Windows, The Vale of Soul-Making & Other Poetry

By Daniel Leach

Featured in New Lyre - Winter 2021

Windows 

In March, when the shadows are long, I am walking 
Down the streets of the city I knew long ago, 
And see as in dreams empty windows there staring 
As if to draw the soul into their darkness, 
And imagine a figure sometimes is appearing 
From the other side of the thin veil of the day, 
Or the depths of some dark pool under the psyche 
Where all of our dreams and memories sleep. 
And I dare not even to look for too long, 
But even less bear all the bright world around me, 
Dingy and paltry and false its belief 
In the images floating on its moving surface. 
The birds chirp a song now of urgent creation, 
The soft, warm winds breathe a new life in all things, 
From somewhere beyond where all of this world 
Has long vanished or perhaps is never to be. 
And those figures from dark windows silently peering, 
Are perhaps spirits of my own past soul, 
Calling to me in this time as if asking 
What purpose it all was if but an illusion? 
But other souls walk down the streets of their dreams 
Past the windows that beckon into that same world, 
And I feel them as they wander warily by, 
And all of their fear and mysterious urge-- 
And wonder if I am already a spirit 
That appears for a moment in the darkness staring 
From some other window in some other dream. 

Continue reading “The Vale of Soul-Making”, “Forests of Night”, and “Stones”.

The Vale of Soul-Making 

Down from some dim, distant star it glimmers, 
    Through the leafy shadows of this vale, 
But unnoticed in their eyes it shimmers 
    As they make love in the moonlight pale; 
        Never heeding, not yet knowing, 
        A new soul already growing, 
    That will soon its fist bright, sunny morning hail.