If I incline my thoughts
Toward the ‘morrow
Mourns of calla lillies
And blurred visions.

I know where the path leads,
Yet I cannot read the markers
Nor find the trail heads
For the fog.

Everything is recurrently foreign.

The bats swoop and call,
Bringing death and life again
Until nothing familiar remains
And I am a stranger in my own skin.

I once lay down in a pasture,
Fragrances of ameliorate iris
Soothed every weary bone,
And I slumbered there
For one life and then another.

I will not again taste this inertia
I crave.

The fire has been irrevocably lit.

10/23/2010

Posted on 10/23/2010
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