I don’t have a deep end,
But surely I could find one
With my keen sense of direction.
Surely I could point fingers
And follow my instincts
Until I was past the touching point
My tiptoes were reaching for;
Starting to panic –
My eyes becoming slightly dilated
And a woozy feeling
Overwhelming my body
Like blood that was slowly leaving it.
No desire, no direction pointed towards
Or passion warming the hearth
With a listless presence, standing
Mouth agape, as bait laid carelessly
In a young child’s idle play
Ebbs at the sight of prey
Understanding, in the heat of noon
Dirt clouds seeking moisture,
Wild calls shan’t be pry thy ears
Shan’t whip thy conscience into curt action
That thunders in yonder distant hills
All rests timelessly
All accumulates that which old books,
Unactivated ceiling fans, and
Old couch-sofas in a sunbeam’s gaze
Collect, like passport stickers,
Green-rot below country home taps, and
Knots in old women’s backs
Seem to enrich all our lives in
Sweet mother natures precious stamp
Time which counts ever longer
Into agape county rancher-home scenes
Tea is served through the wire mesh
Swing door on a rancher style patio
With hard footsteps of stiff manners
And an old rocking chair
With one checkered cushion
While sun recedes behind
Yonder silent hills
Slowly rocking in the evenings breeze
The confusion is like Clouds today
Perfectly shapely and full of volume
But unconvinced of whether they like the sun
Or if the sun has had it’s fun and should be sent away
It confuses me as I roll here
Along the sandy tides of earth and light
I step along the meadows of deep
To come forth with my own delight
And when the sun has further chased Clouds away
Green grass and leaves of trees do flutter
Shaking their selves to and fro
Pulling at the unconvinced rays of Clouds gates
Perhaps all that’s needed is to stand and stretch
To grow my wings unlike Creon’s folly
To learn from wisdom, and heed all advice
But lessons unclear confuse my direction
Occasionally
I fall into a bliss
Or maybe not quite serene
But focused at any rate
A time filled with desire
Loss for right and wrong
Just an image
That fills my countenance
Nothing but direction
Goals
An end is always inevitable
But like all emotions
Like all movements
Who knows when it too shall end