That kind of dream —
You somehow know how to levitate.
Magically and wonderfully,
Just lift off the ground,
While peering down upon hapless mortals
Struggling to make their way.

An intoxicating sense of freedom –
In the air, no restraints…boundaries no more.
Daily cares long forgotten,
And you, an eagle, soar
A crescendo in a symphony.

Then, intensity breaks the spell.
You awaken…to lingering darkness
And feeble light from the window —
Icarus falls back to reality.

All Poetry — Henry Barnard

We all experience it — you cannot speak.
Something deep inside acts up,
And will not be denied.

You have this choking sensation
Like something stuck – burning — in the throat.

You must wait for it to pass
Before you can speak again.
An emotion so raw and primitive it paralyzes.

Sorrow, sadness, despair —
All weeping together…
A dam of emotion let loose.

It’s humanity’s response to personal tragedy
When the only possible response…
Letting go your emotions;
Letting those wild horses run free.

Welcome to humanity.

All Poetry — Henry Barnard

The sea laps upon the shore
Little waves are no more.
While time winds its wily way,
We are only made of clay.

Life?  Life a gift unique,
But over in a blink.
Our prospects, very bleak, sink,
As the waves galore
Continue on ever more.

All Poetry — Henry Barnard

First Love

Vulnerable alone.

So the mind casts back in time
And finds you.

But there is no face,
And no hand,
No heart.

What I would do
For a few moments together…
Just a few.

What would I say?
I miss you, oh, I miss you so – yes.

I miss the we that we were,
Once upon a time…
Stars in my eyes.

I would, yes I would,
Cling to those moments
Before they slip away.

But there are no moments,
Flown long ago…
Not even a whisper.

Vulnerable alone.

All Poetry — Henry Barnard

My Story

Psst, between you and me,
I pretend the little white butterfly,
It’s really you!

Flutters about me in a protective way,
With the lightest of touch.

I know what it’s trying to say:
I love you still – forever — very much.

I know you cannot hear me true,
But I do too – you — oh so much.

All Poetry — Henry Barnard