Corridors Of Gravity Poem by shimon weinroth

there is a lighthouse in my head,
and a beacon in my mind,
that beaches any wayward bark,
warns my ship to keep afloat
in the current of events

nor digress in the nature of excess,
inborn with a compass of the way
and the customs of today,
it's the corridors of gravity
that signal lest I go astray

I shudder and i tremble
at the pictures in my head,
of the memories in my mind,
afflictions of the spirit
resurrected and perverting

curiosity led me down,
the road of exploration
into dark and secret corners
embraced by caverns of mildew
drowned in stillwaters
infected and spoiled,

by such thoughts and spirits
my soul contaminated and abused
seeks redemptions,
in the corridors of gravity,
convention and decorum

a child of dissent
and an adult of droll orient,
a weather beaten revolutionary
have run aground
by repetition and contempt

high tide sweeps me down the rivers
cleansing body and soul
as each interval of time takes its toll,
praying and braying that mortality is too soon
fear of retribution and guilt is bred

leads me back to corridors of convention
and the prisons of gravity