Free The Book of Counted Sorrows by Dean Koontz Page B

Life

    In the fields of life, a harvest
    Sometimes comes far out of season,
    When we thought the earth was old
    And could see no earthly reason
    To rise for work at break of dawn,
    And put our muscles to the test.
    With winter here and autumn gone,
    It just seems best to rest, to rest.
    But under winter fields so cold,
    Wait the dormant seeds of seasons
    Unborn, and so the heart does hold
    Hope that heals all bitter lesions.
    In the fields of life, a harvest.

    The Weight

    We have a weight to carry
    And a distance we must go.
    We have a weight to carry,
    A destination we can't know.
    We have a weight to carry
    And can put it down nowhere.
    We are the weight we carry
    From there to here to there.

    The Train Leaves The Station

    All of us are travelers lost,
    Our tickets arranged at a cost
    Unknown but beyond our means.
    This odd itinerary of scenes
    - Enigmatic, strange, unreal -
    Leaves us unsure how to feel.
    No postmortem journey is rife
    With more mystery than life.

    A Delicious Walk

    The tired dog lies licking its feet.
    Absorbed, quiet, and so discrete.

    You would be wrong in assuming
    It is engaged in mere grooming.
    You can tell by the canine smiles,
    It's tasting the mem'ry of miles.
    Habit Makes Destiny

    On the road that I have taken,
    One day, walking, I awaken,
    Amazed to see where I have come,
    Where I'm going, where I'm from.

    This is not the path I thought.
    This is not the place I sought.
    This is not the dream I bought,
    Just a fever of fate I've caught.

    I'll change highways in a while,
    At the crossroads, one more mile.
    My path is lit by my own fire.
    I'm going only where I desire.

    On the road that I have taken,
    One day, walking, I awaken.
    One day, walking, I awaken,
    On the road that I have taken.

    Pedal To The Metal

    Hope is the destination that a seek.
    Love is the road that leads to hope.
    Courage is the motor that drives us.
    We travel out of darkness into faith.

    Even on this map of infinite complexity,
    Only one highway is worth following,
    One route worth the time behind the wheel,
    One arrival rewarding to the traveler.

    No rest stop can offer rest assured
    To equal the peace at highway's end,
    When you've driven hard and well,
    With purpose, in search of meaning.

    Remembering When We Didn't Expect To Live Forever

    We once ate great half-raw steaks
    And washed them down with martinis.
    Eggs and bacon for breakfast,
    Sweet or sour cream over Minis.
    We drove fast and free of belts.
    We smoked if we wanted to.
    We finished the day with a brandy
    And occasionally even two.
     Now we know the folly of those ways,
    The dangers of those innocent days.
    Salad now, and a glass of iced tea.
    We shudder at the mention of Brie.
    Seatbelts, airbags, sugarless gum.
    Count every calorie, know the sum.
    Clogged arteries are not forgiving.
    Clogged or not - this isn't living.

    A Roundness

    Life is a gift that must be given back,
    And joy should arise from its possession.
    It's too damned short, and that's a fact.
    Hard to accept, this earthly procession
    To final darkness is a journey done,
    Circle completed, work of art sublime,
    A sweet melodic rhyme, a battle won.

    Remembered Dreams
     
    Your face, as no other face,
    Populates remembered dreams.
    Your arms, as no other place:
    Landscape to remembered dreams.
    Your heart, as no other heart.
    Your eyes, as no other eyes,
    In you each dream must start.
    With you the real world dies
    And my life thereafter lies
    Only in remembered dreams.

    Academic And Novelist As Abbott And Costello

    You deconstruct. I'll reconstruct.
    You analyze. I'll catalyze
    New brews from old elixirs.
    You mix it up. I'll fix it up.
    You break it down. I'll play the clown
    At one of your faculty mixers.
    You challenge style. I'll smile awhile.
    You find the theme. I'll soon redeem
    My work from any classroom trickster.

    The Chair

    Tremulous skeins of destiny
    Flutter so ethereally
    Around me - but then I feel
    Its embrace is that of steel.

    Short Story

    A gasp of