Streams of thought
Have you ever dreamed a poem before? I wouldn’t recommend it. The short-lived Hippie in me from the ’60’s has only one word for this: Bummer!
I knoweth not the shadows of my dreams
nor why my reason has escaped a mind
unable to decide, or change her fate.
I only know that once upon a time,
a score before duality began,
an ordinary two did have a life
compatible as rock inside a stream.
I yield before the never-ending flow
Of words that alternate between sublime
and ice that cuts the soul of jagged rock
until the will of body and of mind
dare not decide…dare not a move to make
Enduring as it yields before the stream,
eroding as the eons take their toll.
For once I stood, my head about the sun
A nebula of pathways to explore
And now upon the sunset of my life
There is but one, a never-ending door.
The polar ends of joy and then disdain!
Will Satan find me worthy of his wrath,
then God bestow a molecule of love
with flowers of contentment on my path?
The sand of what remains will never know.