Tipping My Hat

 

 

If I could I would

I’d write like the wind

Changing horizons

Emblazoned with colours

And tones

And feelings

As autumn

Snatches the latches

Off  locks the mind

Keeps unknown,

Experimenting the resource

Of wealth imaginations unchecked

Like flexing a muscle

A being disowned

Within a life of resistance,

The catapult or see-saw

Of thoughts untold tickle

The fancy of the dame

I behold and living in fantasy

Is the life never lived.

     Yet,

Forgive the cadaver speaking

The drone of a language all

Tarnished,

For the freedom to

Express never came lightly

In zone.

     But zoned I am and high

On the brow is the clever

Revealing of the psyche

Setting free

Like the wind

Fuelling fires of desire deeply

Held from within,

            I love her!

And the blasphemous curse

Once sold in regrets

Only emptied frustrations

For the soul that was hexed

But release came in words,

And the past of the years

That imprisonment sought

Is finally and utterly

And demonstrably

And gloriously

And fekkin awesomely,

Laid down to rest

In the back of a life

Never given no thought.

 

Michael J Waite 1^st October 2011.