and from the storm arisen
spawned of blackened thunder
by haste the calm ensues
despair made chaste,
chased beyond the moon
knows hope Renewed.
~ ~ ~
Cycles
I am perpetual motion,
born a sojourner
finding no tent,
destined to meet my end
wherever I’ve never Been.
~ ~ ~
Strumming
syncopated fingers take their
ceaseless wanderings drunk of
bottled bubbles and
breathless whispers as
nocturnal rhythms
play Us
~ ~ ~
Daze
arisen,
countenance glazed, unshaven
amidst embers and wine,
butts and corks askew
in the tunnel dry of light,
shiny rails pillow for his head
he lay waiting for the Train.