Something likes to watch

These moments that arise,
With little question,
Come all to long between,
The slowly falling flecks of dust,
Reflect in the morning sunlight,
With a child's laughter,
Filling the air in the back ground,
One, two, five, seven, nine,
These days go by all to fast,
To busy to sit down in the warm green grass,
There is something about life,
That likes to sit back and watch,
The glowing fire flies,
And beyond, a slowly setting dusk.

Vademecum

This is the second draft of a new poem Iam working on let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions

Sitting here you and I, still young,
Unfettered by worldly pursuits,
Gazing upon the oblique sight of men-
Lying before us, its very nature requires
Phrases of silent apocalypse, and un-
Ending winter touching the beauty
Of frozen blue lips,

And you with your downy eyes, and
Lofty hair sit still, motionless, statuesque,
The whole time your face covering you heart
Like a betrayed lover’s mask, all but one
Single ball rolling down your face,

So here, on this night, I in some way
Have departed all of you, For this
Figment of manly sight, smile, laugh,
And frown, has cause to leave, to find
A place, and lay down. Away from the
Starless skies, noisy cars and rambling voices
But all for naught, if not with you,
My dear friend,

Having dined in halls with kings, sang with
Merry bard, and danced with sheep,
Shall we now depart to our own roads?
Or stay to terry for a moment, for the days
Have grown short, and I fear our paths
Will not converge again,

But in these last moments let us pause,
And ponder on this crystal scene,
Fragile, like brittle white porcelain,
I fear to speak that I might break it,
This scene, this scene, oh that something
Sits in between, this perturbing sight,
This most awesome dream, How may I
Leave friends and acquaintances locked
In cages of instantly gratifying paradise?

Oh our kings and queens how you have failed,
To good, to guide, to reason! Oh treason to
Your people! You who rule to serve have lost
Your sight, unfit for crown or royal purple gown,
We must ask you to step down, flocks wandering
With Sheppard gone, the walls and meadows in
Complete disrepair. A deepening sight of softly
Falling despair. In so deep a dream I can see it on
Your face, rolling down rolling down, Then-
Dropping to somewhere lost in the blowing sand.

one of my favorites

This is one of my favorite poems and writers, Alfred Lord Tennyson "Ulysses"