The black mirror you stare at so long and so hard
Has attached itself to the palm of your hand
To show you the breeding of chaos worldwide
And all that doesn’t belong to you
And all the things you want to own
And all the things you never will
As the moments pass by
The black screens flicker
Thousands of words and images fly
Bewitching your eyes
Numbing your brain
With half truths and lies
And glimpses of thoughts you’re too busy to grasp
As you peddle on cycles inside the gym
No sun, no rain, no air, no wind
You’ve forgotten where the real roads begin
You never look in anyone’s eyes
images
Writing
my thoughts today are not inspired
no deep emotions stoke the inner fire
no image scampers out across the page
the world bursts in with wings and horns
distracting me, declaring I’m no poet
all my hopes bereft, forlorn
poems are made of dancing words
delicious words that tumble out
marked with flows and rhythms
they skitter-scatter on the page
they fascinate, seductive
they have power and strength
imposing form upon it
an ode, a ballad, sonnet
I try to see connections
until they find direction
seeking out….
what’s that word?….
ah yes – perfection
The Dreaming Path 