Poem: The Blackness Of The Night

Is it the blackness of the night,

And what we cannot see that scares us?

Is it the dreams we dread as nightmares,

As they fill our minds in times we sleep?

 

As we look into the cold night sky,

Do the stars familiar give us comfort?

Or do we wonder what suspends them,

As one by one they fall so free and bright.

 

As you wake from sleepless slumber,

With the echoed thoughts of the unknown.

Can you turn your mind to understand,

Is it really all so hard for you to see?

 

The candle light and bright of life,

Always shines so strong to guide the way.

In its glow the misty haunted atmosphere,

Will slowly drift and fade as forms appear.

 

Is time just an illusion laid before us,

On a path where the future has been played?

Do we write the stories that will all unfold,

Each and every step we take along the way?

 

Clasp all you know and dare in tiny palms,

Remember all that matters all so true.

The strength of you believing in yourself,

Is the only thing you really need to do.

 

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Tale: What Lies Ahead

She lay sleeping, her dreams carrying her from scenario to scenario, at times in a nightmarish form with faceless people barking instructions and demands without any thought of what was humanly possible. With all its wonder, the world had become a confusing mess and once again she had been torn here and there by those that knew her and had wished for the best. She had sought opinions from many, and each time the same sounds reverberated but still gave no comfort, and even if they did, they offered no answers to the complex questions that now posed themselves each and every way she looked.

Whilst she slept the deepest slumber, a small boy walked the darkened path that she had feared to tread earlier. In his hand he held a lantern that burnt soft, with the warming glow lighting his face in a ghostly way. The yellow tones flickered as the flame danced precariously on the end of the wick, at times threatening to leap away, but at the last minute taking hold once more. He was just a distant form and the path he trod had become brighter for all that he had done, yet it had been made no clearer. His hands were small and within them he held the clues to the answers of many questions, with the words he scrawled upon the coarse textured paper joined to make sentences, then paragraphs and finally stories that offered some sort of dim hope where before no hope existed.

He had heard the gentle sobbing earlier in the evening and in the silhouette of a tall tree he had stood, contemplating the many thoughts that flooded into his mind. He had looked deep into the starry sky and marveled at what was unknown, at the same time seeing all that the child could see, the shapes that had become amazing visions that only a child’s mind could form. At the same time he had realized that what the child saw was only a glimpse of what once was, and that now the reality of what was needed would challenge everything that she had ever known. In the distance the sobbing had subsided, replaced by the gentle breaths of a sleeping child with the intermittent murmur as she battled the dreams that played in her tired mind.

As the lantern illuminated the path before him, the darkness filled in each of the footsteps that he had already taken, so that what was ahead was all that was really clear, and even then for only a short distance. He knew this was much like what confronted his friend, and he also knew that it was much of what he had faced for a long while now. This gave him a different perspective on much, but then the child in him still believed and held onto that belief as if it were the air that kept him alive. He stopped momentarily mid way along the path, and he lowered the lantern for a moment. He looked once more to his beloved night sky and all the stars that smiled upon him, and as he heard the laughter from above he realized that no matter what, they would always be there, and that regardless of what lay before him, the child would still always be able to reach for his dreams if he should so choose.

He turned to where he had come from, and he raised the lantern, and in doing so he realized that in the darkness the path looked much the same in either direction, but the difference was he knew what lay behind him, because he had been there already. He turned once more to where the forest lay and he continued, with the softness of the daisies that lined the path melting like a watercolor bathed in the ethereal glow. He reached where the small girl lay, curled up with the remnants of a tiny tear still on her cheek. He thought about the things that had crossed his mind in the short time since he had left the security of the Tree. Then he reached into his coat pockets with his tiny hand and within it he held those simple words that would become sentences, then paragraphs. He held the lantern above her so that the life-giving glow would warm her, and then he carefully sprinkled the magic of the words upon her. She stirred slightly, but did not wake and as the morning light began to paint the sky with the wonderful colors that brought life and clarity to the land, he disappeared into the night sky, now joining the stars, laughing and smiling as he would for evermore.

She woke from the strangest of dreams, and as she did, she thought for just a moment that she could hear familiar laughter. She looked into the sky just in time to see the final blink of the brightest star she had ever seen, just before it disappeared into the soft hues of pinks and reds that now filled the sky. As she sat there, staring down the path, she could see the silhouette of her favorite tall tree bathed in the wondrous colors, silently waiting. She remembered the night before, and the fear that gripped her, the confusion that had consumed her into a desperate tear filled slumber, yet now it was clearer. She remembered a dream, so vivid it was almost real. The familiar flash of blue bathed in light, like a dream she had had so many times before.

The sweet sounds of birds singing reminded her that she was alive, and that she had been given a chance, maybe for one last time. She remembered her nightmare, at the same time remembering how it had stopped suddenly and how it was then that words began to form in her mind. Now one by one those words fell into place, and as she listened the story they told gave her hope, gave her strength, and the courage to believe.

The future is in our hands, guided by the wisdom of all we learn on the roads we travel. You know above all else where it is you have been for you have seen that clearly, and the question you need to ask yourself now is are you truly prepared to leave that behind, so that it never ever consumes you again. The path you now travel may be daunting, but the person you are knows without a shadow of doubt what it is that you must do. If you take control and be true to who you are, you will navigate the challenges that you now face, and you will be who you need to be. If however you succumb to the temptations that have riddled your past, then the darkness will wrap you forever more and as quickly as you go, you will be forgotten.

She thought carefully about the words and she believed that she understood their meaning. As she sat there in reflection, some final words played within her mind.  The path ahead is clear in the light of day, and all we know will be laid out before us on a canvas that was created from the dreams of one. Times will come and go, like so many things in our lives and in the darkness we may all find fear and confusion once more, but if you look into the night sky you will realize it holds the dreams of a child. You must know that through those dreams you can believe, and the fears will disappear in the familiar twinkling of the stars with the distant echo of childish laughter.

She looked along the path to where the Friendship Tree stood tall and strong, now clearer in the light of day, and she wondered. It had been a while since she had climbed there as a child, only visiting from time to time to hang the butterflies that had helped her process the many questions that had consumed her over the last months. What is it that she would find there now?

 

On a closing note.

 

A story, ‘The Little Prince,’ speaks of many things and if you have never read it, then it may just benefit you. If you have read it, then do so again. There are lessons of friendships formed and the responsibilities that come with those, and there are lessons that remind us that sometimes we do become so consumed in the matters of consequence that we lose sight of the importance of what life truly is. When you are finished reading it, ask yourself, are you the prince, the fox, the rose or the pilot, or are you one or all of the people that the prince visits on his journey. Most of all, ask yourself, does the child inside you see the elephant, and can you hear my laughter in the stars at night.

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Tale: The Old Paper Boat

He reached into the waste paper basket overflowing with the many crumpled pieces of paper, each one containing the remnants of words that had started to form stories only a short while ago. It was like reaching into a bucket of oversized popcorn, with his tiny fingers struggling take hold of more than a single piece at a time. One by one he removed the scrunched up balls and carefully un-crumpled and straightened them, running the palm of his hand over their surface. ‘No, not that one, nor that one,’ he thought. They were full of words, but not the ones that he would normally write, but then he had just spent the last few months where his focus was off the child that lived so freely inside, instead searching for words of strength, encouragement and believing, words that seemed to hold much more importance at the time of their writing.

Now as he searched, his mind drifted back to the very beginning, where words just seemed to materialize upon the paper, as if magically transformed from his wildest imagination. He was almost ready to give up all hope, when the slightest glimmer, like a distant star hidden deep amongst the other stars in the night sky, caught his eye. He carefully unwrapped it, and as he looked he realised it was not his best, but then he knew he could polish it, ‘just like a thunder egg,’ his friend would say. Yes, this was it, it was how it all began and it was how it needed to be again. As he began to read the words a smile formed on his face, because he could now see what would become.

“The young boy placed his hands on the rough bark of the tree, running his fingers over its surface. He closed his eyes, feeling every single line as he traced the shapes and imagined what it was that they were forming, the familiar shapes and faces that stirred in his mind. He thought how his senses came to life with the sounds that drifted from the distant forest with all the magic that could be found there.”

That was where the words ended, and as he sat in the illumination of the tiny lamp which he imagined was lit by a firefly, he took out a pen and he continued with the unfinished story.

As the boy continued to feel the coarseness of the tree beneath his hands, his thoughts turned into dreams and he imagined he was being carried upon the breeze, floating aimlessly at first before taking the form of a tiny dragonfly with a greater purpose. Following the path lined with daisies soft and pink like a cushion of swaying color, perfumed sweetly to stir the senses even further, he darted here and there as if searching for something. He reached the end, and hovered where the path met the forest, and as he did the soft glow of the firefly lanterns within welcomed him to venture inside. The lights formed a halo that penetrated the canopy of trees as if shielding it in a dome of light. The sweet song sounds of the fairies as they danced and played, with their tiny shadows moving rhythmically against the tree trunks were mesmerizing and this reminded him of the many stories he had told and the many that he longed to tell once more.

The child continued to run his fingers over the knotted wood of the tree trunk, and as he did his vision changed and as it did he found himself sitting quietly in the tree. There he watched as the pink butterfly mobiles, ragged and worn from the harshness they had been subjected to, began to spin, slowly at first then ever faster. The faded colors coming to brilliant life once more and sending out flickering rays of light, which made him smile and he could not help but feel that the journey he had taken had a purpose beyond the imagination that even he could not understand. One by one the butterflies took flight, free now to fly into the dark night sky, reflecting the magic of the stars above. They glistened and they sparkled as their wings fluttered, and he watched as one by one they faded into the dark distance free forever more.

As he sat and stared into the blackness of the night he thought about the words he had written, and he remembered how the words of his friend had drifted softly within the tree. He turned his head and hanging from the strand of pink glittery string like a single Christmas bauble, he saw one last butterfly. It had not left, but yet it was free to do so. He wondered and he held out his hand and it landed on his open palm, where its wings beat soft and slow. He could see the tiny words inscribed, though in the dim light he could not read them, but then maybe he did not need to. Whilst all other butterflies were ephemeral, this one was different, because this one remained as a living reminder of the many things that had been, and were yet to come.

He took his hands from the trunk of the Tree, and as he did the visions faded, and he stood silently waiting once more for his friends to arrive. ‘They would be here soon,’ he thought, and he sat patiently folding a tiny dragonfly that he may share with them when they did arrive.

As he put down the pen, and he read the story that he had just written, he smiled triumphantly. It was not magic like many others he had written before, but he could see his words once more returning. He could feel the child stirring deep inside and he knew that the time would come and soon he would write with the magic that he held so long ago. He carefully folded the piece of paper, and when he was done, he carried it to the waters edge. It was calm and cool with the sun’s light dancing on the surface as if teased by the tiny ripples, with a gentle breeze that blew softly out to sea. It was the perfect day, and as he waded into the cool clear water, he wondered once more? He carefully placed the paper boat on the surface of the water and he watched as it was carried on the current and the breeze. He hoped his friend might find it and that the words would carry her back to the Tree once more, where she would gently tie the smallest of butterflies for the entire world to see.

Only time will tell, but then he had time to wait and he believed.

The magic of words,

From the mind of a child,

From the thoughts that appear,

Imaginations run wild.

All written on paper,

And folded with care,

To sail on an ocean,

With all that waits there.

Words that will tell,

Tales of magic so true,

Words to inspire,

In whatever you do.

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Poem: If My Words

If my words could paint a picture,

What would the story tell,

The colours of a rainbow bright,

Fields of flowers with perfumed smells.

 

A place where all the children play,

Without a worry or a care,

Is that the picture I could paint,

If it was would I go there?

 

And if all the hopes and dreams came true,

If the bad things went away,

Would this be a better place,

And would the children play?

 

I guess that only time will tell,

As the words they form and fade,

Written on a paper boat to sail,

From imaginations that I made.

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Tale: To Dream For Real

The winding path works its way through the park, the dark surface absorbing the warmth of the sun and reflecting the heat back upon those that choose to journey upon it. Today the sun is shining and it is not too hot, and not too cold, and the instead of the normal walk you choose to follow the rough stone path to the left, that leads to a treed area. The path turns to a timber deck, with honeycomb wire upon its surface, with the clip clop of your shoes echoing on the boards as you walk. Here the sun does not shine through the canopy of the tangled trees, but in the distance light can be seen as the path opens out once more onto the rough blue stones.

Here there is a hard wooden bench which sits in the mottled light that filters through an old oak tree, with its spring leaves beginning to grow. The tree represents the cycles of life, and as you sit there you realize that you are like the tree and are growing once more as the winter winds that buffeted you now subside a little. As you sit you can hear the sounds of children playing nearby, with their voices echoing joyfully, and then as you look across the lake you see a flash of blue, then red and pink. There is a small dog, no, a fox that plays happily with the children as they run around chasing one another.

They are laughing as they run and are having more fun than you have known for a long time, and you give the smallest of smiles at the memories their laughter brings. They stop, tired from the running around and the four of them sit in a circle amongst a patch of pink daisies that glow in the sun, reflecting the delicate colors like a kaleidoscope on their faces. They give a little giggle as they talk softly, and every now and then they look up at you, the lady with the pink hat sitting on the bench overlooking the lake. They know you, but do you know them, or are they just something from an all too distant past?

You close your eyes for just a moment and when you open them they are gone, and you wonder if it was ever real, or did your mind play another cruel trick on you? A tear wells in your eyes as you wonder and wish, searching for what was lost, but just as hope fades, you hear a giggle from behind, and a tiny hand on your shoulder. You turn and standing just behind you a small girl with pink ribbons in her hair smiles a welcoming smile. You return her smile, but still you wonder. Standing with her is a girl in a red dress and sparkling eyes and a boy in a blue jacket with a wide smile and a look of awe and wonder. The fox is now lying at your feet, with her bushy tail gently flicking your legs and she looks at you with a smile that only a fox can give.

You wonder if it is all a dream, because surely this was long ago, but then you realize it is real, as the small girl takes your hand to guide you. Soft pink butterflies fall from the sky, flitting around you, and making you smile, at the same time bringing childish laughter from the others. You stand slowly, with apprehension at first, then as the boy sprinkles you with his magic that are his words, you are carried away to a place that you have not visited for so long. A place where an old stone statue sits restored with a caring hand, a sign that there is hope for everything if you truly believe. There the magic you once knew is reborn, and once more the child in you sees as only a child can, all the magic and wonder that the world has in store for you. A child once more you sit and play, and laugh aloud.

Sometimes just a little magic woven can carry a dream beyond the mind.  Do you really believe, because I think you should?

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Tale: To Dream

The old man stepped through the doorway into the world he knew and loved, with the darkness of the night illuminated by the small pin pricks of light that the stars had managed to pierce through the black canvas above. He had felt a disconnection from all he had known for sometime now, and the words that he so often painted his life with had seemed to evaporate like the cool night mist on a summer’s morning. Just as the mist is there to be seen with the twists and turns of spiraling air, then gone in the next, so his words had done much the same.

A soft smudge of red and pink brushed across the deepest parts of the sky, intertwined with the stars that formed the Milky Way. He looked around and in the faint starlight he could see the grasses as they swayed, as if dancing upon the gentle breeze that came and went. For a moment he thought he saw the familiar form of a fox from long ago, as it trotted majestically through the wheat field, with its tail flicking as it went. There was so much he remembered yet it was so distant now and he worried that it may be his memory failing him that had lead him to where he was now.

“Shhh,’ a tiny voice whispered, as he turned startled to see a small boy wearing a long blue coat and staring into the deep darkness above. He watched, and as he did the boy turned his head and smiled the warmest of smiles. The old man went to speak, to enquire some, but as he shaped his lips to form a sound, the boy raised a finger to silence him. “We must be very quiet,” he whispered, “you see, they are sleeping and tonight is ever so special.” The young boy gestured for the old man to come close so he needed not shout, because he thought he may be a bit hard of hearing. After all he was much older, well at least in the child’s eyes.

The old man moved on over and as he sat down he saw up close the face of the child which had formed a familiar guise. It was as if he was looking into a mirror from long ago, but could that be? The boy took the old man’s arm and making a pointed finger himself, he raised his arm and suggested. “There, just up there. See near that brightest star.” The old man looked very hard but nothing could be seen. He looked at the boy, who was still staring intently into the sky, and, “There, did you see it, another one?” The old man turned his head, but he was too late, and as he did, the boy sternly, but respectfully spoke. “You have to watch really closely, or you will miss them.” A look of confusion washed over his face and the young boy tried to explain some more. “They are playing, dancing, smiling for us to see that they are alive.” The old man still did not understand, and the boy saw this, so he just pointed and again suggested. “You just watch. You’ll see what I mean.”

The old man felt cold and he shivered slightly as he continued to look into the sky. “Here, have this,” said the boy as he stood and draped the cloth of an old blue coat he carried in a bag, around the shoulders of the old man. They kept looking and as if by magic, a fine flash of light swept across the sky, and then another. He now saw what had intrigued the boy, they were shooting stars, and as the boy looked at him he smiled. “You saw that didn’t you?” He nodded, and he remembered how as a child, the things that grown ups take for granted can be full of magic and wonder. He remembered how with a child’s eyes you could see beyond all that was, and the imagination could paint the most wonderful pictures for the mind to see.

As he sat there he felt a strange sensation come over him, as if he had drank a hot cup of tea and it was warming its way to his stomach. The boy looked at him and smiled. “Now that’s better, I knew I would find you.” The boy touched the man’s hand, and as the man looked down he saw that no longer were his hands wrinkled from age, but soft like that of the times he remembered from his youth. He raised his fingers to his face and the rough unshaven skin had become soft and subtle once more. He turned his head and looked on sadly as the boy stood and walked into the darkness, and as he did, the young boy turned and then waved, giving a tiny giggle as he disappeared. As he sat there now all alone he could hear the faint sounds of children laughing as they played in the darkness, and as he did the stars continued to dance in the sky. Yes, once more he saw through a child’s eyes all the magic that he had thought he had lost. He lay down on his back and marveled at all the tiny lights, the eyes of the lost children that now smiled down on him, and as he did he drifted off to sleep.

Sometimes, it takes something special to help find that little something that is lost, and if you look closely, look deep inside, you will realize that it is not lost at all, it is just waiting for you to dream.

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Tale: The Dream

She sat staring through the thick glass that separated her from the world she so loved to explore. The hard mattress on which she lay, with its stark white sheets, devoid of the colors that for so long filled her life with happiness, seemed fused to her body like a leaden coat. As she looked on, the sun rose and painted the wispy clouds that drifted aimlessly in pink and red hues. It had been so long since she had ventured from the confines of her room with its plain pale walls that held her like a prisoner in a tower she remembers from not long ago.

Outside, upon the cold window ledge, obscured from her view sat a single blue dragonfly, with its iridescent wings gleaming in the glow of the morning sun. It sat staring at her intently as she stirred, and a tear formed in his eye, before falling upon the ground below. Upon his back he carried a bright red ladybug, which whispered in his ear, “she looks so sad.” He nodded as only dragonflies can and turned to look at her as a tear also formed in her eye. He gently flapped his wings and raised themselves to where they could be seen. The sunlight reflected in the girl’s eyes and a tiny smile fell upon her face, but she was tired, and as the smile fell away so she drifted off to sleep.

Shortly a pale butterfly landed on the sill, and the dragonfly lighted down momentarily. The butterfly, so weak and frail, climbed upon his back, where the ladybug took her hand and gave her a smile. Ever so gently he turned and taking off they flew into the sun’s gleaming light with the warmth that bathed them offering respite from the chill that the morning air had brought. The butterfly knew not where they were going, and the anticipation of the journey was far greater than each day she had spent alone outside the room. In the morning light they moved swiftly, until the smell of salt air and the sounds of distant waves could be heard as they rolled upon the sandy shore.

They landed carefully on the waters edge, and as if by magic, three children now stood staring as the light danced upon the water before them, as if inviting them to play. The sound of rough pebbles reverberated from beneath their feet, and as they looked down they noticed they were standing amongst a treasure trove of the tiniest shells. They sat in a circle facing one another, each lifting and inspecting the most wonderful shells they could find and placing only the best in their tiny pockets. Each selected four shells to keep, and as they did they showed the others what it was that they had found. The girl with her hair tied in pink bows smiled as if she had not been on an adventure for ages, and as the other girl brushed the sand off her red shoes, she smiled, because she knew it had been too long, but that magic had brought them here.

The boy in the long blue jacket smiled at his two friends as he watched them sharing what they had found. He took his shells and gave them to the girl as she straightened her braces on her pink overalls, and the girl with the ruby red cheeks did the same. “Our gift to you, in memory of the times that were, and will now be once more.” She smiled in return, which was a greater gift in itself. “Come now, we must leave,” suggested the boy. “Time is of the essence and there are things to do, places to go.” They looked at him with sadness in their eyes, because they were enjoying this moment like so many before, from long ago, but they somehow knew he was right, as he usually was. He took their hands and they closed their eyes, then in a moment Angelica woke, with her tired eyes adjusting to the dull light once more. She took a breath, and then blinked in thought, as the smells that had filled her day were no longer apparent, replaced by a familiar scent from many days past. As her eyes adjusted, the special chair that she had bought many years before formed its shape before her eyes.

This was her room, her home, her sanctuary. Had it been a dream, had it all been a dream? No, it was not all a dream, she still felt the discomfort that had accompanied her over the last two weeks, but she was truly home. She gazed around the room, and on the bedside table she saw a heart shaped box, stained glass with a Rose and a Dragonfly intricately woven within its colorful glass pattern. She lifted it carefully, and as she opened it she saw twelve tiny shells, exactly as they had appeared in her dream. A tear formed in her eye, because not only was she home, but the magic of dreams had come true. She glanced up, as a flash of light reflected through her window. There she saw a bright blue dragonfly, a red ladybug, and the most majestic pink butterfly all hovering outside. She strained with the pain she still carried and climbed out of her bed, slipping her feet into her golden slippers that sparkled like her friends eyes. She shuffled her way, slightly hunched to the window, just in time to see them fly away.

As she stared out the window into the broad backyard that lay before her, with the golden glow of the sunrise bathing it with its warmth, she thought for a moment that she caught a glimpse of blue, and red, and the flicking tail of a red fox she had met once before, all running towards a large tree that now grew where it had not before. As she thought to herself she heard the echo of childish laughter from behind the hedge row, and the familiar, whoooooo hooooooo, yeeeeeee haaaaaaw, weeeeeeeeeee, that she had heard so often before. She smiled and gave a little laugh of her own, because she was home and she knew once again that she was surrounded by the magic that had so filled her life with joy.

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Poem: Waiting

As I sit in contemplation,

At what the blurring future holds,

I look for words that speak of how,

I hope it shall unfold.

 

I wish the light would shine so bright,

Through the somewhat stormy day,

To light the way so we may find,

The magic places where we play.

 

Thoughts that share a simple call,

Voices echo in the night.

Running here and running there,

Holding what you have so tight.

 

Feared again to let it go,

To loose what has become.

To be alone as darkness falls,

On each and every one.

 

I light a single candle,

And its glow will show the way.

All the hopes and dreams to have,

Waiting for another day.

 

I sit now on the branches wide,

Within a special tree.

Waiting for my friend to come,

To smile again with me.

 

Rarely do I ask for much,

Well not for me I say.

Now my wish upon a star,

Is for another once again.

 

So she may climb the tree once more,

And sit here with her friends.

Suspending butterflies from soft pink string,

So happy once again.

 

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Poem: Serendipity

A little boy is waiting here,
He’s looking for some dreams.
He thinks he may have lost them,
Or so that’s what it seems.

He’s searching high and searching low,
Tween branches all so green.
Not a single one does he now find,
Nor are any to be seen.

He chooses that he’ll take a chance,
And in a girl he trusts.
Feared that she will judge him so,
Because he thinks she must.

Sharing all the simplest things,
Thoughts that carry far.
The things that you don’t often find,
True friends I think they are.

In time he comes to understand,
Her kindness is so pure,
A friendship formed so easily,
Serendipity for sure.

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Poem: Painted Words

Dream a dream as dreamers do,

Leaving words the thoughts from you.

Imaginations there to see,

Of all the things that come to be.

 

The many things that come to pass,

Within our lives if we could ask.

The many wonders to behold,

In all the stories that you’ve told.

 

Grasp to reach the sky so far,

Make a wish upon a star.

The feelings that you share with two,

Of all the things we know of you.

 

The butterflies suspended there,

The sunlight dancing on your hair.

The smiles on faces standing near,

Always with you always here.

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