By Wes Hartlieb | January 20,2015

Oh daughter of man, why fly so low
with your wings tucked in tight and your eyes nearly closed
spread wide and take wind
taste the air once again
may your triumphs be all your own
then you’ll land and survey
your fine work for the day
and maybe reach all of your goals

Soul Garden

By Wes Hartlieb | January 20, 2015

To serve is too much a price for my soul
my treasures, my freedoms I take for my own
sometimes I choose to wander and roam
other times just to adventure at home
whether choices be made, now or to come
I rely on my wit and the work I have done
spent a life plotting holes to plant fine strong trees
and grow pines that stand steady
and birch that house bees
Maple that house all your fears and regrets
and an oak that reminds you to never forget
see the dirt in your garden as an essence of self
as a medium precious, of rich warm brown wealth
it seems dirty and ever so littered with stones
despite delicate ferns that play chlorophyll poems
there’s a balance at play, with life and with death
and a precious awareness of each fleeting breath
see, the self does not drive the body machine
its a sweet symbiosis of “are” and “to be”
the garden of soul is a concert for one
with rest and crescendos, and infinite runs
no weeds, simple tending
the fences need mending
the key is beginning
and this is an ending

My Beast

By Wes Hartlieb | January 20, 2015

I battle a foul beast at dawn everyday
and he always wins and gets his way
so through the town I feast on tender flesh
I find that the innocent seem to taste best
not my visage strikes horror, but the lust and the gore
till the remnants of victims lie broken and torn
as my prey lies dying, its life stains the floor
I feel surges of power, I’m animal once more
terrible is this burden, but what fares me worse
is the pleasure I get from my unwieldy curse