DONALD SCHUSTER

What stories cover the land
That prayer in the fertile valley
made the image of man
One that is both all things possible
...

Here lies a life waiting like an emptied balloon holding memories flattened by time,
edges carved out by a long human life. All he can do now is try to find purchase so, he can enter a universe he never grasped before.
He was a good man of sorts who had as many warts as any
but on balance toiled even prospered for what he knew was right.
...

Life is a balance
so, some have said
But
what if my life
...

Thousands of fortnights ago, long before makers of myths put words onto paper, heaven stopped to make a small valley and the sharp mountains beyond. They are rugged and majestic, standing tall and silent covered with a pure white snow and adorned with deep green titans. To the east lies an ocean so blue its' vast emptiness defies meaning.
Countless rivers and little streams flow, helping the earth bring forth an abundance so rich the sky is filled with the scent of cherry and peach.
But history is not just rivers and trees, it's the journey of messengers who fill the quest with dreams of heaven. The purest of souls found this a paradise and rested here taking to life, not to conquer but to find harmony, to share the bounty with all God's creatures. There was no time, only life.
If the early quest was pure, newer messengers arrived with flawed notions. They thought they were pitted against the wilderness struggling to find purchase for their restless vision. Ill-timed battles raged with a blurred intent.
...

Grandfathered by time
He
bent
listless drunk
...

She digs into the soft earth
With hands guided
by faith
That all things deserve
...

High on a hill it was said this tree
guards a little boy who went to heaven too early,
a future that did not happen.
I will never know if he was big or small, talkative or quiet, handsome or brave,
...

Let us turn from the shade that has begun to engulf us
Sending our promise of freedom and compassion
Into the corners of stubborn Intolerance.
The promise of freedom is our dearest friend
...

There are times when I
Feel the hand of death
Holding my hand
a grim story - yes.
...

A storm has passed Leaving
a gentle quiet a blanket of snow beside its path
it covers all of what I do not know
and wished,
...

In the night of the morning
as the desert drifted past
leaving only the cold dust
to keep a memory alive.
...

Dark with a swollen spell
Cleansing a thousand worries,
The wild eyes of imagination bloomed like
A thousand flowers
...

I've known you way too long, since before my flower bloomed
When I was just a seed my imagination rooted
by nature's call,
Years have passed since you've tried to hold my hand
...

There are times when I
feel the hand of death
holding my hand
A grim story - yes
...

I walk along this path
That was once wider
Yet as age has made
Narrow the climb steeper
...

Before the spark of imagination
strikes the wallet of emotion
I ask what treasure would be charmed?
...