Feel Like That (day 827)

It’s been a long time since I woke from death
Layered with unconquered thoughts
Buttoned up with snaps to strip me bare

Visions and nature quests
Visions and serpents
Visions of the omnipresent
Gathering ’round natures ripest tree

You float with me
Like smooth wine through luxury
Shaking off cobwebs with fine tipped pens
Rummaging deep into a shallow purse
And throwing about glitter
Like momma ain’t got no worries

So, I’ve lost my excuses
I ate them with magic mushrooms
Wrapped in fantasy’s glow
Ecstasy, running free like bombs

Like bombs that ring in my ears telling me to stop

Goodmorning, Mother Nature (day 745)

Your delicate drops
That drip about my window
Waking my slumber
Shaking my cobwebs
Keep rhythm for me

My heart finds
Its speed again
While curious crawls
Across steaming
Bits of wooden jungle

Sun beckons
Warming exposed skin
Like uncurling leaves
Surviving off stray beams

Feathered fellows
Sing one another
Delightful passages
Freshly reciting
For days full of life

And you say to me
Goodmorning

History Sleeps (day 688)

And your swords
Heel’t by the pressures of oath
Forcing thought from mind
Into duty, sworn and bred

~

It is here where deceit grows
Amongst the cobwebs of freedom
Faith of the free
Growing dissonance

~

But straightened backs
And freshly pressed regalia
Adorned with pride and service
Calm thy boiling blood

~

Hindered with loathe
Confidants biding their time
In halls of betrayal
Seething with ego

Unnatural betrayal hidden
Behind blind eyes of service
Suckling the easy tit of
Mephistopheles

~

While memories float frequently
Between graying hairs
And balding victories
Scavenging the lands of truth

Relying on honor
A choice and a path
Not a reason or calling
But inward honesty

~

Though demons fight unceasingly
Through hushed dark corridors
Escape routes of the squeamish
Icicles of setting winter

~

Until the end remains clear
Ancient avenues of chestnut trees
Above the family crypt
History sleeps as change begins

Dust (day 472)

A lonely seat that waits at the end of the bar
Clears the cobwebs from ones imagination
Marrying innocence to thick laid smoke dust
That one can never quite resist smudging

Perhaps that’s when the ghosts return
Walking in like they’ve never left the place
Light beams catch the dust they turn up
Barkeep still remembers their favorite drink

Their old friends come up and say hi again
Laughing as if one am just rolled around
Not enough, but still a lot
They wont be going home early tonight

The bottles at the top call out quietly
Asking what day it is today
It always speaks in that aged, wise way
That understands it’s all going to be alright

But where did my companions all go
The rest of them dance around here merrily
Red cheeks and full bellies roll
And the door swings shut, silence spills around

The Morning (day 415)

The morning fights into my eyes
Prying me from the warm cocoon
Of the flannel mother
And soaks me to my bone
Quickly cleaning
The soggy drops
Of left over residue
From the sleeping fairies

But as I stretch out the cobwebs
And look into the full sun’s shine
I realize how perfect it is
To refresh ones mind
With many hours
Of thought filled dreaming
For in the morning
When eyes are opened
I rise refreshed
To the sound of birds