Feast Days

 
 
 
Downing ale like a drowning sailor
caught up in the drama of sea.
Sons and daughters of days foretold
caught up in a field of stars.
Lighting the way.
Is this what we are?
Talented talkers, whiling their webs
of decay, waste all our days.
Who are they to decide
how we may proceed,
what values we need,
caught up in pitchers of greed.
Camp out far from where butchers
feast on wounds as we bleed.
Turn eyes, mind, spine, breath
to elegant symphony.
Cheshire Cat grin.
Pleasure can win
salient treasure beyond
imagining’s failure.
Caught up in
rising song, brave steps, the play,
rituals, gifts of gravid day,
celestial night.
Successful Life.
.
.
.

 

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