Two Poems

Down Through Centuries...of No thing at All For that to burn, of what within that might exist, awaiting that which rules and keeps me long at bay. To feel, to sigh, to die; I do not know the lesser life of zeal. It is the stuff of peace, and at the last, I might wish it there. And then to share? No wonder we are here. what would we dare to shout before we learn to sing? ~ Something that will Not Be Finished See, here are my toys, scattered all over the floor and I still hear them, speaking, though now I must give them life; they are my tools, yet tell me they are blessed-- Of course their creed is all of ours, for creativity is of the earth and of its steady stream. ~