Jumble

There are eight rooms here
Of ones own.
They make me wander and squander
My tidiness of mind.
I lap myself around the peripheries so
I may add up numbers kept to keep up somebody
Ancient with little knowledge of now.

I call down the gods to my head.
To stalagnite my ooziness
Make three rooms appear magically
So I may live the dream
Without the work.

Phew!

How do we ever disconnect moments
From our bodies?
Our bodies from loved rooms?

May the gods work the spells...
And all will remain this magical jumble
One day to be decoded.
I just know life is filled if we're lucky
With too many rooms and things
It is our pleasure to at last
Disregard with backward smiles.












Poetry by jenks The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 435 times
Written on 2010-05-18 at 01:14

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