One of my most earliest pieces

A piece that has been revised...

For a day appears as any other through the passing of time,
Where nothing but the leaves of the elm declare her age
and the low lying clouds revolve around us where forms revive.
The same person where my soul running to shores where i'm firmly berthed,
I hear seconds blowing like sands arcing into the whistling wind's tune.
Where I often walk through the woods seeing the green hues change.

Waves of love curl the banks as moods change
undulating through urban alleys, with the scent of pungent thyme.
Pigeons in flight with dirt caked wings in squawking tune,
The buildings stand against the acidic rain; refusing creeping age.
Dispersed minds encased in the niche of profession's berths
and the Pangea of a single species never revived.

Few of my kin have hearts with no revive
and their vessels where the fleshy changes
have gone to ground through the spirit's birth
There they melt into ether to becoming the time
that resonates in my thoughts as he ages,
wrenching the mind as if to tune.

Days in the rain, I'll just sing a tune,
for there the sun will revive
again and again through the ages
day in'¦day out with life's changes
through time's past, limitless time.
Looking further now where the future is birthed


The birth
of hearing the chiming tune
in time
revives
changes
in our ages, as we age.

The glass of claret matures with age
As another child sees the world in birth,
friend or foe is time as discretions change.
As the words hush, you will hear this circular tune
To walk into the abbey where the last candle is revived
in the knowing that 'now' is not touched by time.

Copyright (1995) Haymond Lam.

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