Send me on my way wishing well
I don't ask for true love
Though it's nice to be held at night,
Or a million pieces of silver
I'd have to pay it all to Ceasar,
I don't ask for vengeance
Even if some wrongs have never been set right,
I don't ask for the gift of prophecy
My dreams are enough already,

I ask,
My throat be quenched on a hot day,
A fire warm my face in bitter cold,
Laughter never far from my lips,
Not a care when a wrong is better off than I,
A sunrise that makes me happy to be alive,
Empty eyes so I never forget why I tossed this coin
To be free of all I cannot say.

The sky retreats,
Upon the drum sound,
Every heart utters its last beat.

As eyes grow dim,
Hazed in clouded lens,
Lies a wreath of grief.

A tender embrace,
Wrapped in a cool breeze,
The end nears complete.

All that’s loved,
Feared and hated,
Have come to cease.

The river meets the sea,
A journey of memory,
Of all that’s been and will come to be.

The desert is a special place,
Among the red cliffs and hellish scapes,
The empty spaces wait,
Fallen boulders lie like sentinels at the gates

Painted rocks,
Of a ****** sun,
Colorful river, snaking along
Full of Siren songs

The heat is merciless,
A slave master
With chains and whips
But something here,

Whispers through the canyons,
Of what lies ahead,
The barren before the end
No man’s land

Here the mystics sing,
Through the breeze
And swirling sands
Of the beginning and the end.

My riddled words,
A mystery haunts me,
As if I’ve seen the ending
And it’s driven me insane.

If it wasn’t for the day,
I’d never leave the night.
I’d forget my way,
And my name.

Dancing on the edge,
Of a cliff that’s far too high.
I’ve fallen many times,
So much so I know the climb.

A delicate day,
Spring just a short distance away
Yet winter still promising May.
This time of rebirth reminds me….

I left the kettle on,
Before I woke up in this place.

I wonder sometimes,
When I let my mind out to play,
On a late night drive
And when I close my eyes.

What happens when we die?
If life’s a game no matter how hard we try?
Is it a shame I smile when I ought to cry?

Life speaks in whips and chains
And sometimes in sweet summer breeze.
Disease reeks,
And I believe death speaks to me.

If there was an answer to these lines of poetry,
Perhaps there would be peace.
Mystics and priests,
Offer no lasting reprieve.

The poet of relief,
Speaks of the heart’s needs.
Jester of despair,
Bringing comical release.

I wonder sometimes,
Of the mystics, poets, jesters and priests.
What tonight will be,
Will my wonderings find relief.