in the depths of my daily abyss,
obsessive thoughts, songs & stories,
coil and twist into words, selfish and cruel,
in the wise fool’s daily darkness, I finally find my feet:
a mere nothing is never incomplete;
curdled thoughts, merge and entwine,
in my restless mind, where shadows define a merry nothing;
amidst this chaos, a spasmodic light gleams,
a harvest moon, a friendly old lunatic
like me
stalks this poor man’s sky with grace and poise
time drifts by, a beacon of hope that never dies,
for in the presence of the risen day
we find solace, as time drifts us away,
reminding me to cherish the live-long day….

Oh, the power of rhyme, in beaten times like these,
healing wounds, giving me breathing space,
building shrines of words to all our
lost boys and girls in their unaccompanied grace.

Stranded they may be, but they turn out completely
set their spirits and their hearts free
for time cannot erase the memory of a song
sung softly one slumbering summer night.

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