Snowflakes in Dreams

Today as I left work snowflakes were falling. It seemed so fitting to send out the last day of November, and bring in the first day of December. It was a rare, mini lake effect squall that decided to take an unconventional direction off of Lake Superior. It by now is enough to put a generous dusting on my car as I look outside at my car, though as first left work around 10:30pm there were only a few lonely intricate tiny flakes that had landed alone on my icy cold car window. As I looked out at the frozen crystals amid chilled air of only single digits above zero Fahrenheit, I was given the inspiration for the following poem.


Winter, it seems as everyone knows,
is all about having cold toes,
breathing chilled air, and getting a cold nose,
But meanwhile I dream in broken prose,
as is my life, and as it always goes.

And so the moments pass as fall gives way
the sheets of glass, water becomes today,
The moments last, each one I pray,
will bring me, guide me, to grasp someday.

Grasp the meaning of my life
and where shall come my beautiful wife?
Each day it seems my speculation so rife,
with each moment pointed as a knife.

Winter flakes floating alone.
In renegade directions, on a day no sun shown,
One by one, with no chorus or tone,
each one lands apart, though sometimes blown.

There will be days of grey, so dreary,
that you might become sad, or sometimes weary.
Embattled moments some far from cheery,
lead us to thoughts at times so leery,

Though now it seems that in your head,
the leery ways you sometimes lead,
are no longer here and seems they're dead.
Those times you realize joy instead.

Many moments given to the wind,
Given to God, your mind has opened,
despite the cold sadness has thinned,
and within cold cheeks you now have grinned

Life has its ups and downs which sometimes make,
life so hard that its hard to take,
life can be like that of one snowflake,
living tossed and blown until you ache.

In those times it might seem we are alone,
frozen cold, and less than known,
miles apart from another home,
In a new life we will all call our own.

Though from formation to disintegration,
We are living beautiful lives within our nation,
We are so unique so varied and full of elation,
though tumbled and tossed until cessation.

Another day will come our way,
as often said and some might say,
flakes will always melt amid sun ray,
like dust you are and taken away,
snowflakes to water and back again one day.

The Forged Sword

(Prose)
In the land of uncertainty, the young squire was in need of something good with which to fight his battles. He only knew not what. He was ridiculed for his desire, and his lack of skill and foresight. Some would call him naive and weak. Though that which was good, maliable in his heart and soul made him more powerful than any one knew. He longed to be as brave and courageous as the handsome Knights he saw proceeding onto thier perilous journeys, in search of truth, and what was right, and the boy was drawn to that life like a steed to a refreshing stream.

In the beginning, It was not much more than a hardened material, all but maliable in most every way. It was metal, steel, ferrous, but not strong or worthy of anything positive, until those clever enough took thier knowlege of many years, trials, failures and gained experience to thrust it into the hellish fires to concentrate this otherwise useless form. From there it was poured into molds, templates of what a good weapon might be. It was still not strong enough to fight the battles that lay before it, more punishment must lay ahead for this tool of righteousness. It must be strong, and rigid, but not brittle,... elastic and tolerant of the clash of other torments yet not break. It was not ready. Before the sword could find itself capable in battles, in defending truth, and the unmistakable duty that lay ahead, it must continue its rigorous punishment, relentless pounding and drudgery must be inserted into the metal, and with each pounding, it became stronger. The hellish fires from which It came, would not be enough as well. It must undertake more fire, among infernal chambers, bellowing the toxic product which among no thing could survive; but the sword. The sword enveloped again and again among the fires and brimstone, plunged into cold water as if a tortured captive, taken out and beaten again and again, as if the slave in a barbaric quary. It as if the punishment that no man could endure should it countiued, untill if as by some finnal cerimony the wet stone grinds the once rough object into a perfect blade.

Out of the dismal trenches and dank caves comes something beautiful. Strong, but flexible, powerful and relentless, yet true and righteous in the hands of noble man. From the depths of the earth it was dark, yet after the trial it has become irridescent, a brilliant weapon. Fit for the battles, ready to win what it has been meant to win.

So did the squire go through similar trials on his path to the sword. Humiliation from his inexperience, eventually faded away to triump in his inestimable skills. He sought on amid great dangers and struggles to assume his desires and his fate. That which might have been humiliation, or discouragement, became like the temper of the sword, it made him stonger, yet more flexible. The torture of human nature, trials he bore and slavery to his cause, all set him in motion to become something much more than a man He was now a knight, like the forged sword.

Broken Stallion (prose)

I am now but haven't always been,
A broken stallion

Its Currently 2:24 in the AM.
I cant sleep.
Thoughts of the women I have known, lost, and missed
sift through the corners of my mind.
I may as well invoke production from my thoughts amid insomnia.

Her persona was incomparable, in graciousness, kindness, virtue,
She was beautiful, ravishing,
her lips like sugar.
She was human, imperfect, quirky, Though I knew she could not be anything less than beautiful.

She was youth, I was there to see and cherish, though where is she?
I think I know.
Hey I see you.
Now I don't.
There she is!
I couldn't be more wrong.
She's perfect for me,
She wants me gone.
She likes me now,
I'm just a friend. Dissapointment sings a song.

I would scale the corners of the earth for her, and she waits for me there.
Though I'm not there, and I cannot reach her
I don't know where she is, and I don't want to run anymore.
I've crashed in my empty stall.
Exhausted.


I am now, though I haven't always been.... a broken stallion.
Oh, dismal, dismal abyss, I would sink into,
if I had to think of all the miles I have yet to run to find you.
Food might seem tasteless,
the music wafting through the air, unfulfilling,

but the verdant pastures in which I see the two of us dancing in my dreams keeps me alive.

Flashback to years ago...
I once was stubborn,
I was determined to live my life so adolescently,
thinking that I could get things in my way,
in my time, and they would be just as we all want them.
Why would I care that love would be my reward.
Everyone would be happy. And all would be fine in my wide open spaces.

Love;
Where she is now?
I don't know,
I have all the time in the world.
Or I thought I did.

She was a beautiful rider.
The first;
Her hair flowed over my back, and she lovingly took the reins.
Though being so young and inexperienced with that kind of beauty and care,
I immediately reeled in revolt,
Bucking and shaking her completely from my life.
I wanted to be free.
Live my life sailing on the wind under my feet.
I could not be bothered with love.
It wasn't right.
I was wild.
Too young.

Upset, yes, yet still impervious to real emotions.
The days and years pass as I roam the countryside...
I am ready again to allow a maiden on my shoulders,
again, but not for long as my heart is not ready.
I am briefly awestruck by beauty ,
I yearn for love too and that briefly calms me,
but I soon remember the desire I have even in my stubbornness,
to find the passion within my life,
however the stubbornness is overpowering,
and I cannot help but shake her from my back.

as I long for my own life living in green pastures with all the time in the world to find that ideal love and reward for my soul.
Looking back at the scene though I'm perplexed and disgusted, thinking that I could have fallen for the same trick again.
She is shaking crying.
I cannot care,
I have held too much selfishness,
I look one more time, and run off.


Its another season, Im curious again,
and this time things seem different this year,
I can swear I'm looking through another pair of eyes,
I remember that brief instant when I enjoyed the caress of a womans hand on my shoulders. It keeps me going and I wonder If a maiden really was the passion I've wanted.
Though she is gone now and I cant be bothered with that direction again.

Soon a new interest possesses me,
and she is taken by my own beauty and grandness,
Sweeping her up,
I trot around with her about me dangling her feet,
thinking proudly as if everything is as it was in the pasture,
she soon discovers on her trial that I am not yet broken,
nor yet trained,
she hasn't much power over me,
and I am still stubborn and bullheaded in my motions.
Though I don't mind her being there.
However my contributions are unpredictable and useless to her
and as she leaves my back,
I am left upset,
She wants nothing to do with me and she's is gone,

She is with another stallion now.
I see her riding in the distance and I'm happy to see the two running around.
I though the grass toward them,
but see in the meantime I've been put into a smaller pen
and I can no longer roam the open countryside on my own accord.
Somehow I would rather stay,
I gaze jealously into the distance seeing the stallions
and happy maidens riding around in equestrian bliss.

I want that. I am now a broken stallion.
Slowly but surely my spirit has been crushed.
Though the old was untrimmed, stubborn, unwise and care free.
The new spirit yearns for something greater.
Though once a stubborn stallion in every way,

That has become overshadowded by the wonder of that what may be love.
A broken stallion willing to be smitten by a fair lady.
A desire to carry that maiden on my shoulders,
A vision of true love.
Perhaps she is one who will return to find that I have been broken,
ready for her to enjoy my service in this life.

I now desire to make her ultimately happy.
I will turn for her as best to serve on every tug on my rein,
all my reeling has evaporated, and been replaced by gentle plodding on her pace not my own. That has never worked before as I have realized...
running as she requests,
towing where she needs me to carry the weight.
And I will do this, O so willingly.
If it could only be true.

It is she who will know how to take care of me,
make me feel usefull,
keep my spirit young and enthusiastic
even into my old age.
She who will caress my side,
and run her fingers through my hair
and into the mane over my head.
Shivers.
Why cant it be true?
I cannot think of a more wonderful place to be. The open pastures are overrated, when the thought of this service enters my mind.

But as I said I am Exhausted. The spirit although reformed and changed remains deflated for the meantime and with that a stallion cannot run now,
The chain of events weight heavy on me
I'm wait for my strength to return.

I am a Broken Stallion
Waiting for a maiden
who is ready for the man
who is willing to be her ultimate and faithfull servant.

Like wild stalion; as in a way I had been in the past. \ My spirit is allready broken. Perhaps that what you desire is allready here... I'm ready to be a servant, I'm ready for true love. I only wish I knew where I had to run to find that now. I'm so exhausted, emotionally, physically, and now I will go rest as I think I can finally, the insomnia will drift away as I dream of roaming the land with my own maiden and maybe I'll find my fair rider in a new day.

Poem

Melt My Heart - The Bitter Cold

Tonight it's so cold and the silence is all around
the snow is so deep and in my chest a beating sound
I trek through the woods cutting a snowy path
my legs thrust through the snow in a snowy bath

I disrupt the silence with a calm sort of hush.
Hush, I think, calm my heart, freeze my feet.
Cold brings warmth and darkness light.
A Light my way the moon brings tonight.

Its hard to say why
some things will melt in the cold
Its hard to say
It will take away some memories of old
Its hard to
take my memories of warmth and of you I've been told

But melt away will my dreams of you tonight,
in the bitter cold on this winter's night
in the solitude and silence, I shall have time to think
though no longer hear your sweet voice or imagine your wink

So unlike the memories were like bitter wine,
the bitter cold treats me better than did such memories of mine.
I crash through the brush and stop for a second to enjoy the hush
crushing the snow under my feet...I long again for that gentle blush.

Blushed my cheeks and warm again my feet,
I moved my body and warmth again reminds me of more things sweet.
Alive for today, ready for tomorrow,
I believe that at this moment there is no reason for sorrow.

Among this snow and frozen land my sadness has melted
Melted among the crisp snow all glistening,
glistening because among the stars aurora dance,
because they dance
Dance do I oh blest
Blest this night,
night for dancing
yes for dancing.
Dancing among the snow I would be if I went so tired now.
Think I will go dancing tomorrow inside where it is warmer anyhow.
right after I rush home and catch a wink I think.

Steve H.
Duluth Minnesota

Song: All I Need

composer: Steven Holmstadt (2002)

All I need, is some kind of piece of mind,
not this ridiculous game. I need you.
If I bleed, its because I have lived for you
not for fortune or fame. I need you.

And the things you give. All I've worked for, lies in you, ohhhh....
............(instrumental)
I need you.
............(higher key)
whoahhh no, Ohhh yeah...
I just dont know her, At least not yet...

All I need is, If I bleed it's, someone to know
All I need is, and all I bleed for, is someone, who knows me...

All I need, is some kind of piece of mind
not this ridiculous game, I need you ....... Oh
And If I bleed, its because I have lived for you,
not for fortune or fame. I need you.

And the things you give. All I've worked for, lies in you

When all you need, is some kind of piece of mind
not this ridiculous game, and you need me.

And the things I give, when all you've worked for, lies in me

ohhh
.......(alternate chords)
All I need, is some kind of piece of mind
not this ridiculous game, I need you.
All you need is, some kind of piece of mind
not this ridiculous game, You'll need me.
When all we'll need, is love by and for each other
not by another name, That's all I need....

2002 © Steven Holmstadt published 2006