The Passage
By Claire Brown Bower

Tonight I hear a distant voice
a murmur drawing near
a candlelight that burns o'er head
a lightness looming clear

A way, a path, a stepping stone
a soft surrendering sound
a warming glow, a knowing nod
a mystery's meaning found

Our chosen voices edify,
illumine and uphold
ethereal messengers gliding by
their passing stories told

The spirit, searching, scans the skies
with not an earthly word
no physical missive to impart
no spoken whispers heard

Instead, a vibrant, crystal song
enshrouds with healing verse
harmonious spirit, body and mind
a gift, some say, a curse

A source of light, a passage known
uplifting garnet guide
a soothing heav'nly lullaby
awake on the other side.

Posted at "The Den"
8/23/99
All rights reserved.

Still Life
By Sara J. Grunden

Still life.
A moment frozen.
A slice of Time cut out and served to you
On a platter with gold trim
And a sprig of parsley.
Caught, a child: eyes brimming with the laughter of a thousand falling leaves in mountainous piles of rusty
orange paint.
Caught, a bride: ducking against the ivory rice and dancing dreamily in blinding white love.
Caught, an old man: standing alone on the dock with his camera clinging desperately to the last rays of a
perfect day.
What is this still life?
Memories that remain a distant past and nothing more.
Closing eyes clutch madly at the still life and smile.
And in this moment-
Still becomes
Unstilled.

by Sara J. Grunden
September 22, 1999

Posted at "The Den"
9/23/99

Find more of Sara's work here!

A Solitary Tear
By Lainea

My mind was dull and heavy,
thoughts came trickling slow,
as I watched a bead of water,
cling to near window.
A solitary drop,
it hung with pregnant grace,
a pause in time, and unknown quest,
it waited to trace.

A blossom filled, a tiny tear,
it gathered at the stream,
a slow descent to journey,
awakened from a dream.

I watched in awe,
its singular dance,
as its travel gained in speed,
never to waiver in unsure trust,
where destiny would lead.

A single life, a single path,
forged with glistening care,
I caught with trembling fingers,
natures given tear.

From a silent quiver, to a final gasp,
as all is held at stake,
I touch a lonely finger,
to my already tear stained face.

Together we've found a joined release,
a journey we can share,
when one can find the beauty,
in a solitary tear.

Posted at "the Den"
9/6/99

All rights reserved.

Find more of Lainea's work here!