Cole Sand

Bedsheet crumpled in soft swirls
Sunlight streams in through dusty glass
Books stacked high in bricks of color
It stays the same as the seasons pass

Movie nights and lazy mornings
Piles of blankets when snowflakes fall
The squeaking of a ceiling fan,
Laughter, and tears echo off the walls

A place of comfort, a place of rest
There I am like a bird in her nest

Out walking in the frozen swamp one gray day
I paused and said, "I will turn back from here.
No, I will go on farther—-and we shall see."
The hard snow held me, save where now and then
One foot went through. The view was all in lines
Straight up and down of tall slim trees
Too much alike to mark or name a place by
So as to say for certain I was here
Or somewhere else: I was just far from home.
A small bird flew before me. He was careful
To put a tree between us when he lighted,
And say no word to tell me who he was
Who was so foolish as to think what he thought.
He thought that I was after him for a feather—-
The white one in his tail; like one who takes
Everything said as personal to himself.
One flight out sideways would have undeceived him.
And then there was a pile of wood for which
I forgot him and let his little fear
Carry him off the way I might have gone,
Without so much as wishing him good-night.
He went behind it to make his last stand.
It was a cord of maple, cut and split
And piled—-and measured, four by four by eight.
And not another like it could I see.
No runner tracks in this year's snow looped near it.
And it was older sure than this year's cutting,
Or even last year's or the year's before.
The wood was gray and the bark warping off it
And the pile somewhat sunken. Clematis
Had wound strings round and round it like a bundle.
What held it though on one side was a tree
Still growing, and on one a stake and prop,
These latter about to fall. I thought that only
Someone who lived in turning to fresh tasks
Could so forget his handiwork on which
He spent himself, the labour of his axe,
And leave it there far from a useful fireplace
To warm the frozen swamp as best it could
With the slow smokeless burning of decay.

We couldn't sit and study for the law;
  The stagnation of a bank we couldn't stand;
For our riot blood was surging, and we didn't need much urging
To excitements and excesses that are banned.
So we took to wine and drink and other things,
  And the devil in us struggled to be free;
Till our friends rose up in wrath, and they pointed out the path,
And they paid our debts and packed us o'er the sea.

Oh, they shook us off and shipped us o'er the foam,
To the larger lands that lure a man to roam;
        And we took the chance they gave
        Of a far and foreign grave,
And we bade goodbye for evermore to home.

And some of us are climbing on the peak,
  And some of us are camping on the plain;
By pine and palm you'll find us, with never claim to bind us,
By track and trail you'll meet us once again.

We are fated serfs to freedom--sky and sea;
  We have failed where slummy cities overflow;
But the stranger ways of earth know our pride and know our worth,
And we go into the dark as fighters go.

Yes, we go into the night as brave men go,
Though our faces they be often streaked with woe;
        Yet we're hard as cats to kill,
        And our hearts are reckless still,
And we've danced with death a dozen times or so.

And you'll find us in Alaska after gold,
  And you'll find us herding cattle in the South.
We like strong drink and fun; and when the race is run,
  We often die with curses in our mouth.

We are wild as colts unbroke, but never mean;
  Of our sins we've shoulders broad to bear the blame;
But we'll never stay in town, and we'll never settle down,
  And we'll never have an object or an aim.

No, there's that in us that time can never tame;
And life will always seem a careless game;
        And they'd better far forget--
        Those who say they love us yet--
Forget, blot out with bitterness our name.

The clean air is running.
Running away to a world I can’t go.
What of my future,
Will it be there at all?

The predictable weather is gone.
Gone somewhere out of reach.
What of my dreams,
Will the next storm sweep them away?

The clear night sky has left.
Left somewhere no one can follow.
What of my fate,
Will it end before I truly get to live?

By Nyx Rodriguez

For always, forever, my love never ending
My arms always open, my ear always bending
To hear you, Yes You, the words from your lips
To embrace you, surround you with warm love's eclipse. 
Perfection: too feeble a word to describe
The depths of the promise filled cup we enbibe.
I am the place you can share and confide
Your troubling feelings, your prayers thought denied.
I care for you, walk with you through calm and wild,
I am with you through thick and through thin, my child.
For you, and your best I'll be always defending,
For always, forever, my love never ending.