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The glowing ball of yellow light
Reflects from the restless waters,
And glistens upon the dark blue hull,
Of the ship as it passes.
The tainted aura surrounds the majestic beacon
A lone symbol of the liberties to come,
A monolith expressing the honor and justice,
Of that place many hold so dear.
Perhaps the journey is complete
Or perhaps it has just begun.
This lone marker stands
Against the sea and the tides of time.
The elegant behemoth sheds light
Upon the path to independence,
The promised land lies before us
Personified by this unconquerable monument.
Freedom is but a few steps away
But there still lies water in between,
A small elemental obstacle
The monolith has overcome.
That lone beacon shines faith
Relieving my heart of all regrets,
The loss of family and friends
And the place I called home.
Soon the sun will set
Shading the amazing obelisk
From my eye but the picture will live on
In the recesses of my mind,
An image of immaculate beauty
And irreplaceable strength.
-Gregory McCauley (1999)
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If only she knew,
What I’ve been through.
The toil and torment,
The time which I spent,
The unending pain,
From which I now refrain.
If only she knew,
What I’ve been through.
The unadulterated joy,
Like a child with a toy,
The excessive pleasure,
Far beyond any measure.
If only she knew,
What I’ve been through.
The sky of bright
An amazing light,
The seas of dark,
Upon which I left no mark.
If only she knew,
What I’ve been through.
My fruitful imagination,
A master of strange creation.
The images of my eye,
Pictures for which I cry.
If only she knew,
What I’ve been through.
The hours of ceaseless thought,
During which my brain fought
Trying to unravel the clues,
Leaving me singing the blues.
If only she knew,
What I’ve been through.
The many sleepless nights,
Removing all my might.
Abandoning an empty shell,
My suffering mind fell.
If only she knew,
What I’ve been through.
Maybe something would be
Different here for me.
But since it’s not,
I must accept my plot.
-Gregory McCauley (1999)
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The boundless void stretches to infinity
Nothing left – only me.
This small spire upon which I sit,
Is insignificant compared to the overwhelming pit.
The pure emptiness seeps into my soul,
Burrowing through my being like a mole.
It can not be stopped by any force-
It is indefatigable and determined upon its course.
Slowly it digs to the very heart of my life,
This cold, evil, living knife.
There is no pain for the wound is numb,
The shock of such vulnerability has left me dumb.
I can not perceive all that has happened,
Only that it will surely bring me to an end.
No more will I be,
Once this darkness is through with me.
But indeed I must admit,
This is a just ending that sure does fit.
For only to this void am I lost,
And to society it is no great cost.
-Gregory McCauley (1999)
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Deep cracks pattern the dried mud,
Which once held soil of fertile land.
A horrifying puzzle written in earth
Giving testimony to the power of life
Nature holds in her caring hand,
Which can crush life as easily
As it was given in the beginning.
The plains, once richly invested
With countless varieties of life,
Lie now barren, ravaged by the wind,
The glaring sun singed the leaves
Of the teeming plants that once stood.
The dry heat agonizingly brought
The flow of life to an end.
Rivers beds once plentifully flowing
From the mountains near at hand
Are merely gardens of worn stones
Falling into the cracks as the crevasses
Grow with the ceaseless summer
Expanding with each new day of heat.
The shady clouds billow in the distance
Veiling this dry, forbidding land,
Slowly consuming the waning light
Which rains down upon the sand,
Leaving only small streams of bright,
Which seek to cast a faint glow,
Fading slower than the rest,
Still illuminating until all is lost
To the ominous spirits of weather
Which come forth to explore
And to replenish the land
With that life-giving force
Which many hold so dear.
-Gregory McCauley (1999)
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The darkness illuminates all things sheathed in obscurity,
Casting shadows upon those never completely seen.
Details and blemishes are masked by the unending veil,
The waning light shines only upon a simple scene,
Leaving behind the impression of an unerring object,
A perfect form.
Sharp edges are blended,
Small dents are hidden.
All that remains is the basic outline
Of that which was once riddled with scars
From wars long past
And plagues lost in the mists of time.
Only the mind can remember such things from beyond,
The small details usually forfeited to the beast of time,
Through books and stories that survive miraculously
The ceaseless trials of time.
Many details are lost in the depths of the dark sea
That endlessly beats upon the soft clay of one’s mind
Eroding away at the cliffs of the brain
All that remains is that which is immaculate
An uncorrupted form of the events and trials once encountered.
The physical form is worn to a simple complexity,
Leaving one to feel unadulterated emotion,
The untainted conscious reactions to the things left behind.
Only when one attempts to modify such simplicity,
Adding innumerable details in order to convey,
That which is incommunicable,
Does one cause all meaning to be lost-
The simple form to become muddled.
Only the darkness of time can hide
The imperfections of human perception,
Blending together the shadows of all things involved,
Removing even the smallest imperfections,
Leaving behind a faultless obelisk-
A lone buoy drifting upon the sea of time,
A monolith to stand strong against the trials to come,
Offering direction to generations in the future-
Illuminating the path through the darkness
Which brought about their enormous elegance.
-Gregory McCauley (1999)
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Life seems lost,
All direction is gone,
But what is this small glint
Which captures my eye?
Does it lead to an end
Which I would like to achieve?
Or is it nothing,
A false lure,
Waiting for an ignorant individual-
To fall victim to the masses?
Is it just a mirage,
A figment of my imagination?
Or is it a true vision
Showing a way to that I wish to find?
Is it a distant star,
Untouchable in the vast depths of space?
Or is it an achievable location,
Just a few minutes of walking away?
Is it a wish
That can never be fulfilled?
Or is it simply an objective
That I may indeed reach?
That twinkling light,
In the distance far off
Toward which I now head,
Seems to be tangible.
The glow becomes brighter
As I approach the realization
That my dream indeed has
Become more than a mere illusion.
Perhaps all is not lost
As this last glimmer of hope
Sheds light upon a path
Which I had not yet seen.
-Gregory McCauley (1999)
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The small pearls roll
Down the soft cheeks,
Leaping into a free fall
Until they join the many
Long since shed
From those crystal eyes
Upon the moist soil.
A small pool forms-
An accumulation of
The world’s pain
And overpowering joy.
The fine drops cause
Faint ripples to spread
Through the surface
Rupturing the calm
That once prevailed.
These humble waves
Give testimony to
All drops past
And premonitions of
Those still to come.
The iridescent glow
Of the troubled waters
Provides evidence of
Many pearls: of wisdom,
Of loss, of discovery,
That have fallen before
And now reside in
The visionary lake.
The soft mirror
Reflects the tears
That once joined
As one in the sea,
And the creators of
These irreplaceable pearls,
Incalculable in their numbers.
The pain, torment, turmoil,
The passion, joy, enthusiasm,
The knowledge, power, and grace
All combine to form
A single mass-
The experience of life.
-Gregory McCauley (1999)
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The moon glistens in the starry expanse
Illuminating the small feathery clouds
Which dot the endless night sky.
So small are we three friends
Compared to the ceaseless void
Hovering just above our heads
A miniscule distance from us
Given the immensity of itself.
We three walk upon the barren road,
Unsure of which way we shall head
But uncaring of the enormity above
As we walk together joined arm in arm.
A journey of intellectual pondering
Discussing the possibilities
No matter how odd our thoughts
Enjoying the company which we keep.
Connected as one continuous entity,
Exploring various thoughts within
And sharing many ideas without.
Dogs may bark and howl in the dark
While people work upon their cars
But nothing can disturb the peace
Which envelops these three
Dedicated to the calm journey
Upon which they soon embark.
A captivating scene of simple beauty
Forever encapsulated in the chambers of the mind.
-Gregory McCauley (1999)
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The rain falls upon the earth’s soft soil,
Washing away all signs of past toil,
Smoothing the malleable surface below
And ridding the dirt of all that is fallow,
Feeding the buried seeds of life
Which lie hidden under the strife.
The dry soil becomes moist in the rain
Sheltering many from the unconquerable chain
That binds elements to their season
Leaving life dehydrated without a reason
Abandoning the insignificant seeds
To death, turmoil, and disease.
But some of the small sparks thrive
Beating the obstacles and tending to strive
Against all that may come to hinder
That existence these seeds engender,
Through all which has come so far
As harrowing as the thick, black tar.
The small beings of pure existence
Push through what seems a great distance,
Seeking the tender touch of light
For which they must now fight
In order to continue further on,
Not falling victim like a hapless pawn.
These tiny flares of energy indefatigable
Work against all things that try to lull
Them into a false sense of the world,
Beckoning them to remain curled
In the warm, moist soil that surrounds
And the dank darkness that abounds.
Ignoring the temptation to listen
The gleam of light does glisten,
Breaking through the mud above
Spreading it leaves, the wings of a dove,
Capturing the last drops of the falling rain
Basking in the glow of the rainbow’s train.
-Gregory McCauley (1999)
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The sun rises over the rolling horizon
Lighting the land which stretches
For miles on end with plush trees
And overwhelming numbers of life
Venture in the crowded underneath.
Small drops of dew fall from leaves
Pearls of pure water fall into placid ponds,
Disrupting the transparent surface
With small ripples emanating from impact
Skewing the reflections which once rested
Upon the soft mirror of those still waters.
Small feet place pressure on the tips
Of the leaves overhanging the puddles
Awaiting relief upon the initiation of flight
Lifting the small legs from their perch
And relieving the stress of feather-light weight.
Soft wings spread, trembling with the current of life,
Illuminating the world with a new colorful splash
Adding shades and patterns to the dark greens
Of the undergrowth which lies quietly below.
Light dances off the playful patterns
Of metallic color which covers the skin,
A consistency of fine, tender silk
Yet the strength to enable free flight.
In a single fluid motion the creature departs,
Leaving behind a nearly intangible cloud
Of sparkling gold dust, the only trace left
Where those minuscule feet took respite.
Through the underbrush and above the trees
The small beast flies with fluid ease
Through the invisible liquid medium
Of the dawning light cast by the sun,
Crimson and yellow shading the sky.
Silky wings of flight float upon the air
Gently stirring the cool morning sky,
Vibrant colors patterning the film-like
Translucent skin which stretches over
Those thin, beautiful wings of butterflies.
-Gregory McCauley (1999)
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A plan falls into ruin; a foundation gives way,
Under the pressure caused by a great schism
Of the dark earth underneath, unseen by some,
Foreseen by many, but ill-fated hopes still
The worried hearts and minds of those not at ease.
Now the division has become fully apparent,
And no simple solution can be proposed.
An elegant plan and a dream laid to waste
Due to the pitiful arrogance of some,
The painful ignorance of others.
Each individual stands with one view,
Their own view, of precious victory
Emblazoned deep within their minds.
This utopia is the sole goal for which they strive,
Some may coexist; others are doomed to fail
But which will triumph is known by none –
Just that in the process, one side may fall victim
And crumble underneath the footsteps of the goddess Nike.
The truce flag is impossible to raise
Without giving up all for which was worked.
One side may rise to prosperity, immaculate,
But the other will fall, a pile of rubble,
Another ruin to be kicked aside until many years past,
When perhaps it will be once again brought to light.
A restless tension falls upon the ashes,
A dim hope that the embers within
Will once again be set aflame –
But the prospects are utterly dim,
The battle has been laid to rest
But will the foundation once again stand in time,
Or will the stained rubble remain
Covering the signs of past glory?
-Gregory McCauley ( 2000)
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Burgeoning leaves
Allude to the coming days;
The warmth of the sun
That now shines down upon thee
Bringing about such changes-
The characteristics of spring.
The deathly pale sticks
Give forth small buds,
A prelude to the leaves
And beauty to come-
A harbinger of insurmountable life.
You bask in the sun,
A sponge for the rays of light,
Absorbing the warmth offered
And purifying the world around you.
Your branches reach toward the sky,
Hoping to grab the stars,
Though your roots are planted
Firmly in the dry soil
And impossible to remove.
Your wants are too vast,
And your requirements to live
Will not allow you to reach
All that you seek.
But your role is important
In the place where you
Now stand against time.
By reaching for those illusions,
You lose sight of all things
That currently surround you,
And your own magnificent beauty.
Strive for those goals which
Offer true betterment
But do not ignore the environment
Of which you are part.
Remember your place
And strive for the tangible-
Do not lose thyself in dreams
Which aren’t achievable,
Always keep a remembrance
Of the roots beneath you.
Bask in the glory of the sun
And remember the great lights
Omnipresent in the sky
Serve their part in this world
As does everything present
On this small, living planet.
-Gregory McCauley (1999)
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Vibrant gleams flash across the sky,
Blinding me from seeing all before my eye.
Crackling shafts of pure brightness play
Unknowing and uncaring whether it is night or day.
Electricity charges the atmosphere,
Bursting out without warning like a spear,
Suddenly it slashes though the darkness
Illuminating all that surrounds us.
Dark clouds rumble and toil in the great blue sphere,
Leaving the heart and mind to fear,
That which they do not understand,
And torments them without giving a demand.
All must take refuge from the wild
Bolts that fall like the tears of a child
During a passionate tantrum
All cries drown by the thrum.
The inescapable rods of pure power
Rain down upon the Earth hour after hour
Invulnerable in their wondrous strength,
But their existence is of a finite length.
-Gregory McCauley (1999)
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The gleaming dot
Pours light upon the world
Through incalculable distances
Traversed at surprising speed
Unnoticed is the waning light
Until it is much too late.
One less in a sea of many.
The distant planet
Engulfed in flame
The victim of the bulging star
Unwanting of such demise
Unprepared for a disaster
All protection is relaxed.
One less in a sea of many.
The small fish
Swims in the vast ocean
Through the viscous water
Looking for its next meal.
The predator remains unseen
Until the fish is on its plate.
One less in a sea of many.
The elegant bird
Flies through the air
Gliding on the wind
Too near to fate
One wrong move
And all is lost.
One less in a sea of many.
The insignificant man
Treads upon the streets
Working through life
Searching for what he wants
The simple pleasures of life
But it isn’t as it should be.
One less in a sea of many.
-Gregory McCauley (1999)
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The bright sun falls from the expansive view,
Leaving the land to the darkness that nears
Giving expression to the time that flew
At a pace which everyone often fears.
The colors blend into a single hue,
Disguising the differences of all
With an almost black sky, a dark, dark blue
Only interrupted by a star’s fall.
The deepening night brings forth new, pure light
Glowing upon all things that is surrounds,
Showering the earth from dots so bright
Illuminating the life which abounds.
All things are hidden from the rays of sun,
Left only to the light of stars’ far fun.
-Gregory McCauley (1999)
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