The idea of a man is sometimes greater
than the man himself.
Once tasted, the fruit easily sours.
Without food for the soul - connection if you will,
COME.
than the man himself.
Once tasted, the fruit easily sours.
Without food for the soul - connection if you will,
COME.
Petty squabbles, constrained endeavours
Pressures and different aims
Tyranny of distance,
missed opportunities.
A smile and scheduled conversation
is not enough to sustain
the careful feeding of regret
or dreams, or the old yellow moon -
compared to youth's golden intensity.
Death star dreams
radiate no longer
All serve to blow soot
on the ideal.
MAN.
Absorbed into the minutae
of daily existence,
awake, alert
and how boring.
When the dreamer
yearns to just drift
in a warm night river
along the milky way
of myriad constellations.
Just floating, and holding hands
gently swept along in the current.
Life is a party we were brought to uninvited,
but being here, I suppose we can at least try to
DANCE.
© Jennifer Phillips (All rights reserved)
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