Cycle
Eric Bonholtzer
A flower rose from the graveyard of memories
A still solitary figure among a Golgotha of fallen stars
Flashlight beams shining through the hazeÉ
Searching
Gravel cracks beneath shod feet stomping
Tracking dirt, debris, mire. It’s not that far to the finish line
at the end of the maze. So we’re taughtÉ
Hunting
Following the progression into granite tombs
of old ideas and new dreams
Never to be remembered, to our dismayÉ
Eulogy
For a moonrise over still willows,
Whispering long forgotten dreams and hopes of a city never built
And that much more of a loss because of itÉ
Reverie
The spokes of a wheel turn onward,
Merry-go-rounds sitting empty at the carnival
Tickets still clutched in a child’s handÉ
Waiting
A nature path, bent bows arching, as horses tread
Over untamed heartland, green scenery set amid doors of tranquility,
The endless possibilities of a ring of keysÉ
Try them
You should, believe me, memories are like bank depositories
Old age withdrawals, slip before the transition comes hither, Higher skyscrapers and longer trails
