I have this cause so consuming . . .
like an overdose that's overwhelming
When salt water was as sweet as the memories that washed over my feet by the edge of high tide's completion
"Go find the door to your ambition
before it closes to the winds of desiccation"
The binding has cracked
the paper turned yellow
Touching , now brittled backed
So it has been written "finis" upon the last page of life
The words I collected like seashells
as the wrinkles of face grew to foretell
The foam and waves swept over my toes
as the sand was ****** away from beneath
They say the pain will go away .
then they wish you well ,
. . . turn . . . and walk away
I look back upon life as if it were a dream :
a scheme . . .
a scream . . .
and so naive
"I will check out the skies in Rome ,
I promise now when winter is gone"
I long for the hot sands of purification
Where the bleached bones
have reached end's destination
Somewhere next to a Coptic sea
where time falls short on eternity I will kneel to my desperation
In another year
it will be another day's difference in time ,
as another grain of sand falls it loosens its bind
"Won't you come and bring thirst's renewal of relief ?"
Don't leave me gazing . . .
searching for that distant smile . . . buried in my beliefs
If not . . . then
let me wish you well . . .
turn . . . and walk away
Good place to be
1000 and that's
all to see
to all ,
Goodbye . . .
I fought for want of will
Lay beaten and ******
for what turned out to be nil
So I go as all mankind must do
Descending into the dark of night
I labored for want of will
But heavy now are my steps
I have no more to instill
Let me pass beyond the gate
To the green pastures beside still waters of the lake
I started to float
and I’m ready to fall
But I’m not frightened
I’d never cling to your branch
the happiness you gave
The nourishment we shared
I will always be a part of you
Worry not my dear
I’ll be back again
to find you
Another autumn leaf
The sand of sentences
Added to the waters of time
Cemented into the ever evasive desires of heart
What fools expect and deserve are written on the walls and heart of poets
. . . and they know it