Eugene: Thursday: August 28, 1986: 0836
  C a n o p y  
©1986, 2003   Jerral Sapienza & LLX Press

by Jerral Sapienza
With my yesterdays behind me and Tomorrows in the wings
now I strain to hear the memories in their glow.
So much hustle-bustle 'round me with a high regard for things
but there's no one here who cares enough to know.

No, I stand alone in emptiness, a sad and gentle man
with his hand held out to no one there to take it.
For the burdens of his being are the burdens of the Plan
understood by none but Masters there who make it.

Sweet release of lotus sadness through the slipping of the sands
brings a simple definition of today
but the burning in the heart brings no heat to warm the hands
lest the greater aspirations there decay.

Stand before me, then, my prophet, let me hear the words you bring
let me see the crystal images you show.
Loose the melodies of years in their promises on wing
Welcome new tomorrows' Jerral here to grow.

Yes, the world is my umbrella and I to it a stone,
Broken, shattered shard of yesterdays' defeat.
With a canopy above me of a Master of my own;
All again is built from nothing, but replete.

The clouds there bellow, the kites there fly
	Voices turn upon the sky
	Eyes meet eyes and hearts meet hearts
	Hands entwine; an epoch starts
	One man stands alone there: I,
	takes a step and breathes a sigh.

 -- Copyright (c) 1988, 1992, 1996 by Jerral Sapienza - Jerral -at-LLX.COM --
You may reprint or distribute it provided entire copyright notice is included
 with the poem.   Published by Lifelong Learning Excellence, Inc.  (LLX.COM)
For permissions:  P. O. Box 380 * Eugene, OR  97440 * =USA= +1 (541) 343-1202
or write to Whispers -at- LLX.COM
One of those popular feelings of a young man in moments of longingness for the Bigger Picture, eh? I rather liked this poem at the time even. Still has a nice feeling to me. Wafts along nicely, maybe? Reminds me of what some of those melancholic youths sometime feel... I was one of those!
    The sentiments of this one are echoed again in a poem thirteen years later, Saturday Evening Wanderer which again talks of some of these feelings of being misplaced, misunderstood, yet still on some Path toward the Guiding Light within...

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