Not sans foye

As I sit on the banks of the river wide
I think, maybe this time, I won’t go home;
I see the birds and wish I could fly
To a place free of cares, free of sorrow
Free of knowing.

Sometimes there’s sorrow in knowledge;
Whoever said knowledge is power, may
Have hit on to something
For where there is power, there is often
Loneliness.  And when I know, I am sorrowful.

As Eve did eat of the Tree of Life,
So I have partaken of her meal.
And I do not know where my sin does end,
But I wish to drown it in the water
Dancing at my feet.

What cares does it have?  What does it feel?
Naught.  Though it holds so much,
And appears so wise, so bold, so strong,
Full of control – of life and death.
It is nothing.

I, on the other hand, often feel like
Nothing, even with my knowledge.
I feel like I should leave this place.
It feels unsafe to be alone when
There are so many sounds and voices –
In a band – drawing near.

I do not wish to be overtaken,
But I can feel this world
Pulling me deeper and deeper
Into its murky depths
Trying to make me unknowable, and not to know.

I dream of Fidessa, yet live like Duessa,
And though I may fool some,
The one who matters sees through
The foggy blanket I have knit
To hide myself from all.  And so I’ll fall.

But still, there is hope.  There is light.
Even as I sit in the darkness,
The moon and stars have not
Left me completely and they
Shine down on me.

Like some unseen hand, pulling me up
From this din and irksome mire,
I will be saved; I will not be buried alive;
I will not be burned in death.
I will be washed clean.

As I stare into the river, as I see where
My present meets my past and future,
As I see the mud settle and the water clear,
As it stands still and becomes a pond,
It’s not moving, nor drying up.

Something mystic happens,
And I can realize all is not lost.
I can’t save myself, nor can I others.
But I can know all is not lost if I am
Not Sans-Foye.  I know that I have faith.

Ode to Window

Oh window: with your simple wooden frame.
Curtains                                                a bit ajar,
Sky                                                                   blue.
Outside                                                             the
Pane.                                                                  Cat
Lies                                                                 Upon
The                                                                      Sill
Like a picture painted by some unknown artist

Uncharted Territory

Maybe there’s a world around us,

That’s not exactly what it seems.

But nobody can wander there,

It’s only in your dreams.

Perhaps it haunts you day and night,

Or maybe not at all.

It’s really quite a mystery,

That no one can recall.

But everyone has a different place,

That they’d like to go.

And you may tell them it’s not real,

But you don’t really know.

Is there something living,

Either out in space, or in deep, deep earth?

You do not now what it is,

Or how much it’s worth.

But there’s something out there!

We’re each just dying to see.

Yet what it is, or where it is,

Is beyond you or me.

So yet we go on pondering,

And wondering more still.

Is there life beyond the stars?

Curiosity is still yet to spill.

Canada Rant (An Identity Poem) – Gr. 10 History Assignment

Grace and freedom, rights abound

Canada’s home to many around

There’s the red and white flag, hung with pride

For the great maple leaf, the Mounties ride

We’ve claimed the beaver as well as the moose

Our forests are vast, from the mighty oak to the spruce

From the Rocky Mountains to the Maritimes

Toonies, loonies, nickels, dimes

We have coins and coloured money

Our maple syrup’s sweet, as is our honey

Different cultures spread across the land

We’re happy, safe, and we understand

Friendly people, their smiles show

Famous personalities: Mackenzie, Trudeau

They built our nation to what it is today

For the better or worse, on course or astray

A nation, a country, a province a city

A home, an individual: large scale to itty-bitty

I salute, thee, O Canada, and all that you mean

For about each Canadian, there’s a pride that – most definitely – can be seen.