A WINTER SONG: PART ONE

by Larry Tyler

Columnist & Featured Contributor, BIZCATALYST360.com                      

Somewhere deep inside the soul of a man a poet died, someplace where colors swirl and words flow is now forgotten, a mystic lore to call upon only in remembrance.

There are no rivers and streams, no smell of jasmine, no lovers walking hand in hand along the shore.

Somewhere deep in the depths of the forest a candle burns dimly; the sand no longer flows from the hourglass where once there was a song now there is only silence.

There are no pilgrims upon the path only the swirling desert sand; there are no hopes and dreams except the ones that are man-made.

There are no tears to shed at his passing, only hope for a rebirth. Pain has no sound, it is cold, frozen; a void without light or sound.

A man walks toward a future leaving something behind, to lay untended, proud words upon a dusty shelf. In the still of the night a dim flame flickers then there is darkness.