It Was Late In the Evening

An acute progression of time

Moments compressing in memory until…

Only impression remains

 

The ghost of a name

A lifetime confounded by pathways

Choices

Made in the darkness, when you believed

In your own light

 

How silence became a challenge

To speak your mind to the wind

 

How has it come to pass

That one who’s bare foot was knowing in the moss

Now at a loss

For a scent to follow?

 

A snake mayhap, though once a tiger

Still I move amoungst the grass

Knowing in my age, my page

The Hunt is in my breath

 

It’s not my poetry that whispers, it is the wind

Inside me

When a flower blooms, my petals unfold

I feed the hungry bees who come to glut

They in turn pollinate the blooms of another

As they flit out across the luscious, intercontinental web of meadows

Of WordPress-

As if one could press, squeeze the fruits of my knowledge

Into a simple post

 

Please

I am not so easily quaffed

 

Still…

I offer this stream to you

Of consciousness flowing clear and true

To sip and wash the salt away

From the ocean of apathy you keep at bay

 

 

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