Homeward

I bled out my soul to the emptiness
Until there was nothing left in me
Empty, I found the wisdom of silence

The heart of the desert spoke to me,
Saying: let it all go.

Release your old hurts, you’ve survived them.
Unchain your memories, you’ve outgrown them.

I wept all night, listening to the stars,
And left soon after sunrise, refreshed,
Committed to movement after stillness

The highway home shone from the overnight rain.

©2014 Aaron Brown

Commute

Riding the latebound night train
alone in my car but for a shade
slouched down in a far corner

Silence ‘cept murmurs in cadence
from rails and wheels discussing
bits of Sartre’s dangerous dreams

Each lonely stop welcomed in turn
by doors flung suddenly wide as if
to startle the trash on dark platforms

In this quick sharp hiss a deep sigh
the train speaks from boredom with
hustle and bustle and hurry to wait

Tension mounts thin rising echoes
of ticks for tock on the stopwatch
culling wisdom’s last second down

Abrupt angry doors click closed
hissing disdain at worlds outside
so uncaring of schedules and time

Lurch off in darkness again
for more swift rattletrap chatter
‘tween wheels and rails and ties

Squabbling on like hens peck choice
in shadows cast by tomorrow while
time measures Siddhartha’s resolve

Be spendthrift of minutes and miles
in pressing on toward faraway stops
for I am unready to step into night.

© 2006, 2014 Aaron Brown

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Midnight flies on dark wings of legend —
Leathery whisperings of mystery and myth
Reach the casual ear with
An ease surely focused and meant
For a deliberately planned end.

Dawn battles in the golden armor of glory —
Raging lion-like; inordinately proud
Of his sequential triumphs taken daily
Upon cold Midnight's body and shroud,
Yet so easily muzzled by a humble cloud.

Twilight bathes in beatific serenity —
Secure and content to allow others
The honoring of the glory that is hers —
Inexorably gentle, the beauteous matron is she
Who silently strangles the day so Night may be.

© 1996, Aaron E. Brown

12 Months in New England

January's frozen breath
chilled February's dreams.
March's steady thaw
soothed April's little fears.
May's fresh bouquet
spurred June's own sultry days.

July's blazing furnace
warmed August's cheerful play.
September's midlife crisis
spawned October's bright displays.
November's mournful tears
streak December's frosted panes.

The old year dies drawing
a new year's first breath.

© 2005, Aaron Brown

…Cycle…

Down by the sea -
You and me.
Listening to gulls cry -
Watching waves birth and die.
There is no Meaning here,
But Reality is near.

Back in Reality -
You and me.
Listening to bums cry -
Watching cities birth and die.
There is no Peace here -
And Oblivion is near.

Out in Oblivion -
Me and no one.
Listening to ghosts cry -
Watching worlds birth and die.
There is no Life here -
But Rebirth is near.

Back by the Sea -
You and me.
Listening to gulls cry -
Watching waves birth and die.
There is Reality near -
And the Cycle is here.

© 1986, Aaron Brown