I’m here in the everyday cut and chip of soul
from static pose to flying mode
afraid of where I’ll fall
and time, uncertain time,
swings me back and forth
between success and failure.
And all who wish upon a prayer
cessation of a moving star
know sleep brings no release
beneath the weight of dreams
heavy, heavy, heavy,
until the dawn, awakening,
though enlightenment
like yonder star
travels sky and travels high
beyond the reach of open minds.
Like a homemade mish-mash stew I’m dished up from pot to you.
Swing me high, swing me low, swing me to the floor below
but deft the hands of time that stitch, cut, weave, entwine,
fine filigrees of my desire into another place and time.
Time, uncertain time, ‘tis neither friend nor foe
that twists and turns and cuts adrift
my fleshy parts from soul
for one and all in separate form
know time still learns like you and me…
the merits of a wholesome meal!
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