Bog
Knowing how to feel
What more is there to know?
Knowing how to entertain
What must I do to ascertain
The feeble heart?
Standing at the precipice
How I hate this state of confusion
Unraveling from every seam
I become the theme
We all seem to dream
Tasting the salty tear
Running down my cheek
I toss a stone into the creek
I refuse to blink
To participate in this oblique
Charade
Counting sheep
Singing folksy folk songs
Hoping, always hoping
To find the one
I was supposed to meet
Nothing is for certain
Nothing is set in stone
I am one of many
In search of meaning
Daydreaming
While the world sleeps screaming
Beseeching a God no one knows
I know the feeling of frustration
Of reckless abandon
Yet nothing is as sweet
As sweet release
The shower’s running
The t.v.’s glowing
Sending letters without purpose
Writing thoughts with little meaning
I find myself locked within a dream
Questioning:
Am I awake?
Or am I dreaming?
I’m starting to see things clearly now
Through crystal eyes.
