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.