Letters

A poem by Stephen Caldwell

Of all these things we should hold dear, steer our decisions in earnest without fear. Alight on the breeze with amber hues, might our strength hold truth. Might we fall in sight above. Of all our past none now present, strings not all can unrest. Our right is lost unleft to see, over the tree with withered palms... unsaid life how are we to be what could only be unseen? What shall we be when this breeze departs?

Still might held life rest to spare yet not so dear amber gone to white.

Hues have clouded, yet not less shrouded. Clear the air unfelt feel the hues uplift yet let see. Let us see. Let us be known when this breeze departs as hue falls to shade. White a truth is still beyond within and abounding, lest we leave ere our fate time is last and gone again.

So climb dear, steer your heart so far and near.

To ranks we fall this spirit run we have no light to see through this way. A light to darkness around us still we quail yet trust us a fate our fate and yet so we cannot stand alone. Alone how to run when stance is slight how to see when the bees over withered tree have brought amber to red?

Still deftness might strength be too bold a red within this white. Trust.

Lost in this loss success, lest we do not stand the mount withers in unrest unsaid. Uplift but trust see and let blind the hues and shades this breeze ever gone we have fallen. We have not. No this is what we shall hold dear, yes this trust, feel with thought on breeze abounding. Yes this is trust.

Yes near, your heart has steered, so climb dear.

Asunder the flight has grown. We rid this red to withered trees and great palms. We are alight on the breeze with amber hues, holding truth to strength and might.

Amber rent of red gone to white, so steep the breeze here. Trust.