The sky
Wanes to night
While I
Rest on cliff’s edge
Above the serenity
Of calm waters
Allow the last vestiges
Of daylight
To dance
Their vibrant death
When I
Turn for home
And the solitude
Of a lonely highway
No taillights
But my own
No headlights
But the moon
In the rearview
All the way
To bed
Where I
Sleep the deepest
Of sleeps
Does the eagle know
Glory in the day’s end sun
Or my eyes alone
Wild seas dash upon the rocks
Which seem brittle and broken
But hardened they are
Resilient and determined
A stone will falter
Here or there
But the armour never fails
In the end
It is the storm that breaks
Upon the hardened shore
A ribbon of light
Winds along the valley floor
Swallowed by the mist
There am I
An Island of consciousness
Standing on an Island beach
On a planetary Island in space
Circling a celestial Island in a galaxy
On the outer rim of a galactic Island in an expanding universe
That is an Island in a multi-dimensional array of infinite universes
Singular
Infinitesimal
Inconsequential
But in this moment
I am
I am enough
Necessary and sufficient
For consciousness has no bounds
While it has no explanation
It needs none
The buoy sings
In broken meter
While gull cries
As steel
Rings out its soul’s lament
Rolling on the seas becalmed
Which lap gently at the marker
Slings languid clapper
Side-to-side
Until it dings
Seeking gull’s reply
For bereaved augment
Not one to be remiss
The gull
Its song amiss
Takes wing with foulest aural screech
Through which the many souls buried
Here
By storm
Beseech
For they that never heard the bell
But discovered rocky shoal
With sundered timbers of their hull
Forsook their invitation to God’s holy hell
No, not that descent
Instead remain beneath the sea
Without repent
To pull the chain of their lament
This Melfort Bell
Forever
Out of meter
Comes the night
With celestial swagger
Its vanguard in scarlet, violet and indigo
Descends the void dotted by galaxies and stars, a planet or two
Beyond the dim beacons built by small creatures
To penetrate the darkness they fear
Languid moments follow
Sun’s final thoughts
Bounds the sky
From golden to indigo
Wherein abides such grace
There I, manifest, serenity
There was a sense to him
Of a man once capable
Whose deep and organized intellect
Now descended into a tattered shambles
Of non sequitur and conspiracy theory
Consciousness corrupted by cognitive bias
Offering easy answers to difficult questions
His was the kind of disheveled mind
I expected to find huddled around an oil drum
Set alight for warmth in some subterranean refuge
Gathered there amongst others
Who had failed life as much as life had failed them
But, no
A driver came ’round to the passenger door
Opened it with crisp, deferent efficiency
And this sullen, morbid, dreadful mind emerged
Camouflaged by Italian designers
He passed through the gates of power
A useful idiot oiling wheels of industry
Constructed and maintained
By well educated minds
Which might know better
Were they not entirely consumed
By self interest
In him they’d found their man of the people
Someone who could speak to the masses
Motivate them against their own interests
A trait exploited fully by the engines of avarice
So that many there were
Huddled around burning drums
While the masters of the universe
Nestled in their dragon’s hoard
I stand
On the crest of a rocky wave
Take in the calm of the sea
The warmth of the sun
Breathe a sigh
Allow all thought
To drift away
On the tide
Of emptiness
Allow all emotion
To drain away
Into the solid earth
Beneath my feet
Become the vessel
Into which the peace
Of the universe
Flows
Pix to Words 