About Me

My photo
The Madman, "Yes, three days, three centuries, three aeons. Strange they would always weigh and measure. It is always a sundial and a pair of scales."

Tuesday, November 10, 2015

(150)



A gray fog lifts itself gently
As smoke-filled imaginations take flight,
The blueness of the autumn chill fills a hungry breath
And it’s a bright day in the land of cold sighs.

Eyelids flutter suddenly, out of habit
As the presence of a familiar memory returns.
A golden sun lays its warm arm across my tired back
And a whiff of cool wind rushes to catch up like an old friend.
I realize, some things never leave your side,
Repaid only in the silence of gratitude.

I spent a whole younger self trying to grow wings,
Then realized how limitless the sky really was
And that no wings were needed to fly.
Having flown higher than any cloud ever did
I saw that the horizon stretches till inside me,
That I am a drop floating in a formless sky
And its freeing emptiness is what fills me to the seam.

The beauty that remains hidden
In unanswered love, lost dreams and frustrated fantasies,
When it dawns, fills the mind like a clear full moon
And life suddenly seems perfect,
Like a work of art when it’s finally complete.

No comments:

Post a Comment