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.


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