MOON’S RIVER

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We sat by the light of the orange moon, that night
We stared at the eyes of twinkled stars so bright,
Then we fell into the thought of catching falling stars
As the night caught the gentle beat of both our hearts.
We stared at the moon in the sweet, silent sky,
Looking for a face that we could recognize
We saw the eyes on the moon, we saw the smile.
Our hearts connected to the love from way up high,
Then the moon trickled light to meet our needing eyes,
Came flowing now as roots from dark and silent skies,
Connected to our hands and feet as tiny lines,
We felt the truth of moon’s beam that amazing night.
The moment gone, moon drifts away from sight,
The night hides away as morning lights
And there on the ground we wake to find
A star twinkling, fallen from the skies.
This truth can’t be felt from other’s eyes
But we hold that truth forever of our night.
Some things must be experienced to know,
No matter what belief we speak and show.
These moments live as stories to the crowd,
The tale is told by those who speak out loud,
But all of us have moments where we feel
The magic of this dream that is so real.
I hope one day you look to skies above
And feel those stars connected to your love.
I hope you feel the pull and that you too
Touch the truth from your rivers of the moon.

Dreams

Dreams

By Mihran Kalaydjian, CHA

Consultant, Strategist, and Writer


Oh! that my young life were a lasting dream!
My spirit not awakening, till the beam
Of an Eternity should bring the morrow.
Yes! tho’ that long dream were of hopeless sorrow,
‘Twere better than the cold reality
Of waking life, to him whose heart must be,
And hath been still, upon the lovely earth,
A chaos of deep passion, from his birth.
But should it be- that dream eternally
Continuing- as dreams have been to me
In my young boyhood- should it thus be given,
‘Twere folly still to hope for higher Heaven.
For I have revell’d, when the sun was bright
I’ the summer sky, in dreams of living light
And loveliness,- have left my very heart
In climes of my imagining, apart
From mine own home, with beings that have been
Of mine own thought- what more could I have seen?
‘Twas once- and only once- and the wild hour
From my remembrance shall not pass- some power
Or spell had bound me- ’twas the chilly wind
Came o’er me in the night, and left behind
Its image on my spirit- or the moon
Shone on my slumbers in her lofty noon
Too coldly- or the stars- howe’er it was
That dream was as that night-wind- let it pass.

I have been happy, tho’ in a dream.
I have been happy- and I love the theme:
Dreams! in their vivid coloring of life,
As in that fleeting, shadowy, misty strife
Of semblance with reality, which brings
To the delirious eye, more lovely things
Of Paradise and Love- and all our own!
Than young Hope in his sunniest hour hath known.