Tomorrow Will Come

Better brighter days ahead with lighter laughter and stability,

Sweet dreams in sleep with streams of beauty and gentility,

Exciting ventures coming with inviting promises and affability,

Quieter nights so soon with mind-sights of peace and amenability,

Only wait till tomorrow and tomorrow will come with tranquility

Dancing Thru Dreamland

Strange things dare to appear in dreamland with sands of time flowing above,

Somehow, somewhere to dare sleep slip away lest she have something to say,

After all, night is day in the fertile fields of dreamland as spacious as my soul,

Yet there is an ubiquitous emptiness in the fullness of the mystic meanderings,

Wanderings wondering where we are going in, around and through absurdity

As odd broken thoughts flit about here and there in the eclectic eccentricity

That only a sleeping psyche can conjure without conjecture in senseless beauty

In dubious duty to slumber so sanguine, never languid, causing anguish of mind

In binding it to such bizarre bazaars of mixed recollections and new tales told

Without rhyme or reason in the lullaby season in treason against rationality,

But this is dreamland, after all, where the banality of my reality is left behind

New Year, New Hope

Crying for peace, churning for goodwill, chasing another year

And will I see you there on the flipside, new ways in new days

Can we put our hearts on the line again to begin again, new again

And trust heaven will rain down on our drought-stricken souls

And leaven our sleep with better dreams, cream of the gods

After tears flowing for years to hear now a promise door open

To an altogether better future of love and nurture

And blessings from above

Memory Bench, Accusing Board

Lying deep in dark forest keep is the bench of mocking memories

Holding tightly spellbound, painfully crowned with cursed indignity

In such place of beauty to please, and quiet to put the soul at ease

But the bench brings past to present to quench any delight of sight

And soft sound, so now drowned in melancholy that all seems drear

Far and near, as sleep steals over one who can no more see nor hear

And cheer is forbidden in accusing dreams, cream of hell’s theme

On Memory Bench, stench of regrets screaming from Accusing Board

Beyond the Tower

The tower stands dark and foreboding, tall and strong,
And I can’t climb the walls no matter how much I long,
And so trapped inside I cry for help to right the wrong;
So one day soon I will once again join the joyful throng

Yes, these walls stretch up into the sky
So far above me and I understand why:
That no resident will ever say goodbye

But the builder never counted on wings
To bring this man out with song to sing,
Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia to God ‘n king!

So help me now my Lord, even now to set me free
To be all that you would have me be, with reverie
Beyond these cold walls for all of the world to see!

Fly High into the Sky . . . May I?

Can I spring wings and fly high into the sky
With you and leave below my heavy sigh?
Your emerald eyes are enchanting
And leave my poor soul panting . . .
But the depression still remains,
Though in assiduous repression;
Will you not take me with you this night?
Rescue me from the blight of my own sight
With you in constant view instead,
Then my heart will have been fed
From the riverbed of the Cosmos,
Drinking the cream of numinous dreams;
Will you take me with you into the stream
Of heaven and thus redeem me this night?
Oh, for just one flight with you,
Leaving this world out of sight!
Your golden-brown skin and bronze hair
Appeal but not enough to repair;
Allure but not enough to cure me;
And you look inside me like an open book
And read me, then feed me astute words
Of wisdom, but I am but a drooling fool,
Who cannot wholly understand,
And then, upset, you reprimand
Let me spring wings ‘n fly high in the sky;
Show me what it is you want me to know!
Oh, take pity and rescue me
From the City of Humanity!
Oh, tell me . . .
Can I spring wings and fly high into the sky
With you and leave below my heavy sigh?


Note: First published in September 2016, now being republished for the reading pleasure of new followers (and, perhaps, some old ones, too!) Blessings to one and all!

On the Night Train

What cargo do you carry as you come barreling through?
Is it good or ill to seal my destiny desperately or in ecstasy?
What passengers ride along and do they belong to the night
Or to the light? Are they kind enough to mind themselves?
And do you bring grain for the hungry soul or only pain?
Nothing is plain to see in such numinous rain; it’s insane!
But, then, what should one expect . . .? It is the night train

Face of the Phantom Lady

Face . . .
Her face, barely visible, will appear so near to him
To again begin the chase in which case he will lose
But she calls to him with her eyes that spy his soul
And bids him leave this world
Into which he has been hurled
So he tries to reach her lovely, numinous presence
With the very essence of what he is in this half-life
Even knowing he cannot quite reach her
As she is showing him a different world
And he cries each time it does come to say goodbye
But with heavy sigh he knows when to stop chasing
And start facing reality again … but he does wonder
If this mysterious lady is more real than his reality
And that he actually lives in one stream of dreams
While his dear lady comes out of the booth of truth
Barely showing her . . .
Face