Port Of Call

Hear me
utter
woeful cries
upon a destined voyage
across the tempest sea.
My mind deformed,
sent into convulsions
on every notion it perceives.
Are facts mere fantasies?
I sanely progress
to the brink,
even to the crevice bottom of insanity.
Theories: the demon
housed within the nave of doubt,
which hangs
as a choking noose
around the fiber of existence, and
causes me to tremble.
Seek!
Journey to your port of call,
and there
every particle shall unfold.
Peace will reign,
contentment, sublime in silence.

Lot

I’ve often wished my spirit could be free to fly

unfettered by the chain of some lost memory

or by some present ghost not seen.

But since the stars in their courses seem determined

to play me the fool, then who am I to protest

against my lot.

If time could stand still and songs of guilt remain

a lost and tragic cord, then I would lift my voice

and shout I am free.

A Morning Day Dream

Folk music
Gently breaks the silence,
Streams of the morning sun
Fill the room with soft warmth.

Shadow curled around my legs
To protect me from some perceived danger,
But it’s only age creeping in upon my body
And she is unaware of it’s presence.

My eyes drearily close,
And in the grayness
Random memories dart about as tho water spiders
Upon a Summer’s pond.

I wonder why I linger so?
Is it the many chores undone,
The visions not yet dreamed,
Or could it be that I’m afraid?

Somewhere off in the distance
I hear a familiar voice call in the evening shade,
“Come home, suppers ready
And we’re waiting for you.”

Will I disappoint if I tarry?
If I try to dream one more dream,
Or run against the wind
One more time?