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Degrees of reckoning

The journey are the steps we take

not as two feet walking

but traversing a dreamlike state

random gestures thoughtless talking,

Oh dear soul where have I gone

the valleys are empty soil

the darkness sits in waiting

to slither from its coil,

my steps unearthly wanting

moving to a higher ground

past the cries for me myself

beyond the brashy crowd.

Wretched creek

What is it I search to seek

always on the prowl

wanting ever more to eat

an inner hungry growl,

weeping into places unknown

no rhyme or even exception

an overflowing gilded pot

digressing its destination,

softly footing the padded woods

engulfing all its forest

waters babble along the way

inquire the lonely tourist.

Contemplative perspective

Lonely woes of windy cries

where footing is sure to loose

oceans carry for longing roads

bitter voices in howling ruse,

and sit myself among the rocks

heavy as the weight of days

counting out the watery stars

a moments breath among the maze,

where tenderness is a cheeky meek

and love leans forlorn abreast

my mind in constant continuum

fighting itself among the rest.

Gently to lay me down

How do all the flora know

the days that pass through spring

hours lamenting years

what the sorrows nurture brings,

grass upon the furrowed footing

wayward for the sea

edging unto infinity

woes to the soul and me,

tears are drops as rainfall

whispers in gentle pleas

settling into the afterlife

as winter upon the trees.

What need for love

And so the heart it reaches so

for the tender that resides

a deeper than the sea may reach

or the ever searching skies,

to where there is unknown

so too the blooming tree

where souls are sewn as one

on an endless tapestry,

stars may fall as weeping

and rains to dance the seal

still hearts remain in beating

as an onion gently pealed.

If ignorance was bliss

There is no time as nothing

and empty as the color blank

on a sea of empty rivers

moving forward flowing back,

what too may be remains

teetering upon refrain

where fleeting stays the dance

fleshing pulses from the brain,

not all that is can be

for the eternal has a wind

forward backward into upon

gentle tickling of the grind.

Multitudes away

Little to known along the way

as we whittle the long and daring day

in hopes to find some caress,

tis’ here the waves they run from deep

entering far and away from shadows

a moments respite from the rippling reef

of horrors that ring as the gallows,

stories of old and some not far off

gentle to the breeze that is spoken

of where to the farther one may go

by the blinding glare of two tokens.