At ease


It is a shifting beast indeed
my mind cannot encompass,
an early bird in old history,
the tail of the ongoing...
it is constantly and irreversibly
the fiery dragon fiction offers
at the verge of inner view.

Evenings like sleepy trees
fall into the coming,
birds lose all interest,
shadows are emissaries sleep,
of dreams sculptured
on day's impression.

Children need you,
plants need you
and turtles and fish
and the puppy of miracle,
born on your steps.

At times I see the why
I cannot argue
the importance of I,
the reason why this side
doesn't count anymore.
It is like an acceptance,
an invitation
into the great motion.

Night folds like an unwritten letter,
never intended,
but
expressed and fraught,
burdened
and heavily moving,
erasing
at intervals at ease.




Poetry by Bob
Read 485 times
Written on 2011-08-24 at 20:06

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