I wondered if it was you

Did you see it?
It was so unforgettable.
Tonight were you looking
at the star studded heavens.
Did you see a soul streak
across the inky black of the sky,
carrying its lantern of salvation?
Did you see it?
It trailed sparks
as it struck the eternal dome,
roaring to be lifted up, let in.
Then consumed with its search
it disappeared sailing across
the rim of the world.
Did you see it?
Was it you who viewed
that glowing ember step through
death’s guarded portal?
Or was it you that watched it fall
cascading, whispering on its journey
to the ground and rest
in the bosom of Mother Earth.
I wonder at that journey,
I wondered if it was you.

Copyright: 2010, Donald Harbour

A world in a raindrop

I caught a drop of rain in my hand,
watching a universe course and traverse
the creases in my palm.

The weight of eternity bore down upon me,
a shouldered rucksack of forever
treasured in a speck of water.

How many worlds did I command?
How many lives lived with love, tragedy,
hope, ignorance, did I hold?

A Kabbala of truth written in the moisture,
the simple knowing that I did not know,
mystical, terrifying and incomprehensible.

As quickly as it had arrived it was gone,
absorbed by the existence that held it,
I the dark primal edge of the unknown.

That is when epiphany shook me to my very soul.
We all are worlds unto ourselves, raindrops to be
absorbed by the flowing waters in the Cusp of Creation.

Copyright: 2009, Donald Harbour

The Watchers

When you are alone,
there are often those times
that the silence is pierced,
a heaviness in the air,
an oh, so slight pressure
upon the senses, the nerves, the mind.
A movement across the ceiling,
Trembling in the darken corners.
A calling, an awakening
In some forgotten part of psyche.
Hidden in the primitive recesses
of the distant ancestral past
it sleeps, waiting to be summoned.
Once again you are huddled around
a blazing fire the spirits dancing
upon the cavern walls, and you fear.
The neck becomes tight, painful,
the scalp prickly with anticipation.
You are now so very close to them.
All the past, all the lives lived,
can be held in a grain of sand,
the prism of a rain drop,
the gentle whisper of a breeze,
darkness of night, a shadow.
No god, no talisman, no shaman
can hold back the knowledge
the feeling in your bile filled gut,
that you are being watched.
Are we really alone?

Copyright: 2008, Donald Harbour