Darkness
No longer did they see the need
For things called books they used to read.
Music—no longer symphonies,
But simple tunes composed with ease.
And what of Beauty? What of Grace?
They disappeared without a trace.
Because of that, without a doubt,
The light of Wisdom did go out.
Eyes that Saw
I soar above the cities and look down;
Not much is different from town to town.
Empires—they slowly rise and quickly fall;
Humanity’s unaltered through it all.
Countless battles and so much war—
Is anyone even keeping score?
Powerful technologies uncovered:
Merely ancient wisdom rediscovered.
Allegedly new ideas created:
Simply antique thoughts regurgitated.
To insist that change is always progress
Cannot change the times when it is regress.
How can one advance if one can’t discern
The multitude of lessons one must learn?
I’ve incarnated with feet, fins, and wings—
Manifestations of similar things—
And through it all I possessed eyes that saw
A perfection ruined by human flaw.
But these eyes never fail to see
How some struggle with their humanity:
Tireless souls who toil against the tide,
Unsung heroes diluted far and wide.
Rafe’s Treasure
Upon the seas Sir Rafe set sail
With treasure map in hand:
As long as Fortune did prevail,
He’d reach his promised land.
Alone among the ocean vast
Sir Rafe did make his way;
He always climbed upon the mast
To greet each breaking day.
Out of the west a vicious storm
Did cause the wind to blow,
And restless seas above the norm
Did cause the waves to grow.
A wicked squall approached the bow,
A ghastly greenish hue;
But little matter made it now—
The island was in view!
The mighty sails did sway and flap,
Rafe watched them warily;
And lo, the precious treasure map
Got tossed into the sea!
The waves did rock the steadfast ship
To safety near the shore,
But what good is a treasure trip
With treasure map no more?
While pondering this callous jest,
Rafe walked upon the beach;
He felt his precious treasure chest
Forever out of reach.
A seagull lay upon the sand,
Its little legs ensnared;
Rafe took the bird into his hand,
So weak and so impaired.
Now, most would look the other way
To more important things,
But Sympathy Rafe did obey
And this was Grace with wings.
The bird untied so tenderly;
It gave a thankful cry
And ran along so happily,
Then soared back to the sky.
An overwhelming warmth did grow
Inside Rafe’s noble heart:
Abundant riches when you know
What wisdom does impart!
The clouds did break and sunlight beamed
So bright and merrily:
It lit the way, or so it seemed,
And shone upon a tree.
Rafe smiled and rushed unto the light
With shovel in his hand;
He quickly mustered up his might
And dug into the sand.
The gracious bird sailed overhead,
The shovel made a clunk:
Expecting sand again, instead
It struck a wooden trunk!
The seagull gently flapped its wings
And Rafe, he gave a wink,
For oftentimes the little things
Aren’t merely what we think.
Silent Reflection
There is a river flowing through the wood
Whose substratum exceeds the understood:
The river holds mysteries old and true,
Accessible to the fortunate few.
The current beckons souls to ponder,
Searching for answers but left to wonder:
A single reply for every question—
A silent pause and a mere reflection.
Angered are some by this worthless token,
Incapable of lessons unspoken;
But life’s greatest secrets cannot be told,
They simply exist for some to behold.
Beaming is the surface, happy and bright,
Illuminated by the sun’s warm light;
Shadowed are the depths, lonely and cold,
Densely packed with sublime bounty untold.
How easy it is to access the shoal,
The place to stop if content is the goal;
But true happiness exists much deeper,
A journey long with gradient steeper.
The somber bottom is the foundation
Supporting the surface’s vacation:
The surface holds immediate pleasures,
But the dark depths house profounder treasures.
Uncovered there is that pure happiness
Exists in company of true sadness:
A distant star could never twinkle bright
Unless contrasted against the dark night.
The cosmos is searchable far and wide,
But answers are always extant inside.
When times are troubled, to the river go,
Surrounded by furious gusts that blow,
And when the breeze dies down, lean in nearer,
There to find—the river is a mirror—
The reflected light is that of the soul,
Whose e’er flowing current serves the same role:
Wisdom is a stream running deep inside,
Housed in walls ever-changing and tried;
The body, like the river bank contains
The soul, the current, its fixed course maintains.
The river, through its reflection reveals
The key to many secrets it conceals:
Answers to each accessible question
Are brought to light through silent reflection.
The peacefulness of the scene reassures:
Ours is to listen to Nature’s rich lures.
Are all secrets revealed at journey’s end,
Lying beyond the river’s distant bend?
Christina Lawson lives with her husband in Florida, where she works as a Software Engineer. She has written a collection of poetry, Ramparts & Ruins, and can be found at www.ChristinaLawson.com.
I loved ‘Rafe’s Treasure’ in particular. My reasons are that this poem relates a vivid and uplifting story,has an elegant rhythm, and doesn’t falter at any stage.
Ever since I read “The Dunciad” by Alexander Pope, I have been concerned about the power of anti-intellectual darkness to overcome reason and civilization. I appreciate that you are writing on this subject, and doing it well. Your economy of words is well suited to your subject.