Waiting on a spring sun
~
yesterday was overcast
while a chill remained present
...
What am I writing
I flit from love to death
To nature and politics
The subject matter differs
...
I have not bathed
I have not rose
From my bed I lay
In silent prose
...
Where beauty lays
~
Where beauty lays
Peaceful in her sleep
...
I walk home in the evening
To the sound of bottles in a bag
The wine, beer and whisky
Tapping together like morse code
...
With as much fanfare
As could possibly be expected
...
This is where dreams come to die
In pale sunlight of mourning
Where thought concedes all
A surrender of the night begins
...
Dare I court death
In a line of verse
What is it I seek
Truth of the soul
...
take flight, take flight
little bird, fly away
far from the barren branches
stripped by winters hand
...
the street lamps pass
in glowing orbs, micro stars
a blur of amber against the night
which almost seems endless
...