Thank you to Greg Webster for these poems *S*

////// Journey \\\\\\

I'm on my journey down this dusty road.
My head is spinning, and I'm bearing this load.
I can't stop thinking of our last glances...
Will I ever again get all of those chances??
I messed things up, and you told me to go.
I will miss you dearly and think of you though.

by Greg Webster

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Purple Rose

You dazzle me always
purple petals unfolding
oh so slowly, oh so delicately,
hesistant from being fondled
by rough bees before you bloomed:
their spiny hands at your neck
heads bent down and beating
feelers against the tough coating,
intent upon your budding sweetness.
But in the stillness after sunset
when bees have ceased to pry open
your petals and sleep
their hungry buzzing dreams
you open before me...without a touch
only an admiring eye to caresses
the regal beauty, an adoring ear
to hear the rustle of petals unfurling.
Framed in a square of light the royal
bloom--a bee-haughty loveliness,
exquisite, shy-
opens out into that small patch of light...
from a garden so carefully tended,
from earth lovingly caressesed

By Greg

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Sound of Rain

The sound of rain is soft on her fingers.
She moves gracefully in the rain,
Uncaring yet aware of life,
And stops to consider a puddle.
An ant struggles through the gaping river
Only to be washed away.
But it matters not and he goes on unaware.
She steps in the puddle and continues.
Studies the drops on her arm.
They dance so happily.
Not a cloud in the sky.

By Greg Webster

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Time

Time is such a precious thing
Like love and life it seems
A necessary intangible
Like wishes, hopes and dreams.

Time is the common element
As it silently weaves its way
We need time to live and time to love
Time in all we do and say.

Time often remains elusive
In an age of ambition and fear
It becomes our governing agent
That rules us year after year.

Time often remains a mystery
As it simply slides away
It often goes unnoticed
Unravelling day after day.

Time is the silent healer
Of our body, soul and mind
It numbs our pain and dries our tears
With a cruel, slow sweep of the hand.

Time knows of our dilemma
That we carry every day
We're so blindly eager to live and learn
We never listen to what time has to say.

But time is the ultimate teacher
It knows what we need to find
We only learn by looking back
At what time has left behind.

By Greg Webster

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