fumbling feeling

no ripple in the pond

the passing of a weightless pebble

flimsy fragile flake

circling, directionless

swirling across the beam

whimsy clumsy tipsy

rolling guttery soupy

no ties

shabby ragey soul

doddering

dithering

stumbling

a pre-destined trail

uneasy

unable

unmoored

It is then...

In the middle of a quiet afternoon 
or in the sleepy corners of the night – 
it is then that it hits. 
It is then that it hurts. 
The loneliness. 
The hoodless-ness. 
The ties that bind 
surely are most slack then. 
Because, surely where are they 
when the heart stretches and stretches and 
yet finds that that which fills 
it is not the intangible belongingness; 
it is the more tangible emptiness. 
Emptiness. 
Pervasive emptiness. 
The flaccidness of the empty corners of the heart. 
Kinfolk were never kin, you see. 
Shattered dreams. 
Uprooted to a distance, 
the short thread of dreams 
hardly withstood the pull and push and pinch. 
Loneliness of hearth. 
Loneliness of frailty. 
Begets loneliness of kinlessness. 
Wandering heart forever. 
Anchored in bravado. 
Moored in the gloating of meaningless triumphs. 
The pull of façade did unmoor it. 
Wandering heart. 
Pining heart. 
Seeking heart. 
Painful beyond measure. 
Thus did the heart grow. 
Thus did the heart shrink. 
And yet the emptiness loomed. 
Cynical heart. 
Questioning heart. 
Tallied up with chary mind. 
A moat. 
More like a swamp. 
The emptiness turned jellysludge. 
Trapping. 
Mocking. 
Laughing. 
Loss. 
Utter loss. 
Pervasive loss. 
A quick silver flash of fulfilled life. 
Washed away in the tide ever rising. 
Mourning heart. 
Wasting heart. 
The beats vary. 
Dunn-dunn-dunn. 
And then that’s all. 
Swamp conquering. 
Failing heart. 
Clutching heart. 
Fate beckons still. 
Quickening beats. 
Tired beats. 
Pleading beats. 
Another chance. 
Life is for once. 
Live it or fail it. 
Failing, falling.  
The falls are near. 
Drowning. 
Gasping. 
Feeble hold
Lights out.

Random Walk

A reflection of the mirror within
The wandering of the soul without

A patchwork of lived experiences
Filtered by the haze of time
Every road passed -
Every face faced -
Every shake of hand and nod of head
- A record of a life's passage

A detour into the garden of white lilies
A flick of the magical wand of time
A laurel crown over the golden swathe
Dewish temptations on the lips of dark angels
Waving red heralds of deceitful hope
Enticed by the righteous look of thorny path
Prodded by the drool of quick accomplishment

Cyclonic musings

The speck of dirt on a spic saxophone
First autumnal leaf in the garden
Sour grape in a vintage vineyard year
Sightless in the gaggle of speech-less