Long reflected streams
Of light,
Wheeled light beams,
Create the gusts
Of wind,
The nose thrusts,
Above four legs striding
On a walk,
Thoughts drifting, riding,
On hopeful crests of waves
Of an ocean,
That experience brings, saves,
The scars that mar the heart
On the surface,
Marks the day's began, a start,
Hours sit and stand at a desk
Of employ,
Creativity not addressed,
By name, there is trial
In the error,
In this day success is viral,
The day end comes fast with a stat
Of failure,
Walking home is time alone, and that
Leads to free writing, to break the hold
Of the cold,
Bureaucratic wasteland, truth be told,
Yet the night the evening brings time
Of peace,
And quiet and of release, so sublime,
Emotions roil, sounds toil, and struggle
Of reality,
Cold sided pillow, head rest and snuggle,
Oh dreams become certain reality
Of a Hope,
Yet life is short, feasting on frailty,
Human identity, a man, negativity
On a winged
Sleepy prayer, not shared, in proclivity,
Soft clouds of sleep fall firm, leave a pall
On dream-sleep,
Recharging for another day is all,
That is found waiting viewing the whole
Of foolishness,
Each day too full takes its toll,
Like a bridge with infrastructure tolls
Of empty,
Pockets, of resistance, and angry trolls
That crush dreams of day and night
Of promise,
Found rising stumbling by mornings light.
A new day has begun to get it right
Of sand,
And the hourglass, which empties fast, a sleight,
Of hands
That write,
Make magic to start a stopped heart which was waiting for, to die.
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 10:14 PM UTC
Long reflected streams
Of light,
Wheeled light beams,
Create the gusts
Of wind,
The nose thrusts,
Above four legs striding
On a walk,
Thoughts drifting, riding,
On hopeful crests of waves
Of an ocean,
That experience brings, saves,
The scars that mar the heart
On the surface,
Marks the day's began, a start,
Hours sit and stand at a desk
Of employ,
Creativity not addressed,
By name, there is trial
In the error,
In this day success is viral,
The day end comes fast with a stat
Of failure,
Walking home is time alone, and that
Leads to free writing, to break the hold
Of the cold,
Bureaucratic wasteland, truth be told,
Yet the night the evening brings time
Of peace,
And quiet and of release, so sublime,
Emotions roil, sounds toil, and struggle
Of reality,
Cold sided pillow, head rest and snuggle,
Oh dreams become certain reality
Of a Hope,
Yet life is short, feasting on frailty,
Human identity, a man, negativity
On a winged
Sleepy prayer, not shared, in proclivity,
Soft clouds of sleep fall firm, leave a pall
On dream-sleep,
Recharging for another day is all,
That is found waiting viewing the whole
Of foolishness,
Each day too full takes its toll,
Like a bridge with infrastructure tolls
Of empty,
Pockets, of resistance, and angry trolls
That crush dreams of day and night
Of promise,
Found rising stumbling by mornings light.
A new day has begun to get it right
Of sand,
And the hourglass, which empties fast, a sleight,
Of hands
That write,
Make magic to start a stopped heart which was waiting for, to die.
The day begins with a dog walk
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