Clouds float in demure stupor,
A moon’s careless dreams in white,
All except one in angelic vision,
Floating still on sky space rented,
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From the category archives:
Poetry
On trees that prance, shadows did sulk,
And laze did gaze, trance in haze,
All bare, tremors of taut depth,
Tis’ all true, the age of rootless hues.
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On bended knees shall men reap,
As callous actions heed no seed,
Yet sawdust truth ponders on illegitimate life,
Tis true, life begets dust dolls and dirt walls true,
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Killing fields ! Take heed to need,
Violent meadows ! weed to seed,
Thorny cactus ! prick to pain,
Oh my God ! Hath mercy ever been right?
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It was the lonely hour, bare, still and parched ,
Close by dwelt a Barren emotion, torn in sacred space,
Held in harness was a myth, clasped in care was a tryst,
And as simple thoughts born of complex mindscapes pause,
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