he sits, sipping his tea on a porch before meadows and mountains familiar to his voice and supplications, under stars and bright sun, considering dreams, some real some reminders of a good life with songs brightly sung and poetry, the puzzle of words, that some plainly grasp, but for a few, the message remains deep … More CLEARLY
he sees ghosts and speaks to clouds while sneering menacingly at people and dogs church bells nearby ring out praise and guilt clouds knit together, breezes circle salvation walks backwards sometimes retrieving the innocent while rejecting the poor
what to tell the moon while untangling knots of words as they become hosts of vapors rising from candles on the cake, releasing wishes from past silver nights and quiet steps joined in same direction
the eyes shut from exhaustion, releasing spirits from the darkness to war within, flashing concussive images, angled blinding lights and drums beating in dramatic fashion, anguished rhythms of air from my lungs, far from the innocent shoreline of sleep I once knew
meditation under clouds, eyes reaching upward looking for an angel and a miracle in the breeze, whispering a birthday wish while waiting for its release, and chances are, the belief will settle within, like a candle protected from winds of change and seasons yet
sleep, the back half of what was, leftovers from today, ghosts of the past stepping through an open door without resistance as the sand underneath changes to water, drowning your breath or pushing you from a rooftop sparing your impact, your death, until repeated another night
THE DARKSIDE of the moon hiding its face kindred spirits fastened by a line separating the extremes of fire and ice where time has no standard on surfaces without life static suspended gravity dependent, one side bright the other facing backward with a silent view of undisturbed infinity
surrounded by a skeleton of trees a shudder of wind reveals gravestones of buried souls scattered ashes and dust of heroes and villains tossed together into a gathering of memories where wings and whispers sleep along side of unpacked dreams
breathe, breathe, inhale the aroma the bitter barbed the gentle without wings breathe, breathe, the silence required the answers searched in empty pockets breathe, breathe, the anger consumed the choice not taken the basket half full breathe, breathe the choices once made the crossroads disturbed resting in dreams breathe, breathe out … More BREATHE
we fear the stranger fallen from grace shaken, unsure hair snarled like side yard vines a reminder of someone chasing you in dreams the eyes, hoping for a sympathy gaze for coins a cold meal, from a warm heart he knows he is out of place, searching for someplace else
Roger Singer 