blinds down
shielding sleep from the prying sun
but doesn't help
a yelp of consciousness
takes hold
while the sun's rays
change the dullest beige
to gold
and so I accept
this dream where all seems
to be tied on the wheel
of what language calls real
but what I feel
is the ride of earth
through another day
it's not work
but play
like leaves falling
in a swift breeze
and so we all dance
in the cosmic romance
of creature and the great dark
with all its wedding's jewels
light lancing
into the bride and groom's
glance, touch
and all such revelry
Morning
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Morning
The Irish Sea Is Always In Turmoil, Even When Calm.
- stilltrucking
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Re: Morning
these days—>or maybe it has always been—>nothing more real on the wheel than poetry.
thanks for the poem
thanks for the poem

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Re: Morning
Perhaps surprisingly, given the importance of conformity as a theoretical construct in social psychology and the profound implications of 'magic' has in relation to not conforming to social norms ... it pays to be an anarchist !
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