From time to time a poem

I used to dance the frenzied step,
and walked with gods and spirits.
I used to feel the cosmic whirl,
the dynamic spin of galaxies.
Once I met a friendly nymph
who taught me great respect.
Once I was a friend to trees
and creatures large and small.
But now I am quite too consumed
with matters of the mind
to dance the way I used to dance
and speak with such fantastic friends.

Sorry to break up the haiku party! haha

I usually wont post poems which I didnt write but every now and then I find one that I just have to share.


Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles today
Tomorrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
The higher he's a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he's to setting.

That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may, go marry;
For having lost but once your prime,
You may forever tarry.

-Rober Herrick

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While you still have young blood in you, be bold! Take your chances and take your lumps or else you will never live up to who you are.

"Snow falls gently into the lake...
What Silence!"

—A Zen saying

Patiently waiting
Eyelids becoming heavy
Sinking beneath waves

And so it was to walk
to the back neither feather nor scale
flight destined to fail
yet wings adorned

Light goes away
a weapon at the side
were these the games they payed
darkness fades
yet wings adorned

Blade rings out on ground
life drains
emotion pounds
all things stop
yet wings adorned

And so it was to fly
to the back the weight
inside spills forward
a balance maintained
finally wings adorned

Sage

The struggle
The tearing of the mind, the flesh
Dragged across the ragged peaks of life.

Their hands around my throat
Closing communication.
The spears into the spine
Twisted, by the hands of Fate.

But still the escape …
The panting breath of exhaustion.
I picked myself up
And carried on down the mountain side.

Older, I sit and ponder
The wisdom from the pain.
Am I wise?

On the Discord, J.K. Barger brought up a kind of old Norse poem called a galdralag. Instead of being defined by a rhythm pattern, a galdralag is defined by an alliteration pattern:
AABCCDEF
Here is my attempt:

My morning begins with mindfulness and meditation,
Making the mundane, meaningful:
I take time to transcend tiredness.
As I sit still and serene
The silent symphony starts.
Each big belly breath brings me better
Calm, connection, and compassion.
I quaff the quiet quickening.