A PAINTING BY THE PATH
by Lance Reynard © 1999-2001
It isn't much, but at this time,
It's all that I could bring to mind.
In the winds we're standing through the torrents whip and rage,
I thought I'd write this poem for you, and fill this empty page.
I see the moon crest on the trees , and find a moments peace.
And then the winds, that bring the freeze,
will seem to force me to my knees.
But then again I'll think of you, and warmth and light come streaming through.
For, I don't see you in the rain, nor standing in the howling gale.
No you don't, see the wind as pain, you own the wind to set your sail.
It's How we see, through each our showers and how we own these winds of ours.
You see each thought creates a gust, and there's a storm in each of us.
And in the center of each storm, an 'eye' is there that's safe and warm.
It's where we hold the warm spring day. Happiness and good things to say.
Our joy, our love, and all our pleasures, and a big grand chest, with all our treasures.
You won't find tears or pain or woe.
That's all out in the storm, you know.
That center place, that little eye, is such a small part of the whole.
I know, you know as well as I, I paint the universal soul.
And sketch in winds that cut my face, and turn my hands to blocks of ice.
Creating beauty in a place where pain and sorrow, they call 'nice'.
Still, I paint with my pleasures and brushes of gladness.
A few dots of my tears, just a smidgeon of sadness.
But what I see in the painting there's the greatness and the fun we share.
The gleeful joys and simple peace, with no possessions, just release.
Yes that's what I see when I look at the frame, if you notice the corner you won't see a name.
About every object, that's under the sun.
It will have a name, when the painting is done.
So now I'll turn back to this path that I tread, in the cold freezing rain and the wind, which I dread.
But there wouldn't be any path, don't you see, if there hadn't been somebody there before me.
And some future traveler will pass through some day.
They'll notice this thing, that we left, by the way,
and "Oh what a wonderful thing!" they will say, they'll pause to admire, then be on their way.
Then out by the path that runs through the wood, we will have done somebody some good.
I hope for that person it's sunny and warm , I hope for their sake that there isn't a storm.
But that's just a dream, cause we both know better
Its the storm of the soul, it's not of the weather.
But at least in their storm, there's a parcel of peace.
That we left by the way, to give someone release.
And someday I'll return, to this path that we've worn, then day is unsure, but it will be morn.
And I will retrieve this old painting of us.
If I have to hack down all the thistle s and brush.
I'll pull out a pen made of 'power through pain',and I'll probably cry as I sign both our names.
But I'll cherish those times that we stood in the 'eye'.
And I'll probably say"How they really flew by"
I'll never regret this path we've been on.
Please don't ever forget my love, in this dawn.
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© Copyright 2000-2001 by Lance Reynard. All rights reserved. Contact:
The House of Influence