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.
Posted in Personal, Sonnets
Tagged dawn, day, door, dream, journey, labyrinth, maze, poem, poetry, rest, thief, Travel, truth, vault, weary
A calling unto deep dreams, musings.
A thought in the past consuming.
No profit gained but still they search for this.
Unforseen consequence transpires.
Everyone here who has conspired
Loses what little left they had of ignorant bliss.
Yet bliss they never meant to hold,
Ignorance they meant to banish so,
Cast aside was their selfish bliss and painful knowledge ensued.
To prepare for the future and learn from the past.
Where others seeks what rust, we what lasts,
With what moths cannot eat nor thieves steal, we’re imbrued.