Blue Stones

Blue stones cast; walls hard, irregular and broken.

Lights soft reflection dies on the pale shadows of time stolen.

Red and golden leaves twirl like ballerinas, dancing in the wind.

Seasons come, and seasons go, yeah, but to pray tell what shall be their end?

I hear whispers in secret; I see the fading, and dying light.

I see the geese; I feel the shadows, the chill, the approaching night.

Silence born of blue stones; the spirit impales itself in the darkness alone.

Yet the light greets the night, and likewise unto the light of a new day.

For the circle remains unbroken and time is only the silence spoken.

Reflections dim in the cool still waters of yesterday.

Blue stones sing their silent song; speaking without saying…

For it is unto these waters, it is unto the travail of this solitary time.

That it this spirit…this soul shall once again taste of the NEW WINE.

J. Allen Wilson © 11/15/2009