3 am

You wake out of habit
A tonic of bad dreams and habitual guilt and melancholy
Because what is a poem without it
Believe me you will sleep again
Do not over think this
It doesn’t have to be perfect
Only true

The cell


From inside

Looking out

Reaching through the bars to feel the grass

To see the sun

The wind blowing through the trees

So the world is spinning

The west wind is singing me to sleep

Dreaming

I’m awake

I’m awake

I’m awake

I should be watching the clock

The clock with hands

I never understood what it meant

To me it always meant wait

Until

It meant too late

It always meant should have

Until

It meant could have

I don’t  have clock hands

I have shadows

And the sleeping cat

And the wind through the trees

And the dream

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The art of racing clouds

Lying here, feeling so high

As the clouds go drifting by

I dream my dreams and let them fly

Sending my prayers in flight like the dove

Where the clouds race so high above

Far from me and the strife below

Where we struggle as friend and foe

Far from this journey, where I fear to go

They say,

“Alone we are born, and alone we die”

And from this journey we cannot flee or hide

But we are not alone it seems

So this is why I dream my dreams

Sending prayers both night and day

I pray for wisdom to show me the way

And now with new dreams to soar and fly

I find myself here again, watching the sky

As the clouds go racing by