BenWetherell

To imagine,
To lose yourself
To thoughts of creation,
To dreams of coming times,
To think of life past, future,
To avoid looking in front of you,
To envision what you think should be happening,

A crescent in shape apon the dark
A form in starlight as an arc
Draws all eyes to nights beck and call

Some say it is made of cheese
Well some scientists may disagree
All who see its beauty are enthralled

As I sit here thinking
Digging my mind for something to write
Staring out my window at the blue sky
Wishing 
Wishing I could make amends
Thinking 
Thinking of my next hour
Hoping
Hoping for a better day

Trees
We need to thank you
For all the things that we never think about
The dry spot in your roots during a torrent of rain
Turning the colors of sunset to show us your beauty

The sun blossoms on the edge of its seat
A dying beast painting where sky and sea meet
In rivers of red stretching to forgotten lands
Bringing them problems from other men's hands

The clouds on the streams, boats of today

A dove that mourns
In morning light

soft coo of awakening

A rooster of beauty
In morning song

Color of that royalty

During suns last
it lays to rest

perched upon a wire

To sing again