Blessings counted

Mind in maudlin misery did call,
for memory to hold the hand of hope,
remembering that life still has its joys;
counting of the blessings stroke by stroke.

Magpies in mellifluous morning  call,
deliquescent song of honeyed streaming light,
trickles through quick-fingered dancing dawn;
dressing sullen day, sensation bright.

Perfume pull of blossoms slowly blushing,
cascade of captured colour in bright fall,
creation caught upon the hem of morning;
iridescent beauty to behold.

Crumpled cries of sun in shadowed calling,
waltzing through the cool enveloped shade,
laughs in silence as the day breaks open;
gifts beyond imagining displayed. 

Remembering

In solid, sure remembering the days were written,
as if to hold in darkest ink, the truth,
and yet within the circling, lying words there lay,
deception such as I had never known.
It made of wandering, lettered life my stories,
and yet, had scattered them as merest dross,
for there was pure intent and deep flawed falling,
as message wandered, helpless, dark and lost.
The thoughts and spoken words were ever cast,
through wooded, wild and woeful forests deep,
dismembered as the psyche's shattered face,
and left to lie in cold, tormented sleep.