This dream was terribly a snow while of cliché,
I cannot dream of it mess in the clay,
but they held up nothing in the day.
“Some said I was mad”!
others, thought I was yearning the pilot of the craziest.
How dreamy was I— to fall into their lures.
A night of heavy thoughts of chin pounded in the palms.
A day of questionable inquestionables.
Speaking to the vacuum of my own shadow,
and the teases of mockers tears my inner apart in heart.
From the ground,
the slate board,
to the pieces of papers labelled “trash”….
I have surmounted times aback;
and cushioned these idle thoughts to free it borders.
I ink from their insanity,
expressing them under the spell of beautiful words;
—and thus crave for need of inspiring souls.
From the mud walls of insanity,
I have washed the blood stain in the smiling waters;
whilst still cementing the sands of time—
with thoughts so clear and pure of incomprehensible sanity.
The Village Thinker © 2014