Wednesday, March 30, 2011


my thoughts are my own
at least, I think so
one moment they are controlled
The next unhinged and swinging wildly
    squeaking in the winds
from cursed tri-tones to harmonious hymns
I vacillate ALONE

independent soul?
or whited, blighted bone
now sanded down to whistling moans?
from barren desert dust staring blankly,
    blinkless to each gust
with eyes as holes and empty trust
I exemplify the LONE

looks down from stark sun
caught bare I can not run
knowing this, I am undone
and blistering heat becomes some comfort
    where our souls might meet
sorrow sucks from joy's warmed teat
multiplied by ONE

still working on the hope of bardic transference after sleeping on Cadair Idris


Anonymous said...

"Lone" is especially poignant in it's expression.


Pastor Phil said...

Thanks Carl, I sure appreciate your observations and encouragement in my sometimes silly poetry. ;-)