2008-My Watershed Moment by Barry B. Wright

Women Looking onto the water

Yesterday changed everything.
Where do I go? What do I do?
Questions scratched on a wall before the abyss.
Once my Springs were full of scented flowers and warm gentle breezes; they flowed like honey for me.
Daily, from golden cups, I copiously drank their intoxicating mixture of nectar and life’s festive dream.
I had made it.
Atop my perch upon the mountain I felt safe.
Then the winds thundered through and toppled the oak tree.
What now? Why now?
Fate’s smiling and deathless face has struck me deeply; it carries no answers but greed; it has shattered dreams with its fierce pain.
My climb wasn’t easy. Can I do it again? Of course I can.
I know nothing less than to win.
I have achieved great things.
Or, so I thought.
Hubris, my blindness, barred my way home.
Money, too much money, often shapes what’s wrong to make it seem right.
Truth becomes lost in the frenzy of perception’s ninety-nine percent and the one percent’s hold.
No longer do I want to bathe in the flicker of their incense.
Their faces, shadowed and cold, flow in the water by me.
Does guilt-free sleep lie beneath its surface? I think not.
What will excite my mind again?
It must not be the same.
If my life ended, how would I be remembered?
Would I be remembered for who I was or who I became?
Reading the fullness of my story is what I would prefer; not to be forgotten as the one they no longer could reach.
Time is the currency I must follow.
My friends are the people I care for best; they can do me much harm if they leave me.
Their forgiveness is paramount; in it lies hope; without it future’s potential is lost to a tapestry fixed in the past.
My abilities are steady and sure; they will navigate me to where I need to go.
But my choices, they must change; they must answer what I truly am.
Does wisdom follow my aging or does it lie beyond my reach?
I guess it depends on who is watching.
Opinions flow easily where knowledge is lacking.
No longer at war with myself, days fly by where once only seconds dragged on.
I own my fate and for the first time I know it.
If it is true that you are what you were when, then this year is my watershed moment.

Each Seed That Grows

Each Seed That Grows
by
B. B. Wright
In Memory of Allan “Bush” Armour

November 14,1963 – December 13, 2014

Allan LoungingEach sunrise and sunset brings me closer to my end.
Will I be remembered after I am dead?
Will my notes played upon my strings still resonate with you?
Each day that I awoke I did my best to use the gifts I have within.
When I failed, I accepted, learned and moved ahead;
I understand that life is life
And how I meet it is what makes the difference.
Still, life seems so unjust in how it’s meted out.
The warm brush of your kiss against my cheek,
and your gentle touch, arms me for what lies ahead.
When lost and sick at heart for what I’ve done and not done
Your eyes uplift me.
Once, spring’s rebirth led me into the sweet warmth of summer’s months.
Now, autumn leaves and winter winds have arrived too quickly.
I have barely left a footprint if one at all.
As I hear the loving voices near me,
distant though they seem,
I know that as memories are passed forward and live,
then, so do I.
I am weary my love.
The strength you’ve given me I must now relinquish.
And, though it is not my choice to do so,
it is time for me to go.
But, remember.
That from the beginning through the end of each year
and as long as memories last and grow,
I am part of you and part of each seed that grows.