections

She looks into the water. . .the clear water, reflecting
a sliver of a moon, and the millions of stars in the sky.
All of life is there, shining in the water.
Her tears fall, making only a momentary splash,
reminding her of the impermanence of it all.
She watches the reflection of a shooting star, and
then, she watches as the water slowly drains away.

The pool that held all the promise of life, all the
reflections of the stars, drains away. . . and she is
left staring into an empty hole.

Empty. Like her life. Like her heart. Like her soul.
Empty. Nothing left to show the reflections through,
nothing of beauty left. . .just an empty hole in the ground.
She silently wishes the hole could swallow her up,
and she too could disappear,
like the reflective pool that once held so much promise.

She closes her eyes, and aches for the pool to return,
for the water to come and wash away the barrenness of the
land, for the lights to shine again. But the ground remains
dry, and the water will come no more. No more.

Changes

So, summer and fall have gone behind, and the air is crisp.
The leaves have all fallen, the sky is gray,
and the snow falls around, gently, yet with purpose,
claiming the ground and the trees for it's
own design of artistic decoration.

Silence owns the night, as the white flakes fall to their
final resting place, staying intact for a moment,
only to melt into the ground to be lost forever, their intricate
artistic pattern never again to be repeated.

The darkness seems darker, somehow, than the summer,
perhaps it's the silence of the night, without crickets or
frogs, or birds speaking to one another.
The moon rises slowly in the sky, it's fullness of several
days ago waning , the silvery light visible sporadically
through the clouds above.

And I, alone, sit watching. Waiting. Listening.
The seasons change, my life changes, myself is forever changed.