He wore his dreams
like a cape of courage
Woven of conscious construct
from the fabric gifted
as visions from guidance
He walked with his head up high
through trepidation and every old story
told in whispered breath
by ghostly voices of the past
Thus, he sang his soul’s song…
Sullied sand
‘neath crimson sunset
Harried by none
slowly sifts away trouble
————————————–
Rest my bones
on the beach
between sand and sun
while breezes wash
my brow with kisses
———————————–
Ah, Respite!
If I were to write a friendship poem
filled with joy, love
my deep appreciation
And hide it in the pocket of your shirt
or prop it up on the table
where you eat your breakfast
What a little thing
that would be
Yet shift happens
Like a butterfly’s fluttering wing
that one small act moves mountains
eventually or sooner
As you come to know a little more
how very much you are loved
Hallowed eyes
grasp me in their grip
telling stories of an old
crisp and dusty nature
Awakening feelings
stale in flesh
and bright in Spirit
Keep me ever in that gaze
Let the shackles slip away
crusted build up soften
And new day dawn
around me
within me…
Sometimes, he has too much fun
Dancing and cracking up
Mugging it up for some non-existent camera
The joy bubbling through
in an almost frantic pace
On those high-stepping days
of Laurel and Hardy moves
and free-flowing morning scat
I appreciate his sense of humor
and the way he occupies
his body in the present moment
