Winter At Moon Lake
A solitary pine stands
like a lonely sentinel,
in the numbing wind.
Night flows over the pine
the way the desert sand
flows over the sphinx.
As they emerge,
the moon and the stars,
seem eternal,
but still the night
is a mute emptiness
with nothing to regret.
The distant mountains,
are witness to the centuries.
In solitude, they’re majestic,
but with feet of stone,
they’re fixed in the earth,
and they’re motionless,
with nowhere to go.
The End of a Season
Tonight the sky wears
A halo of stars,
which drift in random patterns,
like microbes in a sea.
In that sky a half-moon
is a knee bent in supplication,
but as night turns into dawn,
the moon fades away.
It will return like a fickle lover,
but not to stay.
November’s leaves
pile up at my feet,
like symbols of a termination,
the way the years pile up,
and like those dead leaves,
which are like a nemesis.
They are silent. They
have nothing to say,
but they refuse to go away.
December Evening
I live too much in the past,
but it happened so fast,
In this passing world
the illusions of the present
is where our fate is cast.
My memories are soon
Lost in eternity,
dry as a pharoah’s sarcophagus.
The stars, more distant
than the dreams of my youth,
have hidden scars,
as if they’d been abused.
My lonely maple tree
stands in a freezing wind,
a stone-like symbol of grief,
naked and now bereft
of her once comforting leaves.
About the Author
George Freek’s poem “Enigmatic Variations” was recently nominated for Best of the Net. His poem “Night Thoughts” was also nominated for a Pushcart Prize.
