Sometimes the words seem to follow,
Lost in years of memory,
Enough to jot memoirs with one swipe.
One point of the pen
Decades in thought, although unconscious.
The mindstate becomes inconclusive with
dreams running as fluid
As the ink upon which I make
Petitions, to God and to self.
Seeking sunrise at the end of the day,
But for now I sit in this parking lot
Measuring diameters, building another man’s dream.
Ungrateful or just able to see something greater?
We have answers for these on occasion,
The debt of self changes under
The shadow of a greem hue,
And prayers grow stronger in church pews.
Who’s to go next?
Fall face first into the unknown or
Stay comfortable for the inevitable;
Without change, without chance.
They don’t have to understand it.
All they have to do is sleepwalk
Into tomorrow’s dream.
While I dream peacefully through
Night terrors, then terrorize their norm.