Sometimes in the calmness of a dim light I dream of a mountain,
I climb to its gray old peak, I descend on its rocky road,
slowly, using all my free time on the way.
On the art book the bright red flat line goes for a peaceful death,
resembling my life, no urgency, and making space for forgiveness.
Not too many words please.
Just July, a short night, a full moon, a sky with embroidered stars.
I hear the pine trees playing with the wind, their beating hearts
singing soothing songs to my elite sleepless mind.
Somewhere someone is kissing a crying soul.
Someone is walking a night without shoes,
while someone is saving pretty shoes for a night.
Up and down, up and down this life goes.
In dull hangover of waiting I have eaten my words for the poem.
The mountain is waking up for another orange sunrise.
I have to cut the dream, pack up, and ramble my way to morning.
It’s been a while and I am back. Well Almost. The whole story will be up in the next post.