Beyond Private Thoughts Poem by Thomas Bates

beyond private thoughts,
sacred in a woman's memories,
exist the limitless trials of forgiveness, when
the days quiet down.

those never-exhausted crowds
still bring her to the point of a smile, sometimes to tears.
dear, when hours die out
and there comes a procession of meaningful, echoed tones
they will finally die down, limited to a hum.

none of these are as pleasing
as are softly-spoken whimpering of small victories.
jubilation rises up
from a twitching floor
of a rusty corn field.
into the beautiful expansive skies of blue,
impressions form and leave questions of thought.

Van Gogh, my Danish friend,
did you know
that the crows you painted
above a corn field
would leave us wondering
if they were rising upward or landing?
they puzzle some of us as to what your intentions were
at that time.
were they nearing us or moving away from us?

these shifting seasons, when much is sacred
and much has no worth,
what'll we do to pass away the time, at times,
until tomorrow falls upon us?
if i may ask boldly,
is this among the saddest of mysteries?
lives are short
and leave us questioning so many things.
where are we headed to next,
and will we be rising or falling, like Gogh's post impressionistic
crows?
solidified in the earth
or drifting, losing form, in the vast oceans of forgetfulness?