PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Half asleep, in the zone

weeping as I push through

the thorny thicket
to the patch of  silky green,
where the air is thick
with burnt bark and turmeric
and where the moon sets
spry on the sheen

of silver water;
I take my legs
and offer them to

the cool plunge
into the euripus

What use are they
if not to walk
to the nape of hope's neck?

Well, then
it is this then
I am overwhelmed,
carried off by the cold

swill of adam's ale

Then, somewhere
along the river
and its rushing stupor,
I hear singing
a voice that rings like crystal
and the  humming ecclesiast

begins to pull me into
a quiet accompaniment
careful seductive stillness  

brilliant night moves

a thief in the night –

subtle, without much grief

take me
for whatever gold I am
whatever glimmer that I could offer
burnished of the dregs and dross.