Do not stand at my grave and weep

Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning´s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there, for I did not die.

A Bad Dream

People go by,
I smile but they don´t see me.
I try to say something but they walk past.
I shout but they don´t hear me.

The world goes round,
So fast that it makes me dizzy.
No one else seems to notice -
Too busy in their own worlds.
We all live on earth
But we aren´t on the same planet.

When they walk by I feel a breeze,
Yet they are all miles away.
I am only seen by children
That look at me curiously,
Until they grow up to be like their mothers and fathers
And know better than to lower their eyes to meet mine.

When I walk down the street
Crowds part and make space for me.
An empty, imaginary carpet lies ahead.
People bump shoulders, tread on toes...
To give me space.

If it were a dream I would feel like royalty,
I would be a celebrity on the red carpet,
Cameras pointed at me and flashes in my eyes -
But I am awake.

The dot of an i

I look down and find myself
Atop a Mayan ruin,
Gazing out over miles of Guatemalan jungle.
Lush green trees stretch their branches for miles beneath me,
Monkeys wake with the sun and
Yawn their howls through the branches that they swing through.
Birds flutter their wings as they stretch from their nest.
Beaks open and tweets sound to the ground where
A baby bird has stretched too far and fallen,
It´s head twisted giving away its broken neck.

I float within my thoughts,
Content and puffy faced.
A mere speck,
The dot of an i.
A tiny ink stain on this rock
That peeps over this green sea.

I must have leapt from a cloud,
For I don’t belong in this world that I have jumped into,
The way you jump into a dream -
Feet first, holding your nose -
And your eyes squeezed tight shut.

At Sea

I juggle with words but
They fall through my fingers
Like grains of sand.
It’s the beauty of the ocean
Before me, zapping any thoughts
That floate to the surface.

I sit, unmoving.
The only thing still in this storm of elements.
The tide playfully tickles my feet,
Drifting in and out of my toes.
I could be a rock -
Slowly being eroded
Until my hard skin is washed to the sea leaving
A softer, untouched shell.

I sit, in awe of the strong, lively waves
That tempt my toes to dance their way to the horizon.
I would be like a ballerina from Swan Lake,
Gracefully poised on tip toes
With hands joined as in prayer.
At home on the wave when
It arches my back to envelope me
So that I collapse, a rag doll.
Blown by the wind and thrown by the waves,
Unable to breathe and,
Like my words,
Unable to reach the surface.

Finally then, I would be at home on the wave -
Never to return to land.

A good quote

"Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter" - Martin Luther King