Poetry

Your idle dreams - lofty clouds;

They float and come and go.

Inconsequence in a weightless shroud -

Their stories left untold.

These seeds you'll never sow;

This forest will never be.

Fig trees that'll never grow,

Bear fruits you'll never reap.

Look, your hourglass is leaking sand.

Why won't you play your hand?

This game was yours, now wasted,

Oh, you had pocket aces!

So when Judgement crooks its finger,

Will you look back and see?

Ghosts of the past that linger:

Your idle dreams - mere memory.

A million lights twinkle gently at me,

Beneath the still pond, above the palm trees.

I pluck at the stars from under the water:

Sing lullabies on Mars, dance on rings of Saturn.

I fill my pockets with galaxies, ponder at possibilities:

A million sights I yearn to see, a million nights of vague memories.

But the ripples on the surface betray my starlit lie:

I gaze at reflections within a pond, and dream of the endless sky.

Does the puddle know of the ocean?

Does the raindrop imagine the flood?

Does the bound moon envy the motion

Of the celestial bodies above?

Does the fish grow weary of water?

Does the bird seek refuge from the sky?

Does the human mind truly know sonder?

Or tornados from a butterfly?

A fly falls into a spider's web,

Though it's been there once before.

And despite the mortal consequence,

It knows it'll be there once more.

To sip sweet venom of the spider's bite,

And cocoon in its silken embrace.

A creeping dependence takes silent flight-

Drunk on that toxic taste.

Euphoric arachnophilia,

Seduction and enigma.

Will this be memorabilia?

Or traumatic anathema?

A fly falls into a spider's weave

To perish as its kin before.

And once it's gone, the spider takes leave

To ensnare a fly once more.

Effervescent ethereal, made of see through material,

Why do you feel so real?

I know you're following me - don't know if I should flee,

Do I want to be free?

Better to have you off my mind, yet your shape is not unkind.

Will you leave me behind?

This feels like a sin, but I want to see you again.

Could you be my friend?

And I your willing host, oh you get me the most,

My darling, darling ghost.

Trapped by naught, lofty thoughts.

Oh what am I waiting for?

Liberation can't be bought -

Prison is an open door.

Veins of hope all fill with clots;

And fear leaves my soul poor.

Ghosts of what I never sought,

Prison is an open door.

Waxen wings attempt to soar

In search of something more.

Beloved shackles I cherish so,

They chain me to the floor,

Would that I could leave and go,

Discard the chains I wore

Staying here is death I know - oh

Prison is an open door.