Recollections of An Old Mind . . . West

I feel the desert sands
They are deep inside my heart
Their crystal perfection
Feeds that lonely wind
Inside my old and hungry soul
Unlike the frozen white of
Tropical, pristine beaches
Where I now rest
My weary limbs . . .

Southern, restless palms
Cannot compare
To sage and wild grass
Prickly with thorns of discontent
Like needles sharpened
By their lust for rain,
My desert memory beckons
I see another life
Where the pattering, wet sound
Against a hot, clay roof
Was a a symphony
Composed by God himself
A jewel of a present!
For aren't the most cherished gifts
Those which come sparsely to us?
And don't we always hold
Dearest those things
Which are no longer
A part of our lives?

There is no sweet concert here
For rain makes a daily visit

I ache for those ancient castles
Those mountainous rocks piled high
Set on fire by that setting orb
Watermelon peaks aglow . . . only to
Melt away like phantoms
In the darkness of the desert night
They call me to return
To that paradise bare
And once again baptize it
With my tears of regret

The stars above me now
Get lost in light, and fade
Betwixt the dark and dawn
They offer but a memory
Of those diamonds I once bought
While sleeping on . . .
That mesa high
The ones that shouted, "Look at me . . .
For we will herald
A turquoise, morning sky!"
Paid for by the tender of my soul

And so I rest and memorize
Those ghosts of long ago
Who call me for that sweet baptism
With the tears of my regret

© 2004 Janet K. Brennan

Janet welcomes your comments!