You are the Wind
I a dry fallen leaf
Your breeze takes me through adventures
I never knew
existed

Who will say the final good-bye
first.
And who will make it last:
Me and my pain
or
You and your fears?

Running Free

Smiles are like leaves upon a regal tree.
They grow, then ripen, drop to the ground
with hopes to soon run free.
Love is like the air, which becomes a breeze
after birth
It carries these leaves from place to place
encircling the earth

I thought my heart had now forgot
Its talent to suffer and retreat;
I used to say, "What was, is not.
It's gone away, it won't repeat."

I loved you; and perhaps until this day
Within my soul is burning still the fire;
But do not be disturbed in any way;
I would not sadden you with my desire.
I loved you with a silent desperation,
First timid, next with jealousy I'd smother;
May the gods grant you be loved so by another

Upon awakening this morning
I looked at you my love.
I rose and walked to the window
where the sun was bursting through the sky.
I gazed out and heard the birds singing
and saw the light dancing on the flowers
And I thought, "What a beautiful morning"
As I climbed back into bed and
snuggled close to you, I did wonder
though why all those people outside
were carrying umbrellas.

OUR LADY WITHIN
The house is still
I gaze out the window to a blackened world
There are acres and acres of land.
Hills and valley, ponds and forest.
I hear the quiet thumping loudly

The stars glisten in the sky
Like precious diamonds on black velvet.
I am aware of more movement at night
then there ever could be in the day light hours.

The glowing moon, casting shadows upon the shadows.
Creatures of the night scurry from place to place
in the hush of a slight breeze
The slope to the pond is barely visible.

For a moment, my heart crys out to the darkness.
Then in a most calming way I "feel" Her
She brings rest to the weary who must tread by day
She brings vigor to the nocturnal as they hunt their prey

Odd, I just heard a fog horn warning of its passage
as an owl hoots toward the sky in thanks
She is with us always, watching. guarding, teaching, healing.
Listen carefully for She is the Mother of us all

Never resting,
Hoping we will remember that we are never alone
She lives in everything
And although I speak to Her during the day
It is at night, in the dark
When I best feel Her presence

Whispering of Her magickal wonders.
Whether we are awake or in our dreams
She is forever and always there.

Raining Paper and Ashes

Charred letter head from Standard Charter Bank, pink Please Call notes, pieces of numbered papers, documents, agendas,... are all raining from the sky. Pieces of peoples lives, floating to the ground, some hanging in trees, others landing on roofs.
No more.
Years of hatred.
A moment of terror.
A lifetime of sorrow.
No more.
Picking them up, knowing they have been held by someone just a few hours ago. Work that was so important it had to be finished today. Filed, mailed, read. And in the flash of a madman's eye, it's gone. It is no longer important.
Now instead of looking for that important memo, they are looking through the rubble for the person who wrote it. Hoping they are still alive. Sifting through the ashes, wondering, "Was this important? Was this somebodies shirt? Was this somebody?"
No more.
Years of hatred.
A moment of terror.
A lifetime of sorrow.
No more.
People stopped running. There is no place else to go. Others stare in wonder trying to figure out when they will wake up, while even more trying to understand how they got where they are. Walking bleary eyed. Shock. Disbelief. Crys of "Why?". Others take up with the screaming, still not knowing. Grief, loss, injury, pain of all kinds. Voices are a bit softer then they were at 8:50 am. The screaming is over. Stunned. Waiting, twitching, flinching at the sound of a plane. The bang of a pot. Two giant structures that graced a skyline, disintegrated in moments.
No more.
Years of hatred.
A moment of terror.
A lifetime of sorrow.
No more.
Taking with them the father that needed to grab his childrens pictures, the mother who wanted her pocketbook so she would have her car keys to grab her kids.. A young teen, working in the mailroom, dreaming of becoming a company executive one day. The grandfather who couldn't run as fast as the others. The janitor sweeping the hall, working harder to make a better life for his family.
No more.
Years of hatred.
A moment of terror.
A lifetime of sorrow.
No more.
No more.

copyright MaryAnn Barbuto 9/11/2001

All poetry is copyrighted and may not be used without
the express permission of the author. All rights reserved.
MaryAnn Barbuto