Delinquent Doves & Other Thoughts: Poetry

And what if life was
just an abstract dream,
a mechanistic painting
drawn by hands torn
apart by cumbersome fate?

Would it sill be real
and true and valid
or would we swallow
our lonesome pride,
part the tides of mornings
like delinquent doves
and make believe that all was
plenty beneath a golden sun?

~

Where am I going,
to whom will I turn
when the countdown of these
things has gone away?

~

And if life is so much
poetry,
the surely I'd be
wealthy in words,
thoughts & actions

Is it enough to wake
up from the dream only to realize
that you've an entire book
of days to make real?

~

It is not so much to think
of a moment in time
when all things exist
in a cohesive spiral

~
Happy atomic dallying
whilst whistling out
synchronization.

~

The mind unfurls these mysteries,
writes in golden prose what the
heart will not relinquish

~

And none of us are so different,
you and I,
us and them,
on this path of life
where we each have only
differing views

~

A little laughter,
a smudge of candy
and we're back the way
we were
Singing Songs and
holding hands to our own
rhythm
day by day...

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