There are treasures to be found
In even the dullest, flattest of puddles
Ignored by the sky-crawl sun:
The finger print shadows of clouds.
This devil-wind is a loveless hammer
Throwing whitecaps against cruel rocks;
War-waters crowd against the walls,
Big mean-business birds are on their way;
There was a reason for this –
But if I was considered important enough
To be told – I cannot recall what it was.
I remember being told that every
Question is a storm that
Blows both ways;
Every gate is a frame.
You want to know who’s
Sleeping in my bed this week –
Do you really care? –
I need to know who is
Living in my head
Photosource: www. santhisdiary.blogspot.com
- Puddle Muddle (outlandishlandscapes.wordpress.com)
- Fresh Eyes (beeseeker.wordpress.com)