A golden nugget buried low
beneath a false veneer
flashes sparks of brilliance
into the atmosphere
and these combine, entwine,
with sunshine on the rise
to make of every brand new day
a time to breathe and feel
alive to possibilities.
They parade upon the stage
of what could maybe be
if the shell from which they came
moved forward into more
and I watch enthralled and awed
until twilight time closes gates
and locks them back inside.
The source of them sad sometimes
yet welcomes home again
each and every spark that died
while trying to catch eyes
because wisdom knows another day
begets another rise
of brilliant possibilities.
But the golden nugget not perturbed
because the burning spark of love
enflames a mind with soul’s designs
from the safety of within
and wise the one who sets an eye
on a spark that never dies!
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“But the golden nugget not perturbed
because the burning spark of love
enflames a mind with soul’s designs
from the safety of within
and wise the one who sets an eye
on a spark that never dies!”
This last verse is such a wonderful verse.
I think this could have been a poem all by itself.
I think it says a lot about the author.
Great write Helen.
JL:)
Thanks so much, JL, and, yes, the last verse could possibly stand alone but to me it would be incomplete without the story. Maybe I was a story teller in a past life – you know, like an old woman in a rocking chair with a shawl around her shoulders.
Helen