Ophelia’s Bouquet

From the safety of the shoreWe sit in utter silenceAnd look out in wondermentAs the flowers pass by usTwirling along the currentsOf the lazily running river.Drawn and called this wayAnd that with each ebb and flow,Cascading around stones and logs,As though teasing, daring to be caught,To be grasped, assured in their abilitiesTo hold out, to remain just out of reach.Dreams untouchable, floatingWeightlessly past all who want to collect them,Hold them. Enticing all thoseWho wrap their dreams of love about them,Who wander aimlesslyIn search of them; who swear by their names,And recall the tender touch of the petalsAgainst their cheek, their lips.

From the safety of the shoreWe sit in a moment of awed silenceAnd watch as a burgundy streamSeems to pool about the petals,As though to kiss them softly before departing,And from these poolsCrimson ribbons depart,Floating past, drawing designsBefore fading into the waters soft blue glow,Disappearing and being carried across the world,Touching every corner of existence.This supple dance will go on forever.

From the safety of the shoreWe talk over many things,Kings and princes,Wars and love,We talk of most everything with ease and laughterWith words apart from life,Free from loss, free from the tollsThat speeches carry upon them.Let the wills and the wants of God’sDance from our tonguesWith the lightness of a sleeping man’s laughter,With the ease of a lovesick sigh.We decry the ills and make our demands,Set forth plans to see the world saved,The path seems so clear,From the shady spots along the river banks.

From the safety of the shoreWe watch the cloud reflectionRoll by in the still pools of the waterAnd we think of who else is watchingThese skies, and we feelFor that moment all beneath this sunAre one and the same, a band ofBrothers, family joined by theVirtuous miracles of life. WeLaugh, in soft loving madness’sOf the dreams we have of lifeAnd all the days that lay beforeUs still. And in the subtle melodyOf the babbling brooks lamentWe feel a peace come over usAnd think perhaps that all is wellFor how could such a peace be disturbed.And over in the reeds I hearThe strangest rustling soundsAs though something more hasFloated down the stream.And I am tempted to venture overAnd find their cause, but anotherFlurry of flowers catch my eye.And I laugh softly at the thoughtThat nothing more could matterThan to lay safely upon the shoreAnd wonder with gentle gleeWhere all the flowers are coming from.