The Mind Creative March 2014
(1)
Rock your boat as if a child’s cradle
Sailing in safe, tranquil water
The flows that you compose,
Drift with the gentle, caressing breeze.
(2)
The gentle breeze does not know
Any specific rhyme or reason,
Or vision of a raw, devastating beauty.
His is the quiet song in the silhouetted night,
Painted in the pale horizon of insomnia eyes.
(3)
All that is left is the sun mourning
A shout of lament as purple life fades inside out.
The sky darkens and cools, illuminating, falling,
The river chanting its crescendo and fall.
A calling, a humming, a soliloquy of the earth.
(4)
Dreams scream out what the reality cannot hold,
They stay right there, watching over the birds in the sky,
Walking upon the clouds in a spiral of anonymities.
The birds, they have taken flights of fancy
Watching you rock your boat from ethereal space.
No smothering, no force, no staleness,
No cryptic tracks, no walk, no pause confined by normality.
A sacred text of symmetry sketched in languid love,
Together, they will trample the scars in an upward light.
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