Moonlight
light from the full moon
spills through the open window
and pools on the floor
–
waning
molten silver
moonlight
light from the full moon
spills through the open window
and pools on the floor
–
waning
molten silver
moonlight
the spinning wheel turns
fingers idly making thread
while the mind wanders
–
adrift
on a sea
of imagination
the weathered old man
makes peace with the universe
tending his bonsai
–
fiddlehead ferns-
seeking god in
the golden ratio
silently stoic
the weathered lighthouse still stands
off in the distance
–
the setting sun
barely visible
through the fog
the wellspring of souls
beckons inexorably
for us to return
–
the bodisattfa
compassionately
delays nirvana
it’s just a small cut
and it’s the last time, I swear
until the next one
–
self destruction
a trail of history
on my arms
since you got sent home
I’ve been sitting by your side
praying you’ll return
–
waiting-
trying not
to lose hope
longing for the time
when there is no one to please
and nowhere to be
–
cherished,
those few minutes
between calls
caressed by the pen
ink and paper combine with
the lightness of verse
–
liquid words
meandering
into prose
I’m never alone
my ally, my enemy
you’re always with me
–
ever present
that little voice
of self doubt