Somewhere, there’s a joke that I’ll laugh to
Hopefully, I’ll hear it pretty soon
Quarterly, nightly, I look outdoors
Staring at the stars and the moon
A quiet scene, quiescence, there I am
I’ll never get just what it meant
To stand here, alone, yet together
Mind in mind as if hand in hand
I was drawn again on the easel of an artist
As the image she always held
The character of her imagination
That would lead the story she’ll never know
Her senses transcended the world
She escaped from cacophony
Drew a complacently placed face
Content, then intently erased
The strumming blends with the river flow
I now know where the ascetics go
A light shone through the evergreens
Beaming down on the banks below
There it was, to see the path
That I came so far to find
Don’t know why I went another way
But it brought me peace of mind
Little child, little saint, you are
An exception to commonplace
A flecked, freckled brunette
Quaint style held with grace
Your smile breaks the clouds apart
And your eyes are rebels of mine
There’s a fire alive inside you
That slowly eats my time
Could it be you’re the dream?
Come and walk with me, if you’ll please
But don’t tell me which way that you’ll go
© Cybourgeoisie, 2005 – 2008
Two of these stanzas won regional poetry contests.
