When brings the night and
all that grieves and gathers
with looming shadows over me ----
When takes the days of time,
and life's elusive dole
become as a gamble with
an orphan's token lost . . .
Unleashed my fated arrow
flew as sparrows
thrown toward the sky.
Until this within me finds
what has borne me on this way ---
Is time then left to blame,
or, say, myself, to set in shame?
Have I not a token now to pay?

P. Suess

Fragments from forgotten dreams
still haunt me.
Through the dreary din of night
they taunt me,
as silken flags swirling,
made of fabrics past unfolding.
Dreadful nightmares storm the keep emboldened.
Swiftly seize my fleeing spirit
once content in fleeting slumber.
Dreaming in the drowsy ether.
I stand alone in wonder.
Mid-dream amid my daemons there to battle,
there to conquer . . . evermore.

P. Suess

Through the days and dark and night
the changing guards
marched by, in silence fell.
Our deeds unheard . . . our fortunes tell.
All good intent is lost in time
though forever gone are thine.
Adrift between this moment now, till then,
will into deeper darkness come . . .
or shall this way be joy?
Help me find the way till then.
Help me find the joy.
Alas this will incede till sunsets greet
the final winters chill.
When life's shadow casts across the precipice,
then destiny fulfilled.
Help us find the way till then.
Help us find the joy.

P. Suess

Adrift round down wings
spiral down round winds
a kite, alike a kite, aloft, along a strand.
A leaf freefalls
a fate afloat
imprints upon the sand.
Where seas begin, seas end.
Here begins Sanzen.

Amidst gentle winds
adrift Zephyrs wings,
glide on ice alight a tide
bouyed, softly skimming rime.
A leaf afloat,
a fate flies free,
imprints upon the sky.
Where seas begin, seas end.
Here begins Sanzen.

P. Suess

If I were to dream
Beheld as to a trance
Before my closing eyes
Bedim the light of care
Behold my dreams in wonder
Become as flight to air

P. Suess

Posed like the cool hand man, the sax man swings jazz,
playing round the city streets at night.
In search of the real thing, don't he know it's gone - - -
far out of sight.
Like the bane of the taps of a blind man's cane
the sax trills tap the glass down avenues past
in a search all on its syncopated way.
Inside voyeurs packed tight,
****** of souls search the elusive night.
In a dream scape vision bathed in neon blurred light.
Intoxicating lipstick spread, the tender trap distracts.
A mirage of the real thing beguiles.  Tap tap tap - - -
Lost loves' lonesome embrace mimics a charade duet.
Plays the sax man at night. Neophyte,
have you found the real thing yet?

P. Suess