Two Poems

         Down Through Centuries...of No thing at All

For that to burn, of what within
that might exist, awaiting that
which rules and keeps me long at bay.

To feel,
to sigh,
to die; I do not know
the lesser life of zeal.
It is the stuff of peace,
and at the last, I might wish it there.

And then to share?
No wonder we are here. 
what would we dare to shout
before we learn to sing?
       ~

          Something that will Not Be Finished

See, here are my toys, scattered
all over the floor and
I still hear them, speaking,
though now I must give them life;
they are my tools, yet tell me
they are blessed--

Of course their creed is all of ours,
for creativity is of the earth
and of its steady stream.
      ~