Found the Pen! & Poem Upon a Dream

So, I guess I thought a daily commitment would be a lot easier. But I will get there. There will be road blocks, in my timing, mood and overall forgetfullness in where my pen is- or even that I should be looking for it.  Which is why this is still in a "quest phase" and not quite yet in a definitave place. Today I'll write about a dream:

Tomorrow's Sun
     Gillian Z. R. Wenzel
The infinate horizon
seen from the wing's future
as sky's wool hides my destiny
the bird flies though my dreams
into the dancing slumber
by the sound of accordians
with their love and kind seduction.
Distantly I hear the trumpets
of buttoned, collared warfare
they fight for what
but the truth behind the clouds
as they run twards a destiny
or run from discomfort
as shots run out from guns
there is no bullet no saint
no bird of peace nor cross
but a number of the fallen
as they dance with death
from behind the shields.
Across the quilted fields
beyond the twirling rivers
children of dusty pasts
tap the pavement with dreams
as they run though their lives.
the peace, the brotherhood
the war, the sacreligious death
our competition of joy
won't ever be won
by those who chose to play.
Looks of vengence
with the fires of hell
behind eyes of angry grief
will set no flame
will burn nothing
upon the eyes holding water
of which a dove drinks
holy and blessed.
there are no buttons upon the bird
no gun fire in the twirling rivers
the wool laced clouds cannot be shot at
nor the quilted lands.
Trumpets may be broken
war can destroy war
but no satisfaction shall be brought
to the one who's nemisis
has no list of hate.
The the humble shall not die
but walk though battlefields unarmed
"aim, ready, fire!" the buttoned men say
but all they hear is the sweet acordian
as they walk along their way
nothing but a tear in their shirt.
And high above my dove flies home
to the fibers of cotton and the quilts upon me
tomorrow's sun shall arive with water on my skin
with twirls in square lakes I shall greet today's birth
I may dream of buttons and birds
I may dream of guns and wool laced clouds
I may know nothing of the acordian's kindness,
And I may hear some of the trupets.
But I walk without war
and I live each day to be new.
The truth lies not beyond the clouded victory,
but the sweet mystery of the wool laced clouds,
the gentle genuinity of twirling rivers
and the peacefull bird flying twards tomorrow's sun.


10:54pm August 28, 2012.