Another cold night under the cold stars, feeling old,
with old songs, old feelings, looking for something new.
Hearing the words, righting old wrongs, life is cold,
in such wonderful dealings, how shall we bide our time?
Life is the canvas, life is the field, moments are few,
come to me tomorrow, and find words to rhyme.
Twilight, first star, wish upon a wish, I've been there,
will you join me in the last light, first light and in between?
Say you'll be waiting without a heart debating, to share,
a force of nature in gentle carelessness to distract my senses.
Never has this been, in days past, in nothing I have seen,
breaking endless rhythm, the nights of self defenses.
Call me in your sorrow, call my in your joy, call me,
I am quiet but listening and within this eagerness bristling.
In unspoken delight and treasures of the night, the sea,
beneath every new moon, beneath the heavens, it is a riot.
A Milky Way shadow, fireflies and flowers glistening,
let us walk and dream, tread the early autumn quiet.
Remember the snow while we cherish every moment,
remember the days in memories, where everything is new.
Our journey never ends, the foolishness, our discontent,
the light of discovery, the light of reason, without a reason.
Again the memories fade and the occasions are too few,
but we make them, living them, in and out of season.
Brian Francis Hudon
October 10, 2014