Monthly Archives: November 2019

Snow

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A gentle falling
Of so much down.
A sleep, a dream, a cloud.
The muffling of sound,
Winters silence.
A sleep and a dream of clouds.
But waking is no dream,
This cloud’s not what it seems.
I was asleep in this dream of clouds.

These Labyrinthine Dreams

The morning dawn awakes, so do I
I know this much does not change day to day.
In my journeys through the night I pass by
Field of memory I can’t keep they say.

One flower picked, and I’m accused a thief
Tell me, who’s the real owner of my field?
Of my own will, can’t keep one thought so brief,
Then by whose orders are these vault doors sealed?

Nighttime. No rest for the weary it seems.
Where journey after restless journey through
The confines of these labyrinthine dreams,
Leaves me not any closer to the truth.

These are dreams I won’t remember I fear,
I see there will be no rest for me here.

My Face in the Window

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Do not look at me through your open window.
Do not gaze upon my flesh.
How many lions, before you, wish to eat me?
Surely do you jest?
Occupy the chair you coward,
Show to me your true face.
But I only need a mirror
A self portrait in its place.
An empty chair,
And on the stairs,
The man who wasn’t there.
You weren’t there again today,
Maybe someday
That will change.
Perhaps someday you’ll go away.

Arrival

Such a long way down,
What a far distance across.
So far to have come.