Maple and the Oak Tree
The maple and the oak tree always were good friends.
“Maple,” said the oak tree, “this is where it ends.”
“What is that?” asked Maple, taken by surprise.
“This is all that can be seen, despite our lofty eyes.
We laid our roots, gained our heights, reaching for the skies.
Gathered knowledge like treasure, the envy of the wise.
Now the world that lies below is stretched out far and wide.
Yet there is nothing for us atop our green hillside.
What is left to look upon that has not yet been seen?
What power do we have to break this old routine?”
“But Oak,” said Maple, “what more is it you seek?
The world goes by without us, as water through a creek.
Marching ever onward, neither here nor there,
But a life without you is more than I could bear.
What would our hilltop be without our verdant leaf?
And what is there that lies beyond but misery and grief?
For what have we built through our lifetime of wear,
But a friendship just as lasting, beautiful, and rare.”
Note for the reader: This poem was written for my book, Beyond the Water’s Edge.
The Way of Water
It gleams and shines in the bright light of day,
But turns dark and strange as night comes to stay.
In spring, it flows eager. In summer, it wanes.
‘Til autumn reflects sparse tawny remains.
Then, at long last, winter arrives—
To freeze over all ‘til springtime revives.
The Winds of War
The people rage, but who is their master?
An insatiable fire burns in the hearts of men,
and no water can quench its thirst.
Yet it grows and consumes all in its path.
Like waves tossed upon the sea,
driven by the mighty tempest, they rise and fall.
For who can say from whence the wind hails?
Or who can discern where its end will lie?
Rushing forth with such force and fury,
and marching over both fertile land and desert —
both lively places and the desolate, uninhabited reaches—
‘til like a weary traveler,
collapsing in slumber upon the bed of some chamber,
whether his own in his home
or a foreign inn at a great distance —
it matters not,
and slumbers he some time,
until, rousing from his sleep, rushes forth once more
to stir the embers of that great and insatiable fire.
Forever Young
Forever young.
Forever free.
A song over sung,
Never to see.
Blind by lust.
Blind by hate.
Taken from dust,
To return is your fate.
Never stand alone.
Never speak out.
Still as a stone,
Stand in self doubt.
Speak of nothing—
Of false lies.
Always there to bring,
A familiar place to hide.
Elysium
You seek the lofty gilded lands—
Those from a dream like shifting sands.
You’ve come from a land as dark as night.
Weary, burdened, in search of light.
Climb that mountain. Crest that hill.
The horizon stretches farther still.
Sail the oceans. Soar through the skies.
Sea leads to sea. Clouds fall and rise.
There it is! Shining from a distance.
Always on the horizon, to reach with persistence.
Each day closer. Each day farther away.
Searching always for that fateful day.
Store your riches. Seek yet more.
Sail ever onward from coast to shore.
Elysium, that land of which they fairly spoke.
Over crest. Over land and water. Elysium, land of smoke.
The Land of Grief
I’ve sailed a day and more across the sea—
The sea that carried me to a strange land.
And here it was they promised me
Many a fair day and more in a place so grand,
That none would believe had they not seen
The verdant leaf that perishes not from the tree.
Or the budding, fruiting pastures green.
Or the gardens stretching from mount to sea.
The ardent sun sheds light by day,
And never tires or abandons post,
But holds that darkened shroud at bay,
And casts its light from vale to coast.
Here it was they promised me,
That time held no power.
That death would flee.
That no beast should devour.
In a place where peace should abound
Why have I found what should not be found?
For I have tasted bitterness—
Death, destruction, bareness.
I have seen the tumult of the sea.
And the felling of many a tree.
I have felt a darkness keen,
Leaping up to swallow clean
Any hope of life so fair,
Replaced by a burden no one could bear.
In lieu of pastures, a gaping cavern.
In lieu of healing, a festering burn.
A wound so grievous
Death should swallow up the weakness.
‘Twas in this strange, far-off land,
That many a promise went unkept.
And darkness like a plague had swept.
But here it was I took a stand.
I have now seen the darkness and the light.
I stood at the edge of the pit of death,
And stared long and hard at that great depth,
And found that day will follow night.
And time will sweep away the blight.
Janine Eaby – Author | Beyond the Water’s Edge Portal Fantasy Series 