mist, fog, — words absorbed into the drops
dimmed by haze, obscured and dazed
thoughts are stuck but cannot stop
I am not irrelevant but I have no say Life treats me like a fray It slithers down my spine ice-cold A cheek to be so bold Like wind purges foliage off a tree Your voice strips my soul from me Raging in its force, shaking determinedly A piece of wood without a fire I cannot be Stormy clouds race north to south, across the sky Sunlight is your makeup, impermanence your high Everyday you tell me that nothing stays the same You are the background, the thoughts I try to tame Incubated into a form whose shape has adopted me Parents, people, prophets, telling me who I should be Unique my spirit lies within the egg of cause A shape the universe has used with great applause Behind the shell an artist draws, a never-ending picture free of any laws A hunger gnaws to make it work that concept called the ‘living bit’ To find a way and have my say without this lifelong thought-delay And bring about a wonder-hit Board that private pleasure-trip A knowledge in the egg was heard. Thinking, waiting, spellbound by time An echo from the shell I hear The caller only I can be It’s not the answer, so I think To thought and waiting I return again An echo from the shell I hear Around in rhyme in time I be Life, ever partially in some control I’d be a liar claiming it's on a roll or thinking that I have it taped It blows with gale and sleeps with the wind A male drugged by a penchant for the scind Opposing forces and extremes attract The teaching is amok, it is a fact Eyes squinting through a frame and tint find written on my comets trail a goal and where I stand in the context of the whole Dreams, the unhatched eggs Soul food as they nourish me A potential waiting for the crack and light Mostly they define past my reality, and let me write Unhatched hatching eggs with fantasy Upright in the chair of thought a string of time some questions brought Five moments later as my breath abates the quiet mind with picture waits. Underneath a story reads: Vision: hot air for the thought-balloon. Imagination: the ladder to the moon.