Drifters

 
 
 
She sits in an old rocking chair
and questions the silence of night.
As the waves blow, the winds flow,
the sands sift with sea
and faraway stars shine in soft mystery,
her eyes shine with starlight and stare at
the sea,
asking questions as ancient as night,
expecting no sign to appear.
 
In the village, at noon, on the square,
beneath the near blinding day light,
sits a man with a plan he’s no means to play,
wondering how he will get through his day,
and just where, this night, he will finally lay
(Yes, beneath which exit light?)
expecting no sign to appear.
 
I questioned myself on a dare
Tell me: What’s wrong and what’s right?
Have I caught a new thought that God has no mind?
We search for salvation that’s nowhere to find?
Or merely grown tired of life’s daily grind,
not caring to search for the light,
expecting no sign to appear.
 
We children of flowers and light,
have we turned to dour-faced fear,
our dreams sacrificed to the night,
expecting no sign to appear?
.
.
.
Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s