Secret Place

As I sit here at the window
In my place of quietude
I see the sun on the horizon
But of it's rising or setting, I cannot perceive.
As I silently peer at the distant light,
I feel at one with the universe.
For I am it's child
In the silence, am I able to see the beauty
of the painted canvas, which portrays life
Marred though by the cobwebs of damp Autumn.
Which entrap the question "Why??"

At morning tide, the boughs hang very heavy, with dew,
That drops sorrow upon the ground.
Come winter, with your frozen hand,
And touch my heart, that it may turn to stone.
For without feeling, there is no pain.

Copyright © 2002 S.Cutter