| Time and Poses You entered stage left and posed in the center; while I stood stage right, awaiting my cue. The backdrop was set, displaying September - prepared to meet Fall, the next season due. The lines that you spoke revealed time for change, in sorrowful tones, from the breath they rose. Circled around, then drifted in range while my heart stood still with the thought of that pose. A legacy born - could not stand to die. The nature of nature could not be hung. No time for questions; for the soul knew why, what lives in the heart would have to be sung. I entered on cue, for I felt your woe; well rehearsed in those feelings, that came and went. Discussing the options, of which way to go all thoughts that we shared - were posing well-meant. I rapped a few lines, that I knew from my past, while your smile found a new way to grow. All that emotion was destined to last, as the curtain dropped, Act I was now closed. The stage now reset; it was time for Act II, the backdrop was Spring as you opened that scene. The river was bubbling and running in you, and lovely the thoughts that flowed from that stream. The pooling of thoughts, met the eyes of the sea then caught a slight breeze and drifted right in. Imagine the thoughts, that posed inside me and time would stand still - while they settled within. My part; the crowd scene, kept words far apart, as you shared of a life - which you came to know. I felt every word that rose from your heart - I sat posed, to the side; caught up in the flow. There came a bright light with a second sense; that a change of scene had just now been cast. Time marked its path in syncopated tense, as seconds revealed, a glimpse of the past. Proud that you made it and proud you were free - all on your own, you had bridged that stream. The curtain came down; now time for Act III. unfolding sereneness ... posed in a dream. Rising, the moons, through the night skies would climb, as angels helped guide all like minds to flow - Each season waltzed days through the arms of time, each day a new stage and a place to go. A tapestry born of wine and roses, with each sweetened thought, a new bud would bloom. While long gone the days, of time and poses - who needs a stage set when real life is our loom? ... Joy A. Burki-Watson |