Home; adrift
A poem on being unrooted and finding ones way within
In a fog she walks
Nightly nothing
A panacea inside
The felled maple tree at the end of the garden
Still now beneath the snow
A new home perhaps for some small creatures
Or families of creatures
They too are wandering in the night
Searching with night eyes open
She sleeps a restless sleep daunted by dreams that seep
Past her will
A solitary dreamer in a crowded theater
Where the carpet stained and stinking of damp
Tears of when there was time for crying
Heavy air laced with the scent of you
Smoke swirls tendrils
Tender vapors shattered by the breath
A storm is building at the front of her mind
Words hanging on the tip
Drip like droplets from a morning leaf
Her eyes adore
In silence
You are the itch I refuse to scratch
Yet my thoughts are consumed with relieving this torment
The mind is a fickle master
Without reason betraying order
Entropy untethers me from my moring
I drift
Upon the silent surface
Enshrined in velvet midnight
The shore is safe and just within reach
And yet I feel my feet kick off from the muddy ground
Launching
Again
About the Creator
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