When the thick fog gives way
When the dust settles the darkness remains
When the layers are pulled away
A broken heart lies dead in blood stains
Thoughts of what was
What could have been
Perhaps this will pass
The question is when
The future may well be bright
A new journey ahead
For now a broken heart dies
In a lonely death bed
© Alan Zaugg 2021
In a garden not so far away
A couple sat and talked about many things
She shared her dreams he shared his stories
Enjoying each other’s company
What could have been or what may yet be,
Answers they’re not privy to see
They may not see, they cannot wait
Only live to fight another day
A smile to say all will be alright
A nod full of acknowledgement
Words unspoken but understood
They sit and reflect and contemplate
A moment of pause from reality
Agreeing to visit the place again
They part ways with truest warm embrace
Another time to meet again
Till next time to repeat again
To what end? Tis yet unknown
This much is true, they can so meet
To sit, sort, think and silently communicate
Together in a garden of serenity
***We all have a place we go. Inside our heads, within our dreams. Whatever garden you find yourself in, it’s your place to sit and feel.
I haven’t written in quite a while. This is my first attempt to gut it out since last year. This is one of a few poems I hope to share here in the coming days. There’s a lot inside my head. Writing it down proves cathartic.
Maybe it’ll all disappear someday. Who knows, maybe I’ll publish a collection in a book someday. Till then I’ll find my garden where I sit and ponder, a safe place to lose myself.
© Alan Zaugg 2021
I sit beneath my grand sycamore tree
Her majestic arms encircling me
She holds me close yet sets me free
While I sit upon her root shaped chair
We share lovely stories and sing happy tunes
The fragrance of spring swirls ‘neath her strong bows
A breath of tulips, buttercups and lilies
I lay on the blankets of soft meadow grasses
A warm summer breeze brushes my skin
My sycamore she sings to me
Melodies of love and serenity
She sees me for just what I am
For what I could be, not what I once was
She accepts me in spite of my many follies
My lady, she wonders why waste my time?
What beauty I see in my sycamore tree?
Ax in her hand, she asks me to move
So she can cut down and remove it from view
A fist to the air, she makes such a scene
She curses the tree for noticing me
For treating me kindly and holding me close
I wish she would see the value in me
To see and to hold me, to want all of me
That’s all I ask, to join me a while
And hold me beneath the branches of my tree
Together to share in warm summer breezes
While laughing with my dear sweet sycamore tree
Instead of worrying about others noticing me
Perhaps someday soon, one afternoon delight
My value to others will reach certainty
If not I will sit in loving embrace
While I dream peacefully of shimmering lakes
A story of love, perhaps this might be
But really it’s just a story of a tree
The tale of my beautiful sycamore tree
© Alan Zaugg 2021
The writings of a Jedi 