O, Time,
Thine two-edged blade
Both steals
And heals,
A wine
From mind we’ve made…

Eric M. Vogt
Copyright 2019



Fall’s leaves burn bright.
They light their way
Into the night,
Bursting as a morning sun,
Urging all to stand and run,
Singing song like life begun.

Winds of winter
Break and bite;

Still, leaves are true,
Indeed, they stay
As flame in hue
Till end, to pull all along
Until the season’s ray is gone.
Leaves sing tune that must be sung,

Hold to height, heal us anew
Till they fall, life’s days accrued.

Eric M. Vogt
Copyright 2016


There lays a stone within my chest,
A throb, a feel that’s sensed at best,
It real, yet not, a hint in breast
That Winter won’t go by.

A weight has come upon my soul,
The drag which keeps me from my goal,
Reminder of a past, a toll,
And deep within it lies.

We cannot wish away the time
Which passes, nor forget a crime
We’ve felt inflicted, line by line,
Nor mute their tragic cries;

Still, age should not be held as pain,
So I have left all where it’s lain,
And I shall walk against its grain
Till I have touched the sky.

Eric M. Vogt
Copyright 2019


The springtime firmly yields its rain,
A constant chatter on my roof,
Of life’s regrets, its pulse and pain
One can’t forget, for thought bears proof
That comes with age in clarity.

Pretend that winter’s gone away
Forever! Drink its dark downpour!
Deceive your soul that it shall stay,
Your wrinkled hand and fright ignore;
Spring’s rain descends for fools as thee.

Ascend the highest mountain seen,
Grow gardens flowered with your fate,
And slay the foulest Philistine,
But death must come, and shan’t be late,
In search of winter’s woe and we,

To mock or mend, enslave or free.

Eric M. Vogt
Copyright 2017


Frosty shivers seal our fate,
Gestures that it’s getting late,
But men don’t live by a date,
Nor season, nor a storm,

Binding up the cracks with care
Buffeted by wintry wear,
Stretch of fabric ’bout to tear,
As flesh that lays forlorn.

Men prepare for winter’s test
Sapping at their very best,
Race to stand upon a crest
Before frost’s bier is borne.

Eric M. Vogt
Copyright 2014

The Maples’ Sway

I cannot note the maples’ sway
In dawn of morn when skies are gray,
When all man has is seized away
And what is left is soul.

I feel the piercing of the pine
In chill of air, that telling sign
When life and dreams and all that’s prime
Shall soon pass on to woe.

A hummingbird hymns its last dance,
The end to warmth and rich romance,
With winter’s wind it goes to prance
In summer’s fading ray.

Perhaps beyond the winter’s shine
Of white, in traverse, there I’ll find
A peaceful place to rest my mind,
If mind and matter may.

Eric M. Vogt
Copyright 2014