Foreign Concepts

~*~
Touched by humility with time to wait and see.
Humorously dashed to experiment in honesty.
Words can be precise but only when alone.
Much like life itself, it’s dark and damp beneath the stone.

A curious squirrel climbs a lilac to explore my porch.
We both wonder why I’m here.
The squirrel retreated though not defeated.
It is they who won, I remain seated.

Less I digress, more to be sure.
Life changes on a dime, I left to write with only rhyme.
Chaka baby beckons beyond, nostalgic breath I’m fond.
Dancing in an imaginary chair, day’s gray, air just fair.

Nicotine lingers, perhaps to know this first.
Sinking, swimming and drowning and yet still the thirst.
Thoughts flood of minutes, days, weeks and years.
Words flow when controlled by the moon and a sea of tears.

Laughter waves at depths unfathomable.
And the ring of life is forever shareable.
Journeys don’t end when the seeing changes.
Time begins anew when life engages.

My mind is weary; it’s a pile of abstract fluff with no thoughts to puff.
But I’ll write again tomorrow, cos enough is never enough.

*
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Feathers of Time

*
With a bow to fateful inspiration, I shall cast skyward, beyond the heavens and to the heart of a most divine princess. Though this arrow will not pierce nor blemish all that is pure. For it will levitate before her command, awaiting thoughtful reply. It is then thy arrow shall propel and traverse, returning to my waiting, wanting and out stretched hand. And with this most sacred and singular of tools I trust and follow; deserts and plains, rivers, forests, seas and frozen peaks where only the arrow dare soar, I do confidently tread. Upon the highest pinnacle I will see the light and be guided. Drawn by the heat of shared passions, we attract and we shall meld and mold, we will unite as one and become the bow, two parts equal. Tied with care and precision we are flexible and strong. The arrow does no wrong.

~*~

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