More Poetry From Caryn
Note to Peregrine:

Sometimes our lives are touched by the most beautiful of people; but their gentle caresses can be all too brief.  Yet, in that transient life span they have embraced many in their circle of love.  It is as though their spirit soars higher and higher until they are beyond our physical reach.  While they are terribly missed we have been blessed with a very special gift.  Along with the pain of their passing we have also been entrusted with their Noble essence.  Our heart becomes a temple for the memory of their extraordinary qualities of spirit.  The largesse that we offer in return for their gift is to never forget them, to share their spiritual qualities with others by word and deed.  Each year the anniversary of their death is like a Perennial Bloom that opens wide to disperse its fragrance, to spill its seed to spread.  Our memories are bittersweet, eventually mellowing with time; but always vibrant and real.  Our grief mingles with the joy of having known them.

These souls are like the falcon, a peregrine born to wander.
Lonely Chambers


Loneliness echoes  ‘gainst the chamber walls,
Those solitary rooms wherin’ wanders
     My Spirit,
Stricken,  desolate, bereaved and without hope.
Crying out in darkness and silence, No one
     To Hear it.
Rushing through the corridors lifeblood gushes wild,
Desperate in it’s search for rejoinder, while
     My Soul
Reaches out to’ard warm marrow and sinews of
Compatible clay.  A voice that answers in the
     Bedarkend hole
I call my heart.  A Tender and Sweet Whisper that
Willingly replies, however briefly, to the torment in
     My Breast.
LIFE grasps  my hand, tears me from a Selfish Core with
A  Reminder of it’s GLORY.   Alas Relief!       and      TIME
        Says     “Drink,
         Until you are
          Replete.”
                                                
                                                                          Caryn Arnold
Peregrine
                   (To Wander)


    For what seems so Brief
     an hour,   a     PRESENCE
    Spirals round our hearts
     in Love’s  Embrace,
    Penetrating our Core, Bequeathing
     us Joy and Sunshine,
    Hope and Comfort, offering
     a Gift, Gilded and Eternal.
    In flight their SPIRIT circles,
     soaring Higher and Higher
    Until the mortal   SUBSTANCE we’ve
     known has passed.
    Then, our largess is the Temple
     in our own breast, since
    We have been Entrusted with
     their  NOBLE   Essence.
    For some Dear Friends are born
       To   Live
        A ......Peregrine


     written during the early hours of Morn
                                                                                                        July 14, 2002  for  Rich   in  Honor
                                                                                                               of his Dear and Most Loved Friend
Mansion of Many Rooms

Our mind is a mansion of many rooms in which
we live.  Some of them are tidy, swept clean
of any human debris, the filth and dirt of
our pathetic agonies.  And many other rooms
are wrecked and scarred, marks upon the walls
and scrapes across the floors.   Furniture, our thoughts,
in disarray and our own fingerprints mark the dust
as we have traced a lonely path while deep in thought.

Visitors, friends and acquaintances, sometimes even family
Prefer the respectable room in which the unspeakable is
never uttered.  The room where we dare not say “I wish
to die.”  We sit in the well-arranged parlor and exchange banalities, pretending that we have spoken of Great
and Significant things.  We smile and sip from our cups but
Never truly Drink of LIFE.  Ah...we ourselves are guilty!  We
feign that this is our only place of habitation.

Lurking in the corner of our sitting room, is shame, self-disgust
and fear.  Uncomfortable with prevarication and improvising
We wait for our guests to leave.  All the mirrors in our parlor
are turned to face the wall.  Yet, our hearts and minds are
inescapable and we labor to appear normal, until our visitors
Depart and we are free to Roam those rooms wherein we
Hate ourselves, yet feel most comfortable.  Once more we
Wander alone, bereft and racked with a torment that we cannot
                                  Define         The best that can
                                                                 be said of it is
                                                                       “This home is mine.”
Snowsquall

The luminary of the Day began it’s decent by degrees
         Toward the horizon; acquiescent to twilight
                                  As the earth’s spinning decrees.
                 Snow burdened clouds, driven by Northern gales
   Migrated ore’ head and ‘neath heav’ns  floor - Natures Kite
Bearing a squall,  Winter’s     gift to this earth,
          A    generation   given    rebirth.

A swirl    of   hoary   snowflakes,  dense and opaque
     Transforms    the   environs’   and different age make.
Where     once   the   pines and  spruce bore needles of green,
        They bow and   embrace hooded cloaks  of   white.
Surrounding embranchments   Stretch  outward  and lean
    To capture their own attire, Generous   and   eager
            For   sharing their   nature,  to  thrill and delight.

The luminary of night   beams  down  on the  scene
        Reflecting  upward to’ard  heaven   it’s  radiance
     Making the    forest glisten,  twinkle  and  gleam.
              Courteous   of   life   the  winds   continue to  blow
      So  that   by   Morn’  before   any  damage is done
The    evergreens   and   branches   are  divested  of snow.
       The   moon   goes    to rest;   and yet   emerges the  Sun.

                                                              by Caryn Arnold
One Must Learn 
One must learn to endure Screams so loud that no one
can hear them but ourselves. The sound waves resonate, implode and threaten to crush our spirit, unless
we cultivate resilience.  And then, once we have learned to bend, we are capable of modifying our expectations, to abandon unrealistic romantic notions; and yet
to love without restraint, to live for more than endurance itself; but for the Celebration of Life with its Splendor and Agonies. We must recreate ourselves as one who has few needs, as one who can still choose happiness when those few needs are not met. One must learn to give to ourselves as much as we give to others.  The Screams are getting Louder and Louder as my Enlightenment has only just begun.  I search for the Reason and the Intellect that will channel this energy away from self-destruction.  I flagellate this selfish soul whose lessons never learn.  I abhor this self-seeking voice that thinks it must be heard! One must learn to give and give....I am a
                      Butterfly ensnared within its cocoon
                           Ambushed by Death   by Caryn L. Arnold
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