PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Drifting thoughts, I sense them 
and in some way I rejoice 
that the dangling memories 
are finally given voice. 
Babbling for several hours 
in strangled words of hope 
which smell of flowers 
and desert winds uncloaked. 
I seek the praise of the sky 
as it smells blue overhead 
and in this mystery I 
listen to blessings of rain 
which shock the drone I hear 
as I flash from hill to hill 
and let the grass grow near 
the pieces of me that are free 
and left to be explored. 
Somehow this begins a phase 
that matters more and more 
to the unsubstantial flags 
that waver in the silken air. 
In truth they are but rags 
of despair captured in pieces 
of cloth that suggest crying. 
So I open my mind 
to the hurting that is sighing 
its message in a bottle. 
I pick up the scattered scene 
that was created for my life. 
In this way I am never seen 
for the dangling verbs 
that prance playfully across 
the treasured words 
of a moment wanted but 
now forgotten.