Time To Say Goodbye

Time To Say Goodbye

 

 

When I am alone I sit and dream
And when I dream the words are missing
Yes I know that in a room so full of light
That all the light is missing
But I don’t see you with me, with me
Close up the windows, bring the sun to my room
Through the door you’ve opened
Close inside of me the light you see
that you met in the darkness

Time to say goodbye
Horizons are never far
Would I have to find them alone
without true light of my own with you
I will go on ships over seas
that I now know
No, they don’t exist anymore
It’s time to say goodbye

When you were so far away
I sit alone and dream of the horizon
Then I know that you are here with me, with me
Building bridges over land and sea
Shine a blinding light for you and me
To see, for us to be

Time to say goodbye
Horizons are never far
Would I have to find them alone
without true light of my own with you
I will go on ships over seas
that I now know
No, they don’t exist anymore
It’s time to say goodbye

so with you I will go
on ships over seas
that I now know
No, they don’t exist anymore
It’s time to say goodbye

so with you I will go…

kiss me

 

Winter Memories

By Mihran Kalaydjian, CHA

Consultant, Strategist, and Writer

Image

Within the circuit of this plodding life
There enter moments of an azure hue,
Untarnished fair as is the violet
Or anemone, when the spring stew them
By some meandering rivulet, which make
The best philosophy untrue that aims
But to console man for his grievences.
I have remembered when the winter came,
High in my chamber in the frosty nights,
When in the still light of the cheerful moon,
On the every twig and rail and jutting spout,
The icy spears were adding to their length
Against the arrows of the coming sun,
How in the shimmering noon of winter past
Some unrecorded beam slanted across
The upland pastures where the Johnwort grew;
Or heard, amid the verdure of my mind,
The bee’s long smothered hum, on the blue flag
Loitering amidst the mead; or busy rill,
Which now through all its course stands still and dumb
Its own memorial, – purling at its play
Along the slopes, and through the meadows next,
Until its youthful sound was hushed at last
In the staid current of the lowland stream;
Or seen the furrows shine but late upturned,
And where the fieldfare followed in the rear,
When all the fields around lay bound and hoar
Beneath a thick integument of snow.
So by God’s cheap economy made rich
To go upon my winter’s task again.